Fiona answered her query with the sweet first notes of the song Lorraine so loved. Lorraine set aside her tea and stood with her eyes on Fiona as the whore spoke with a smile, "I know that song well Lady, and a beautiful choice. Will my harp coax from you your song then?" Lorraine smiled at the words, more at ease now than she had been thus far as the expertly plucked harp strings poured their music into the room. Fiona's voice soon joined the harp's lovely notes.<br/><br/><div align="center">"<em>Gentle whisper....little bird, little lark<br/>do you feel the spring come anon<br/>soar, soar for me, even in the dark<br/>for with spring comes love's dawn....</em>"</div><br/>Sweetly and quietly the readhead sang, and it felt like a caress of Lorraine's soul. But then, music had always had such power over Lorraine. When Fiona trailed off Lorraine saw the redhead's eyes on her and she inclined her head to the whore's gentle and encouraging words, "Sing for me Lady Lorraine..."<br/><br/>The woman took in a breath as she adopted the proper posture for singing. Her legs were relaxed, her back straight, her slim stomach pressed out as much as the confines of her garment would allow for the better accomodation of her diaphram. Her lips parted and the words poured forth in the beautiful and rich notes of a soprano's voice.<br/><br/><div align="center">"<em>Gentle breezes....little bud, little rose,<br/>through the gardens where you grow so fair<br/>smile, smile for me, let the others doze,<br/>and your beauty with this world do share...</em>"</div><br/>She let the music carry her, pale brown eyes falling closed as the third verse drew to its beginning, shoulders relaxed. Emotion and feeling intertwined with the expression taught her over the course of her years, bringing something further than study could to each word, each note, as she continued.<br/><br/><div align="center">"<em>Oh sweet garden...says the lark, little rose,<br/>as she flies overhead today<br/>dance, dance for me, or strike a gentle pose<br/>that your beauty tempt the bird to stay...</em>"</div><br/>There was joy in her voice. Much joy. But also some tones of pain and worry. All in all though, the Lady's command of her vocal cords was impressive and the way with which she used it to communicate feeling equally so. Likely servants passing by beyond the doors of Fiona's chamber would hear the dulcet tones and pause to marvel for a moment before attending their duties. And for the final verse the sorrow came out more prominently.<br/><br/><div align="center">"<em>Soulful music....for the rose, sings the lark<br/>who now rests within the flowerbeds<br/>sing, sing for me, in this lovely park<br/>so that worries, life readily sheds...</em>"</div><br/>It was an aching, a desire for the promise of the words, for a sanctuary in which to shed life's worries. Lorraine didn't have that. Lorraine had come here to find it. Her eyes opened again, a blush to her cheeks as she looked to the harpist with a shy smile. The lady remained standing while the music found its own conclusion.