The room was filled with the soft strains of piano music when a sudden, sharp scream cut through it like a sword. Karina's fingers froze mid-note, and she turned toward the source of the sound, her face etched with shock. "San" stood in the middle of the room, his eyes blazing with childish anger, his cheeks burning with the flush of his emotions.
He shouted stubbornly, pointing his small hand toward the piano:
"This is my sister's piano, not yours!"
Karina lifted her head calmly, looking down at him with a superior gaze, then spoke in a low, controlled voice that hid her annoyance:
"My dear, this piano is mine, not Sina's. What's gotten into you today?"
But the boy didn't back down; he held onto his words even more fiercely, yelling:
"No! It's my sister's! Her name is engraved on the frame—it was a gift from Father!"
Karina let out a long sigh, then turned toward the piano, staring at it as if she were thinking how to silence it rather than question him, before replying with a cutting coldness:
"Be quiet, you nuisance."
San stepped closer, tense, his voice rising from anger to challenge:
"Shut your mouth, girl without a mother!"
The air between them froze for a moment. Karina slowly turned toward him, her eyes holding a cold glare of pure threat. She approached until their breaths collided and said in a soft, sharp voice like a knife:
"Don't make me tear your cursed mouth."
The boy shouted again, as if his small pride refused to yield:
"I won't be quiet!"
Karina didn't hesitate. She raised her hand and struck him with a sharp slap that echoed through the room. The child froze in place, his eyes widening in shock, a single tear sliding down his cheek.
She looked down at him coldly from above:
"You'd better learn some manners."
San ran out of the room crying, leaving his sobs fading into the long corridor.
Karina glanced back at the piano, her eyes examining the golden frame that bore the name "Sina." She realized it was just a sticker, not a real engraving. A light smile of irony appeared on her face as she whispered to herself:
"Just a sticker… and since when did Sina even have a piano?"
It wasn't long before San returned with his mother, Aunt Elena, who entered the room with her eyes blazing with anger, gripping her son's arm firmly.
She shouted at Karina with a voice trembling from agitation:
"Is this your idea of upbringing?! Hitting a younger boy because you steal something that isn't yours!"
Karina stood her ground, hands clasped in front of her, her gaze calm as if she weren't listening. She replied in a steady tone, full of disdain:
"I didn't steal anything… it's just a sticker, not a real engraving."
Elena's voice rose even more sharply:
"That's no excuse! You—"
Karina cut her off coldly and deliberately, lifting her head slightly:
"Remember who I am… and I could tell Father someone left his room despite punishment."
Elena's words froze on her lips; the anger vanished from her features. Finding no response, she sighed shortly, took her son's hand, and left the room with tense steps.
---
That night, a heavy silence settled over the palace, as if even whispers feared to speak. Karina sat by her window when a soft knock came at the door. A familiar voice called from outside:
"It's Robinson… Your Highness."
She rose and opened the door to find him standing there, holding a pale envelope, respect etched into his expression. He spoke quietly:
"Miss… this is a message from a stranger."
She took the envelope with evident curiosity, and when she broke the seal, the scent of old ink she knew well wafted out. The letter was from Ron. Surprise flashed in her eyes as she read the lines slowly, as one reads memories rather than ordinary letters.
> "Dear Karina,
I've missed your laughter. How long has it been since we last met?
I believe I saw you recently with one of your relatives…
Isn't it time we meet? Let's play as we used to…
Ron."
She lifted her eyes from the paper, a shadow of a sad smile on her lips. Ron… the name alone was enough to awaken years of suppressed longing. She took a fresh sheet and wrote a brief reply with a trembling hand:
> "Ron,
My longing for you is endless, but circumstances have kept me away.
I'll make sure to set a time for us to meet soon.
Please understand my busyness.
Karina."
She placed the letter in another envelope and closed it with a quiet smile, then whispered softly, barely audible:
"Why did you disappear, Ron? Where were you when I needed you?"
---
The following days passed tediously until the fourteenth of the month. Karina sat in front of the calendar in her room, her eyes stopping on the sixteenth—the day of the competition. Her room was filled with old musical instruments, the scent of wooden violins and ivory floating in the air. She rubbed her sore fingers from constant practice, preparing herself for what felt like a decisive battle.
Moments later, a soft knock came at the door, and "Sina" entered with graceful steps and a deceptive smile.
She spoke in a sweet tone:
"My dear Karina, I have a small favor to ask."
Karina lifted her head slowly, already anticipating what she would say. She replied coldly:
"What is it?"
Sina continued in a tone feigning kindness:
"I entered the piano competition… but I don't have a good piece. Could you write one for me?"
A strange look flashed in Karina's eyes—a mix of anger and cunning. She remembered how Sina once stole her glory, performing "Moon in the Mist" before everyone and receiving all the applause while Karina remained behind the curtain. This time, it would not happen again.
She smiled coldly:
"Of course, dear sister. I'll write you a piece that will astonish everyone."
That sentence was a promise—but not a promise of victory for Sina, rather of downfall. That night, Karina sat at her piano, golden light streaming through velvet curtains to embrace the worn ivory keys. She pulled out a yellow sheet from the drawer, held a pen engraved with the family emblem, and began to write.
The notes flowed from her mind, not her heart—intricate, twisted, full of deceptive changes. She placed sudden rhythmic shifts and complex pauses requiring practiced fingers. She knew exactly that Sina would not be able to keep up.
When she finished, she held the sheet before her eyes and wrote in small clear letters at the bottom:
"Let this music stand as a testament to buried pride."
She smiled quietly and closed the notebook slowly. The trap was set, and the piece ready… but deep down, she knew this musical war would not end with a single note—it would begin with the first performance in front of the audience.
---
Sina spoke next in a seemingly cheerful tone, carrying a false sense of triumph:
"Thank you, sister… I'll return to my room to practice!"
She held the sheet music as if it were a piece of pure gold, then hurried out lightly, her pink gown brushing the carpet like a trace of elegant deceit. Her steps were fast, tense, her eyes glinting with excitement known only to those chasing unearned glory.
Karina, meanwhile, remained standing, calm as ice, not moving—just watching the door close behind Sina and whispering to herself:
"Enjoy your last laughs, Sina… tomorrow your fragile wings will shatter on the stage of truth."
---
The next day—the competition day.
The hall was filled with lights and whispers. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling scattered their glow like falling stars, dancing on golden mirrors and walls draped in blue silk. The scent of luxury perfumes mixed with melting wax, suffocating breaths with a sense of opulence and anxiety simultaneously.
In the front rows sat nobles and esteemed musicians, their delicate faces watching the stage with anticipation tinged with arrogance. Every breath awaited the moment that would separate those born for glory from those falling at its threshold.
Contestants performed one by one, hesitant notes, scattered applause, polite smiles. Finally, the announcer's voice rang out:
"The next contestant—Sina Bional!"
A quiet murmur rose in the hall. Some knew her—daughter of a well-known lineage, famous for beauty, not talent.
She appeared on stage, her steps meticulously measured, as if walking on threads of light itself. Her light blue gown flowed around her like water, the sound of silk brushing the wooden stage whispering deceitful hints of pride.
She sat at the piano with forced confidence, her hands trembling despite her smile that tried to mask the growing terror within. She believed—or thought—that the piece bearing her name would crown her the best performer of the event.
She bent slightly, closed her eyes, and touched the keys.
At first, the opening note sounded delicate, promising victory. The audience listened.
Then came the second… third note… until the melody started to deviate strangely, falling into a dissonance her anxious ears could not catch.
Her fingers raced to find the next note, but the sheet before her held shifting rhythms and twisted melodic rebounds she had never practiced. Her breaths quickened, panic etching her features.
The sound of the keys became tangled like a knot of broken voices, with no clear beginning or end.
The audience stopped applauding, glances intersecting as if sensing something was terribly wrong.
Sina lifted her head briefly, meeting Karina's gaze from the third row. Karina smiled—not mockingly, but with absolute calm, as if witnessing a prophecy unfold.
Sina's fingers faltered, a harsh note fell like shattering glass into the heavy silence, followed by horrific dissonance, causing some attendees to exchange embarrassed looks.
She tried to recover the rhythm, to correct the mistake, but the piece was a meticulously closed trap—each note plunging her into a deeper abyss.
Finally, she stopped.
She sat rigid at the piano, sweat pouring down her forehead, while the silence in the hall was harsher than any applause could be.
Moments later, whispers began to rise slowly, as if an eternity had passed:
"Was that really her playing?"
"I've never heard such a thing… total chaos!"
Sina bowed shakily, then fled the stage quickly, choking back tears.
In contrast, Karina remained seated, her expression steady as if nothing unexpected had happened. She noticed on the edge of the stage the sheet that had caused the disaster, fluttering to the floor like a broken wing.
She smiled lightly, unheard by anyone, then whispered to herself, looking up at the piano:
"Even music rejects falsehood, Sina… your notes were just an echo of fragile pride that can't last long."
What Karina said… little did she know, this mockery would one day bring her regret.