Transmigrated into a Fantasy World with No Clue What To Do Chapter 34: Chapter 33: The Performance / Confession

Read chapter 34 of Transmigrated into a Fantasy World with No Clue What To Do by PrincessArylin on NovelPedia.

Chapter 33: The Performance / Confession After dinner, we retire to the drawing room for tea and relaxation after our meal. I have never been in a drawing room before, but thanks to Jane Austen, I thought I knew what to expect. It turns out that whoever joins you in the drawing room dictates how interesting of a time you can have. I had expected Angus and my father to retire to another location, but was surprised to see them follow us in and take a seat in what was obviously a more masculinely decorated corner of the room. The whole room is a pastel blue, with some type of light-colored wood for the trim. The floor is a slightly darker tone, and polished to a near mirror finish. Upon the ceiling is a work of art that is divided up into five panels, with the fifth placed in the center like a diamond. The furniture in the rest of the room matches the pastel theme in their padding, though they are a pink instead of blue, and the woodwork on each piece is ornately carved. There is one large couch and several smaller chairs, one of which has a basket beside it with sewing supplies. There are also several side tables as well, convenient for placing one’s drink should one need their hands. My mother immediately goes to the chair with the basket and pulls out several partially completed needlepoint projects that, after short consideration, she chooses one of and begins to work on. Izzy and Maribelle make their way to the couch, Izzy talking constantly about some boy whose name I missed, while Mari quietly listens, nodding her head occasionally to indicate that she is still listening. The corner the men settle into still matched the rest of the room, but the four chairs were obviously of stouter build and are slightly darker in tone. They are all angled so that those seated in them can easily talk without having to turn their heads excessively in order to look each other in the eyes for politeness's sake. In front of the chairs is a medium-sized table, easily accessible by anyone sitting in the chairs, that has a crystal decanter on it filled with some kind of amber-colored liquid, which I figure is likely some sort of alcohol. Beside the decanter are several snifters and, as if to confirm my suspicions, when my father opens the decanter to pour himself a drink, I can faintly smell something similar to the Jack Daniels that Michael's dad used to drink, even though I am on the other side of the room. Tucked in the corner opposite to the men’s corner is a grand piano, with carvings to match the other furniture. Upon spotting the piano, I immediately make my way toward it, my mind wandering back to the lessons that my father, or rather Michael’s father, gave me when I was younger. Music was a large part of his life. He came from a very musically talented family, so he wanted to teach it to me. My, Michael’s, mother had thought his teaching me was a waste of time that was better spent on academics, but my father had insisted and it turned out, I had some of that musical talent passed to me as well. He taught me piano and guitar, the former of which I had natural skill and picked up quickly, and the latter of which I was only passable at playing. As I sit down to the piano, I lift the fallboard and lightly run my fingers over the keys, smiling at the memories of learning to play. After just a second of consideration, I decide on the piece of music I want to play, remembering how proud my dad was when I finally managed to play it without any flaws for the first time. Within seconds of deciding, my fingers begin to dance over the keys with a level of precision I honestly had not expected in this body since I am so out of practice. The sounds of Chopin’s Fantaisie-Impromptu in C-sharp Minor, Op. 66 fill the room as my emotions soar with the sounds of frantically urgent chaos that I hadn’t realized I held within, escaping from my fingers before moving into the serene beauty that threatens to overwhelm my soul with an almost mournful cry before