After making sure my slippers are nice and dry, I slide them on, cozying up in them like a turtle in its secure shell. I step out of the bathroom and back into the endless hallway.

My next stop is not that far off, but it’s a bit of a walk nonetheless. And so I start moving, each step perfectly spaced, following a non existent march rhythm. My footsteps keep beating through the hollow floor and the wall's rough texture drags along my fingers.

I spin on my heel, spreading out my wings for a little bit and then add a skip to my step, breaking up the monotonous walk. But, most of it is rather uneventful, boring one might say.

And here it is, my stop. The rehearsal room in all its glory. I step inside and the vast room illuminates in a wave of candles lighting up one after another along the wall. It is almost entirely empty, with only an old piano in the middle, and a closet with my clothes for the day by one of the walls.

So it begins, probably the best part of my morning. I step over to the closet and open it up, revealing a row of hanging, identical outfits. All of them in muted blue’s and vibrant blacks with a white, collared shirt for contrast.

I lightly grip the satin skirt and slide it on. The striped velvet shirt comes on soon after. I hang the rest of the outfit atop the door as there’s no need to submerge into it entirely, just yet. Well then… shall we?

(START SONG HERE: Devil's voice)

With my readiness expressed, the piano creaks loudly as the lid lifts itself and the fallboard opens up, uncovering the black and white keys. I clear my throat while walking to the center of the room and once I settle myself down, closing my eyes and running my fingers through the hair on the back of my neck, the piano starts playing.

My wings shiver and squirm around, the minor tune echoes through the room, wrapping itself around me. The melody comes and goes, dancing along in a vibrant waltz desiring nothing but for my voice to join. And yet I let it play, holding it at arm's length, waiting for it to calm down, relax… find its footing.

My wings give a gentle flap, as if to rush me along. Alright, I will hold you back no longer. I match the melody I heard hundreds of times, accepting the subtle invitation. The melody follows along, nearly twisting itself apart at times. But it never strays, keeping up and shaping itself to my voice.

The music dips down and my mind follows suit. I can’t help but break out of the song, chuckle to myself a little bit before sliding back in. The piano stops in response but quickly regains its composure, continuing the story.

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All of it stops soon after, leaving a question unanswered before starting again. The story beginning all over again as the music trails back into itself and continues on as if nothing has ever happened.

We move along, talk and dance for a little bit more before ultimately I grow bored of the practice. Talents and skills are great to display but only when an audience is present. Alas, there can be no audience for mine. The piano continues on and on while I head over to the closet. I slide on my sleeveless Jacket and gloves, then my puffed sleeves with their fur tops.

The layers of clothes suffocate my wings, they squirm around trying to free themselves of their newfound prison. I slap them lightly, quiet down little wings. When the last layer comes on and I adorn my horns and ears with bright jewelry and trinkets, the look is complete.

A fine devilish Diva if I do say so myself. In the background, the piano doesn’t stop playing, as if to coax me into singing more. Well, there is still time, so I might just indulge myself a little while longer. I take a deep breath, spreading my arms out and letting the clothe settle on my body, stretching out anything that’s too tight.

Then, while spreading my fingers apart I start making my way over to the piano. I interlace my fingers facing the palms outwards and push my hands away. There’s no crack but I can feel my fingers stretching nicely, all the while the same melody continues to play.

I grace the seat of the piano with my presence and press down on a note, and the piano immediately quiets down, with only the one note keeping its sustain.

Another note joins along, lifting up the key, and before I can stop myself, a quiet arpeggio plays my left hand over and over again. My fingers hit the keys, white, white, black and white, slowly, methodically. Yet there is a spring in their step, the feeling of lifting each hammer, the rising pressure that gets released when the hammer finally drops.

My right hand giddy with excitement runs in, but then quickly quiets down and plays along. The melody and bass fall our of rhythm, only to reconvene like a long lost partner.

The sounds overlap but are not on the same wavelength, a resonance of sorts. I watch my hands go crazy in their quiet meanderings on the piano. A sharp exhale pushes through my nose while I lean forward, pressing the keys harder, my breath turns into humming that follows the song played. It all comes together splendidly, perfectly. Harmoniously.

But as all things in the world, even the immortal ones have to come to an end when not gazed upon. Still, the keys keep being pressed and I keep following the rhythm deeper down the rabbit hole. Every time I pull my hands away to stop, they go back and continue on their own. STOP! I press the palms of my hands into the keys, a cacophony of noise blasts from the piano and the lid falls shut.

Ah, and so the rehearsal comes to an end. I close the fallboard lightly and stand up, looking at the mute piano. The gloves on my hands dull the sensation but I gently caress the top of it while making my way out of the room, I can almost hear it creak as it tries to look back at me.

In the end, neither of us turn around, the piano stays closed and I shut the door behind me with a quiet click of the lock.