Listen to her hobbies. She plays the piano!

You perk up. “She likes the piano. Delilah has told me she wants to play for me a few times, but I’ve never had the time.”

Arabella spreads her arms. “Start there. When she gets done playing the first song, start some small talk about her interests and then continue from there. Musical hobbies like that run deep. I bet she’d like to do something with that hobby.”

“What do you mean?”

Arabella looks down. “I guess I don’t know…Find out how well she can play and gauge how passionate she is about it.”

“What difference will it make?”

For a moment, Arabella looks at you like you’re an idiot, but she quickly remembers her place and sighs. “If she’s good, it probably means she has a performance history. Maybe she’d like to do it again? Maybe you could make that possible?”

“Why not just ask her about it in a normal conversation?”

She shakes her head. “It’s about the long game. You can’t burn up all your major conversation pieces in one day. Take it slow. Show Delilah how much you care about her.”

“I think it would be better to talk and find out simply.”

Arabella bows her head slightly. “It sounds like Delilah really, really likes you, master. So, going the extra mile will mean a lot to her. Trust me.”

A long sigh parts your lips. “I’ll talk to her later tonight and do that then.”

“It’s for the best,” Arabella grins. “In the meantime, is there anything you want me and the others to do?”

“Organize all the gear I used on that last contract and maybe get some clothes ready for me. I want to look nice tonight.”

…

…

“Hey, there Delilah.”

Delilah turns to face you. Her expression brightened when she spotted you, and she immediately smiled. “Warren! I thought you would have been resting for the whole day.”

Her eyes look all over you. She can’t stop smiling. Before you know it, you’re also smiling. “What is it?”

“I feel like a child,” Delilah tosses a rag on the side. “Whenever I look at you, I mean. I just…I hope it works out. I always manage to screw things up.”

“Let’s not think about that,” you try to change the direction of the conversation. “You play the piano, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she perked, her smile flattening slightly as her interest peeks. “Not very well, though.”

You looked at the lobby, spotting the piano that was always dustless and shining. “You play that one ever?”

Delilah grins. She takes the rag and continues to clean the counter. “Believe it or not, I used to play piano every night at Tiny’s Tavern for the guests.”

“Want to play it for me?”

She blushes, and her smile becomes crooked. “I’m no good.”

“I’d like to hear it still,” you get closer and grab her waist. “I want to hear you playing.”

Delilah sighs with a slight tremble behind her voice already. “Promise me you won’t laugh.”

“Don’t offend me,” you say. “I’d never laugh at you.”

After a couple of minutes, Delilah finishes cleaning the counter and joins you in the lobby, where all the empty tables are. It’s snowing harder outside, and everything seems isolated. You haven’t seen anyone since returning, indicating the change of seasons is affecting the traffic.

Even when you both surround the piano that you asked to be played, the world is silent. Delilah sniffs and straights her skirt as she runs a hand over the instrument. You hear her swallow and let out a shaky breath. Her confidence, for some reason, is having difficulty.

Despite never seeing the piano being used, you couldn’t see why it hadn’t been played. There are no scratches or clear signs of damage. In this corner of Tiny’s Tavern, this piano remained untouched by both man and time.

“It’s been a while since I last played, but I know it’s tuned and working.” Delilah swallows again and lays her tender fingers on the pale white keyboard to test the sound. Each note blared in the quiet as it confirmed its condition. "I tune it, so... By all means, it should be working."

You watch Delilah when you hear her take a deep breath in. She becomes enveloped by her own thoughts in a world she had mistaken as her own. She does nothing. She just has her fingers hovering above the keys, and then she begins to play.

The first played a note of Delilah’s song feels…almost painful for some reason. Your eyes drift to the back of her neck, and wonder what her expression is. She’s gone tense, and all that moves are her arms as they float to where they need to be. You didn’t expect Delilah’s song to carry this much emotion; it took you into her world and brought out your memories too. Harsh, rancid, bitter, and cold– they trickled in with vague silver linings that you had constructed to make you think those experiences were somehow good for you.

You narrowed your eyes at Delilah. You couldn’t recognize her from where you were. She composed a song that didn’t match her usual character. Her façade of happiness and smiles had dissipated, and that remained before you was an empty husk of a girl you painted as cheerful with few problems.

Her fingers danced to every key with purpose and pressed down with intent. The movements looked gentle, but the noises they made were harsh. It was a bittersweet moment when she held down the final notes to–

“Chopin,” she exhales. “Nocturne Op. 4 No.1.”

A few seconds drag by without words. “You played it very well. I didn’t hear any mistakes.”

“Thanks,” she turns around with a smile, her eyes sparkling and colorful. “It’s one of my favorite songs. But, unfortunately, it sounds a little sad, so hopefully, I’ll play you something happier next time.”

“Next time?” You inquire. “Do you have enough time for one more?”

Delilah blinks, looking at you with offensive surprise. “You really liked it?”

You nod. “Maybe it’s you that makes it special, but I liked it a lot.”

She’s unable to fight the grin that you make her put on. “Yes. I can do one more song if you’d like.”

“I’d like.”

She faces the piano and lets her mind go through the dusty musical library before she begins playing again. This time, when she presses down on the keys, they sound wrong, and she curses. She takes a deep breath when she pulls her hands away. You hear her mumble something and then try again.

The first few notes that she plays are lively and welcoming. You don’t have to see Delilah’s face to know she’s smiling. Her head sways slightly as she lines her fingers up and down the keyboard, playing the notes like they are as easy as brushing her hair.

She repeats some, but she adds something different to it. You didn’t consider Delilah to be such a musician, but as she plays the song you wanted her to play, you know she’s making it unique somehow. She wasn’t a jukebox; she was more akin to a projector, showing a blurry movie, but the keys gave you all you needed.

Happiness was in here, just as she promised there would be. She presses down and releases. She danced without moving. Flowed despite being solid. Her sways were gentle and meaningful– they added to the emotion you thought she lacked because of the last song. It gave you whiplash while also giving you hope. You smiled, not knowing why and then sat down behind her as it continued to pour into the empty dining room, filling it with intimate memories of life. The decent. The good. The greatest and most perfect times in life that you almost forgot but then adored.

Delilah was flawless. She looked comfortable where you were. She rocked her head, sometimes watching her fingers trail the keys. It was chipper, and nothing was missed.

You watch in amazement as she masters the song that gave you warmth. It was fun to listen to, but watching her unleash some of her pride into something invisible was better. She doesn’t turn around for a couple of seconds when it ends.

“That was beautiful, Delilah.” You remark with a happy smile.

When Delilah turns around, you realize all that happiness and joy you thought she was experiencing was false. You frown. “Delilah? What’s wrong?”

Her eyes were hollow when she spoke. “That song gives me happiness I don’t have.”

....

...

You had a hard time coming to the terms that you realized you didn’t know Delilah as you thought you did. She didn’t always seem perfect, but you assumed she was happy anyway.

A long exhale escapes your mouth, and Arabella rolls around beside you. She was tucked away in the quilts of the bed as you used a regular throw blanket to cover yourself. Your mind was weighed down with new, but human concerns. A part of your mind wished it was more self-centered, but it was all for Delilah.

The following day, you roll out of bed. Arabella is on your desk. At first, you think she’s tinkering with your guns, but then you smell coffee and hear paper wrinkling. She’s drinking and reading.

All your moving caused her to look over. “Good morning, master.”

You groan, running your hands through your hair. “Yeah. Good morning. What are you doing?”

“Drinking coffee and reading. You didn’t give me anything to do,” she says. “So I considered this my free time. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you push off the bed while making a face. “Can we talk?”

Arabella closes her book. “Yes.”

“So, Delilah…”

“Delilah,” Arabella repeats.

“I don’t know what to do with her,” you begin. “She’s not…she’s not a happy girl with some sad issues. She’s a sad girl with major issues.”

Arabella frowns. “Like, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I was told I was a decent therapist not too long ago, but I’m starting to think that was a fluke.”

“So…what’s wrong?” Arabella presses, obviously having her interest peeked.

“She’s just sad. I don’t know why yet. What should I do?”

Arabella’s mouth lopsides. “I can’t **** Delilah to tell you what’s wrong. You’ll just have to keep talking and find out over time. Girls are complicated—“ she’s about to say your name but swallows. “If she's withholding her feelings, she’s likely worried you’ll judge or think differently about her.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Tell that to a girl who doesn’t have friends and is in love with you.”

You look at Arabella. “Tell me something embarrassing about yourself,” you say, testing her.

“I’ve never had sex with a person that I actually like,” Arabella says rather quickly but then takes a deep breath. “I’ve been used by people I find attractive but not actually enjoyed being with…”

Silence enters the room like a third physical form. Arabella lets it get awkward before she continues. “Delilah is hiding the truth from you because she loves you. You have to understand that. Don’t get frustrated with her, or you’ll push her away. It could take days. It could take weeks… It could take literal years, even if you’re married.”

“I know this is probably a stupid question, and it might seem like a low form of gossip, but what do you think could be the problem? What could have happened to her that makes her so closed out?”

Arabella’s ears twitch as she gives a loose smile. “We all have our stories. I can’t answer that. Look at Gwendolion and Mikko. Myself even. What makes me tick doesn’t make those two tick.”

She regards you for a few seconds and shakes her head. “I couldn’t bare the thought of being with you. My experiences with strangers have been…bad, to say the least. And to me, I saw you as someone that would somehow take advantage of this situation, and instead, we’re talking about how to make your girlfriend open up to you,” she then smiles. Her bright eyes locked onto yours. “Not in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be helping my owner help him with his intimate relationships.”

A sharp release of air leaves your nose. “Well, if it makes you feel any better. I never thought I’d be sharing these concerns with a sub-human.”

Her smile becomes tighter as she tries to fight it. “Thank you for trusting me, master. Really.”

“Do you want to talk about anything?” You offer.

“One girl at a time,” Arabella stands up. “Help Delilah first. I’ll keep watching over the twins.”