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For my fifth year of artistic training (in my 9th year of life) my mother arranged to have one of the best voice instructors on Davo come to train me. He had been a vocal instructor for mother long ago and was renowned for his knowledge of opera. The gift was little different then any other I had received or at least it seemed so at the time. He died a year after I had started training with him.
My mother was devastated by his death. She stopped smiling, stopped singing, she just sat on the balcony and cried. For months she was inconsolable. She still has not gotten over his death even 14 years later.
I have my suspicions now as an adult why she took his death so badly. I have a portrait of him that he gave to me as a gift. He had the deepest brown eyes, sandy red hair and skin of coppery golden hue. I often look in the mirror at my features so strikingly different then the head of our house, the man I call father. My chestnut eyes and sandy red hair, my skin the same coppery hue as the long dead man in the portrait and I wonder why I look as I do. I wonder if my mother knew he was dying. I wonder if the rumors I hear are true. I think my mother asked him to train me so that I could meet the man who was my true father once before he died.
I doubt I will ever know if my suspicion is true. Deljah can not even say his name without breaking down into tears that last for hours. If he was my father this then would be the most unique gift I have ever received.
Cross posted to![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
theatrical_muse
For my fifth year of artistic training (in my 9th year of life) my mother arranged to have one of the best voice instructors on Davo come to train me. He had been a vocal instructor for mother long ago and was renowned for his knowledge of opera. The gift was little different then any other I had received or at least it seemed so at the time. He died a year after I had started training with him.
My mother was devastated by his death. She stopped smiling, stopped singing, she just sat on the balcony and cried. For months she was inconsolable. She still has not gotten over his death even 14 years later.
I have my suspicions now as an adult why she took his death so badly. I have a portrait of him that he gave to me as a gift. He had the deepest brown eyes, sandy red hair and skin of coppery golden hue. I often look in the mirror at my features so strikingly different then the head of our house, the man I call father. My chestnut eyes and sandy red hair, my skin the same coppery hue as the long dead man in the portrait and I wonder why I look as I do. I wonder if my mother knew he was dying. I wonder if the rumors I hear are true. I think my mother asked him to train me so that I could meet the man who was my true father once before he died.
I doubt I will ever know if my suspicion is true. Deljah can not even say his name without breaking down into tears that last for hours. If he was my father this then would be the most unique gift I have ever received.
Cross posted to
theatrical_muse
