New strings, a polished case, and it was only then she discovered her uncle’s spirit lived on in the violin. The instrument wept tears of resin when she told it of her aunt’s death. That night the strings carved melody from raindrops, sliced moonlight into splinters, whispered chords of regret.
Mark Farley was only too happy to join in with Tamsin Seymour’s lovely idea of writing sequels to each other’s stories. This story is a follow-up to Lost Chords.
How nice that you are doing sequels. And I had somehow missed the Lost Chords story, so thank you for sending me back to read it. Both your stories are lovely.
Thanks
Thanks so much for your kind comments, Jennifer!
Thank you, Jennifer! This sequel idea of Tamsin’s was excellent fun :-)