In the thick shade of the great hall an antiquated Victrola's carol pierced the ebon of twilight, something kindred to an aria from Bach's Goldberg Variations ; the single clavier spawning a twinkling pirouette of melody from the hoarse and dated record. The undulating luminescence of the fire stretched along the walls and ceiling, dancing in subservience to the melody, the azure glow filtered as water from an illuminated pool, oscillating her blues in an ill-lit atrium.

Gaunt fingers curled around the bottle of pinot noir, hoisting it to his lips to grace them with the blood-red nectar and swab the remnants with a gentle dab of the back of his hand, closing his sullen eyes to forfeit his nerves and hunger to the innocence of that floating arabesque that artfully invaded the silence.

Gently setting the bottle back on the table, the second variation's con brio incited action. He hoisted his suspenders with an adequate deal of suffering to greet his angular shoulders, the gaping wounds on either of his shoulder-blades percolating a fever of auburn-red. Brunette locks fell into his eyes, sinuous and dirty from a number of days without bathing. He brushed them away casually, gently taking the whetstone from the table with his left and procuring a dull knife from his side with the right. As he slid the edge along the rock, chin pointed downward at his antediluvian dress shoes, he attended to the melody, tapping his foot and humming softly alongside.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64Xb3qiXR9Y