Her fingers danced fiercely across the strings, each pluck evoking the feeling of her chest being crucified, showcasing the never-ending story of her neglect, mockery, and torture. The music burned, as if the violin itself were crying in anguish and vexation. Her heart screeched in every movement like fiery passion. The passage mockingly reflected her moral decay. Then in a flash, the second movement began, much quieter, softer, almost like a plea for help. The high notes shivered, almost delicately, like the whisper of an angel. Tears trickled down Jiwon’s cheeks. Her vision was drowned in sorrow, each note laced with softness, almost like grief. She imagined her mother’s dazed look, her father’s disappointment, the jeering faces of those who abused her. She was sinking, asphyxiating, but her hands were still playing. The somber opulence of the piece was like it was begging the world to understand that she was going through pain and needed a savior. The finale erupted like thunder. It was no longer just a competition; it was her final time letting the audience feel what she had gone through. Her heartbeat raced rapidly in a whirlwind of rage as the arpeggios dazzled, evolving into a maelstrom of emotion. Each movement felt like an overflow of every injustice she faced. She felt like she was fighting the spirits of her past. Don’t ever stop, something inside her echoed. You have to finish this. The last note finally came. It froze in the air like a ghost, echoing with intensity throughout the enormous hall, then slowly crumbled into a silent whisper. For a minute, there was nothing. It was as if time had just stopped; not a sound could be heard. The audience then roared, and applause quickly drowned out the entire hall. Screaming, cheering, and even sobbing in their seats. People had witnessed not just a performance but a soul-bounding confession. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was heard.
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