Melody Trumpet chapter sampler

Her fingers traced over the pewter dishes filled with trinkets and jewels, and the collection of peculiarly shaped perfume bottles — and paused on a small burgundy bottle with dimpled edges and a thick tassel. It had been a gift from her father on the night her mother was honoured with her third Most Outstanding Performer Award. Melody remembered the evening well. She’d been sent to her own wing for the night, as usual, but had snuck out to sit on the top step of the staircase to watch her parents leave for the party in her mother’s honour. ‘I spray just a smidge, my handsome poppyseed,’ Melody remembered her mother telling her father. ‘Just enough to leave people wanting more.’ Melody held the perfume bottle above her, just like she’d seen her mother do, and spritzed the air with two hard bursts. Her nose wrinkled as the smell of roses filled the room. Spluttering, she walked through the scented mist. On her mother’s bedside table stood a black-and- white photo of a younger Viola Trumpet on stage at the International Music Awards, her arms filled with trophies. Mr Trumpet was in the background, beaming with pride and holding a number of trophies of his own. The photo wasn’t colour, but Melody knew the trophies were gold. For the Trumpets, the trophies were always gold.

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