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It was surreal. She knew she was there, fingers dancing on the keyboard and sweat dripping down her brow. It was like a daydream where everything moved slowly and you can see every angle of the scene and the colors blurred and sharpened at random. She could hear the soft, quiet puffs of breath behind her, well aware of the eyes that were critically checking every movement of her hand and the split-second pauses that she took. The music blurred and she slipped. A clash, a noise... It was no longer music. And, green eyes flashed mockingly as she stopped and froze.

She was never really very good at this.

Virulent brown eyes settled themselves on the Paragon, the every epitome of perfection that was Reuben Hoffman. That was the last of the musical scores that she had been repeating for countless hours and yet, she still couldn't get it. The sixteenth notes were too much, the tempo was too difficult to match up to, and everything was just a jumble of notes and rests. Hoffman had mastered the piece in his first play-through. Imagine that? All he did was just sit on the stool, place his long, tapered fingers on the piano and everything flowed perfectly. Perfectly.

"Damn it..." she cursed as the sound of wood banging and paper flying filled the room. Soon, the clatter of her heels and a door being slammed followed. Frustration was really starting to become her thing.

Art is never finished, there's always something you want to tweak. That's why deadlines exist, to help you walk away from it.