I did another drabble for Friday flash, but not sure it makes any sense.
The fey gates were a glory of marble.
She settled herself and her instrument before it. She would show them. The gates would open.
The bow was heavy in her right hand; she rested her left fingers on the strings. She fixed her eyes on the gate.
Long harsh notes sang out from the violin. Her voice filled the air. She flung music at the gates like sharp blades. Her hands stung, but she dismissed it.
Her voice rose in the final crescendo. A gate broke, showering her with stone pieces. Her blood stained the ground like a broken promise.