Teardrops

When the bell in the minaret summoned me to prayer, I left him alone in a familiar cloud of sickly fragrance. Presently my prayers were disturbed by the melancholy playing of his violin, and in spite of my religious obligations I found myself listening transfixed.
All the grief in the world seemed to be distilled through those soft, vibrant notes.
It was as though the devil himself wept teardrops of pure sound.
-Nadir, from Phantom by Susan Kay