CHAPTER 1
“Sarina, your music is so beautiful that listening to it is like diving into a world of light and stars. It’s truly enchanting. But as unforgettable as it may be, I will never need it to love you.
May you forgive me for that.
I can hear them from here. They’re all waiting for you, Sarina. They’re going to acclaim you, revere you. Your name is now part of history. And who more than me will ever understand how they feel? You already had everything within you, all you had to do was play as you wished.
I will only listen from afar now, but that won’t change anything.
May you finally, from now until the end of time, be free to be yourself.”
Words. Wonderful words. I closed my eyes as I remembered them with nostalgia, even now, after living such a rich and glorious existence, I could still hear them, such beautiful words said with all that this person could be. It was the last thing he dedicated to me before he left.
Now, even though time has passed, ineluctably, and the world has changed, I know that I would always recognize his voice, unique and intoxicating. A very beautiful and mysterious sound, just like him, I will never forget him.
And for better or for worse, I will love him relentlessly, and forever.
Our story began when I thought I had really and definitely hit the bottom of despair, and that my life as it was, was going to be ripped away from me without any feeling. Our love - if I may say so - lasted only a short time. So short that no one will probably ever know. A unique moment stolen from the dust of time, but that would never belong to anyone but me. But he had to know that even if he should one day forget and forget me, I would swear to him that through time and all the prices I would probably have to pay for this infinite attachment, I offered him everything with my heart, and even going beyond this messy and beautiful life he had saved, I would have no regrets.
***
“Who of the prodigious beings who populate the realm of Zideriale, also known as the realm of music, will reach Ozheran, the supreme song, again? It is a question that the whole world has been asking since the triumph of the ice. Exactly one hundred years ago, an abominable sorcerer filled with hatred and vengeance covered the world with a curse in his own image, a sorcerer who was none other than the illegitimate offspring of the king, a being of infinite beauty reached the supreme song and melted the pillars of ice, and broke the sorcerer’s fatal spell that froze half the world. A sublime and mysterious song that originated in the kingdom of Zideriale. However, this beautiful person who defeated the wizard and his curse was never identified or found. The only trace of her passage through the kingdom was a few clumsy words, but written with love.
“To you whom I love Ozheran, I offer the song of the world.”
And ironically, this song was never able to be reproduced, neither in Zideriale nor anywhere else. Only pale imitations without flavor or sparkle had been created, in order to save pride in the face of the failure to perform this marvel. Alas, such a failure was for Zideriale a sign of weakness, which led to the shame although ardently hidden, a powerlessness that they all came to regard as a sin and which stained the world with darkness for a century.
However, with hope still in their hearts, as unalterable as it is foolish, the people of the kingdom of music are still waiting for a second prodigy that would reproduce in its perfect sublimity the song of Ozheran. And one of these prodigies from whom this music was so hoped for...was me. Vahira.
But while my beginnings were prodigious and brilliant, it didn’t take long for life to teach me its rules and cruelly show me the limits of my strength and talent. Disillusioned and disgruntled despite my young age, the hope I had for myself was now a thing of the past.
- I believe that we will leave it there for today Vahira.
- Very well Madam.
I slowly lowered my arms, the black wooden violin in my hands. Then sighing, I put my precious instrument back in its black leather case, the flaps of my red velvet dress streaked with dark gold thread dancing around my slender legs. A light wind blew through the room, caressing my swan’s neck as it was released by my strict bun sitting on top of my head. It was so tight that no strand of hair ever escaped. It had become my official hairstyle for months.
- Vahira,” my teacher began in a decisive voice, “you are talented, disciplined and bold. You have all the qualities that should allow you to reach the top. And you will undoubtedly become one of the legendary stars of Zideriale, and as such your works will become legends and endure for decades.
I turned to my instructor and stared at her with my empty eyes.
- Thank you madam for your compliments, they go straight to my heart. But I can easily guess that these complimentary words are followed by a “but.”
My teacher smiled sadly. Her melancholy face contrasted with her colorful outfit of a brightly colored suit featuring pink, red and orange, and enhanced with light golden dust. Her brown hair was adorned with several small golden clips that matched the buckles of her shoes.
- You are right Vahira, these words are followed by a”but” what pointing out your imperfections. And I know for a fact that you yourself are aware of the problem my child. Your music has no heart.
I shrugged and made a vague gesture with my hand, showing my indifference.
- It doesn’t need it. I like it just the way it is. And if people have a problem with that, well, they just have to listen to something else. And those other things are countless.
Madame Breuneille slowly shook her head in dismay at her student’s atrocious words.
- You can’t talk like that, Vahira.
- Of course I can, I have the right to. But even if I didn’t, I don’t really care.
Her master smiled sadly.
- I’m sorry to hear that, Vahira. You are degrading your talent. And the day will come when it will be irretrievable, with you.
- Don’t worry about it, ma’am, it doesn’t matter. Neither now nor later. Good evening Lady Breuneille.
I walked out of the rehearsal room with dignity. And as I was packing up my things in the private dressing room, the door was not fully closed. Then I heard the words that I had known were true for a long time, but that I still found so hard to realize.
- How sad. Now Vahira’s music is nothing but coldness and mediocre artifice.
- To whom do you say it? It has lost all its light and warmth, and especially that quality that made it so unique. What a great loss.
There were two of them talking in the shadows, two women I had known for a long time, very kind, very open, and above all very critical of the work. True professionals, with a deep sense of duty and the value of the gifts of each person in this environment. That’s why it hurt even more to hear the truth from them.
- She will become a legend, but every person who plays her pieces will feel that walking cold that erects her work. And they will classify it again in the kind of work that one would like to play rarely...
