“It is time.” Ferdinand stood and reached under the table. He pulled out a violin case, heavily locked. He had not touched it for many years.
“That is… No!” cried Alberto. “You have told me the stories, how it sang so beautifully. But the curse! You said if you played it even once more, it would claim your very life!”
Ferdinand pulled the key from its chain around his neck. “Yes, my friend. And it is so. But the audience, they have come tonight to hear my final concert. How can I not give them… the magic they ask for?”
Concrete Angel is a Finely Carved Debut
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