"Stringed Soul" By Aiden R

 

In a stille town forgotten by time, there lived once a young child "Dante," born of meager kin. The family did dwell in a cottage that was reckoned out of kilter, with every step causing a creak and the wind's soft sway fashioning a melody as it crept into their dwelling. This melodic voice, heard constantly by Dante, drew his attention more unto music, specifically the harp. Though Dante was a-knowing of his family's dire financial state, he did beg and plead with his father who was a local farmer in vegetables and rye. His father, of course said "No, why squander precious time on such a trifle.” Dante, upon hearing this, had wept his way to the local trees known as “wailing woods.” As he shed off his tears he looked only to realize that he was lost and clearly far from home. With the wind playing its now dreadful tune among the trees, Dante became as nervous as a cat surrounded by barking hounds, for everywhere he turned, an eerie unease whispered through each leaves. This became too much to bear as Dante had swooned from the overwhelming weight of his troubles. Only when Dante had awoken, there he saw a man, his face weathered by age and eyes that spoke no sorrow. Clad in tattered garments that mirrored the twisted trees-a man no doubt, yet more than a man, as his presence only made Dante at unease. The man with a grin asked Dante "What is it thou seek, child?" Only for a fleeting moment was there silence, but the hush was shattered by an unwary Dante. "I seek to play the harp and replicate the sound that was bestowed upon me." The man, whose grin had vanished, accepted to give the harp to Dante but spoke, "On one condition, young seeker. This harp carries melodies woven from the very fabric of souls. Take heed, for every note thou playest shall echo not only in the woods but also within thine own soul. The condition is this: with every string plucked, thou shalt offer a piece of thy soul, a coin in the currency of the unseen, in exchange for the ethereal symphony thou wishes to create." Dante, ignorantly accepting, found himself alone as the man vanished. The promised harp not within his grasp, yet a path, sinister and bathed in an otherworldly glow, revealed itself – a trail known only to those who struck bargains with the man. Dante strolled his way through the malevolent path, unwittingly guided by the devil's influence, his soul weighed with the ominous cost of melodies yet to be played. He soon had reached the end of the trees and beheld home at last. His parents, fraught with worry, began to bombard Dante with questions, the foremost being, "Where have thou been?" Dante, weary from his travels, made no reply and simply returned to his room. In the comfort of his room, he reclined upon his bed, pondering in silence, "Was the man from the trees ever real?" And, "I must've been seeing things. Did he truly vanish with no trace left behind?" Only then did Dante hear a familiar voice, the melodic tones that once played throughout his house. Dante spoke, "Why must I endure this again with no chance of replication?" As he turned around, there it was — the promised harp.