"Let your minds drift into the world of tales and allow your mouths to spread the word of Fate and Destiny..."
During the carnival season of 1793, the Venetian palace hosts an anonymous masked ball to celebrate the adulthood of the Doge's grandchild...
"Oh, Venice! May Your glory never seize, and Your people never suffer! May the Gods let the cup of tragedy and sorrow pass from those innocent children of Yours!" The strong dramatic voice travelled through the long narrow street echoing in the heads of the unsuspecting pedestrians on their morning promenades. The frosty air of December softly blended with the familiar saltiness from the sea gently biting the exposed skin despite the bright sunshine.
On the large wooden stage stood an awkwardly twisted character whose image appeared detached from the voice filling the surroundings. A tremendous black and white coloured mask covered the visage of the disproportionally small figurine behind it. Its eyes were two black pits so deep, their grounds remained invisible. Two horn-like spikes of matching colour stretched out from the top of the mask toward the sky, each of them ending with a small silver bell, whose soft joyful sound accompanied each of the figurine's light steps over the wooden floor.
"Oh, Venice!" It cried out to the sky, without taking any notice of the scarcely few people gawking at the scene. "At the beginning of times, Fortuna herself blessed your Ancient Houses with her soft lips while the Parcae sang prophetic hymns of their rise and fall." Oddly shrank in itself, the figurine weirdly tilted its head, overlooking the long lane which was only a few corners away from the Piazza San Marco.
Slowly, seemingly pulled by strings like a marionette, the masked figure made its way across the platform. With a heavy thud, it forcefully fell on its knees as if the invisible threads were suddenly cut off with no willpower left to support it anymore. By the whims of nature, a massive dark cloud appeared shielding off the bright sunlight, allowing the gloom greyness to embrace the city with its delicate wings.
"Oh, Venice," the voice soaking in regret brokenly whispered toward the ground. "You bestow the world with immaculate geniuses, but all You get in return is the endless suffering of Your dear children."
Still on its knees, as if accepting its execution, the black-and-white silhouette didn't dare to raise its head. The few odd bystanders stared at the platform in silent fascination, not a single cloud of breath escaping their mouths. Even the distant cry of gulls abruptly stopped reinforcing the tension of the spectacle.
Regaining the intensity in its voice, the figure wrapped its hands around the head vigorously squeezing it. "Brace yourself as the dire hour strikes and Fate epitomises by Parcae's written tragic play. Not for the first time, or the last, bereaving You of another House." It screamed its last words into the sky and finally broke together onto the ground without a single motion.
The time stopped. Each passing second lasted an eternity as the whole world was holding its breath.
Absently, as if fallen into a deep trance, the figurine regained a vertical position on the knees and lapsed into strange singsong, seemingly possessed by the Goddesses of Destiny themselves:
"Bound by Gods to leading new order, In a world latching on to the past, The House built on frankness and honour, Will be destroyed by deception at last.
Doomed vain and heirless to expire, With vision feverishly blurred, An issue of passion, betrayal, and ire, Rerieri'll leave – to rule each its own broken world.
The child of agony and ire Will tumble, to her sibling's fateful knife, Recklessly fulfilling her desire, Though paying for it, with her precious life.
Tormented by the tentacles of anguish, The child of passion'll do the only thing that's right, Leaving her life in hands of Destiny to vanish, Thus putting an end, to the olden fight.
Banished to the merciful exile, The impostor will as only one remain, Escaping justice for a little while, But never claws of terror, guilt, and pain.
The morning'll come, with it - no sunrise, But blissful masquerade and senseless thrill. And only for the Ancient House Rerieri, This mortal world forever will standstill."
Gasping for air and shaking with its entire body, the figurine overlooked once more the almost empty street.
"Oh, Venice," it lovingly addressed the mighty republic for the last time, "pray to Gods they let the cup of tragedy and sorrow pass from the innocent children of Yours."
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***A/N: This chapter contains a poem. Unfortunately, the phone screen is too small for some of the lines and might break them up. For a better flow, I suggest switching to the landscape mode ;) Hope you enjoy it!
