A Songbird's Lament

Chapter 10

Author's Note: This chapter has many mentions of [taking ones life], and some mildly sexual content. Here's a warning for that, and more. Please read at your own discretion and if these things upset you, do not read this chapter. You don't need to, I'll probably provide a summary or something similar in the next chapter. 

Also, oh my God, it's been a while. Sorry, I've been pretty busy with school and friends and such. While all that was going on, this chapter was sitting in my doc and there was just one paragraph that I was procrastinating on; if you can guess which, you get a cookie. Anyways, I apologize again for the delay. 

 The 8th of September, 1720. Eleven days earlier in the heart of Napoli, a young soprano simply called 'Il Ragazzo' had made his debut in his teacher's serenata, Angelica. Another soprano, just on the other side of the same city, sat on the edge of a widowed innkeeper's bed. Gabriele's head lay in his hands as he stared down at his bare legs.

Had he reduced himself to this, the lover, or rather, the whore of a rather indebted woman just so he would have a place to sleep at night? All to hear of his former rival and enemy perform at the best theaters in Napoli and beyond. Gabriele wondered if this was his God-given punishment for his envy and pride.

Cold fingers settled on his uncomfortably warm shoulder.

"Thank you, Signor Sanfelice," the innkeeper said, embracing Gabriele's torso with her other arm, "That was a most enjoyable experience,"

"One week?" he replied, shuddering. The spot where his Adam's apple would be bobbed.

'Perhaps if Father had not taken to have me cut, or if Mamma had not allowed him to take me,' Gabriele thought, his memory of the day growing hazy. Perhaps he would be a fisherman, a farmer, a drunk like his father, even a merchant instead of whatever abomination he was now. In his mind's eye, he saw his mother holding his hand, then asleep and uncaring as his father dragged him outside, and abandoned him with a stranger. What a wasted life.

'A castrato who cannot sing is a useless one,'

"Three, if you come tomorrow, or tonight," the innkeeper smiled, planting a kiss on Gabriele's cheek, then tilting his chin to face hers. Her frigid hands went between the soprano's legs and he froze as well for a moment. He desperately racked his brain for an escape, going silent for well over fifteen seconds. Waves of nausea surged over Gabriele, drowning him as it filled his lungs and stung his eyes.

"Mmmm, I am awaiting your response," the innkeeper said, continuing to move her hand and stare into the singer's glassy eyes. She leaned in, trying to kiss him.

"Alright, tomorrow," Gabriele replied shakily, removing the woman's hand from his groin and standing up, evading her lechery. He knew tomorrow would never come.

It had been a decade since that inclement night, the night when he had everything taken from him. Then, he was 9-years old, now he was 19. Gabriele hastily covered his bare skin with his clothes, not knowing whether he shivered because of the cold or disgust. A little over two years since he had left the Conservatorio, and a little over a year since he had begun his current, dreadful arrangement.

"No kiss, castrato mio?" the innkeeper asked, grabbing Gabriele's hand and pulling him into her arms, "My own capon,"

"No, I am afraid you must wait," he replied, standing up and tucking in his shirt again, "I have urgent matters I must attend to,"

In his room, Gabriele unsheathed a knife. The blade glinted, and he quickly sheathed it again, placing it on his bedside table next to a melted candle. It was firmly stuck to the surface beneath it. The soprano's expression betrayed none of his inner turmoil, besides a small furrowing of his dark brow. Tonight would be the night his body died, ten years after his dignity had. In the corner sat a bottle of wine. An empty bottle of wine. His final comfort. Next to it sat a note. He wouldn't even bother with reading it.