THE GRIM BALLAD OF GAIA, tom riddle

𝗈𝗍𝗍𝗈

─── ❀ ───

When darkness is asleep, all that is left to watch over the world is time. For even though the sun and moon may rise in the east and set in the west, bidding goodbye to every soul that wanders, dead or alive, it was the only entity of our universe that was always there when we thought it too had set.

One could say that Fiero Merotti was Time in and of itself, for when others thought he was tucked under the heavy duvet in his bedroom, dreaming of his future and his desires, in actuality, the young man found himself playing the piano in the comfort of his home. Milky-white beams would pour through his opened window, casting a luminous glaze over the harsh ebony of the ancient grand piano that he had somehow shoved into the corner of his appartamento. For hours the boy would play, fingers dancing around ivory keys, his eyes sealing him into the vision of his detailed reveries of sparkling lakes, hummingbirds, and sobbing moons that would caress his mind in a salve of pure peace.

He had learned to play the eurythmic instrument as a young boy, and he could still recall the days where his feet couldn't reach the pedals. His interest in the piano peaked when he would listen to his nonno play at night when he thought Fiero was asleep, eyes widening in deep admiration for the dulcet tunes that hummed through the silent moonlit night. The young boy would sit near the study room's door, one ocean blue eye pulling in ariose tides to his attentive ears, lulling him to sleep as if he were adrift at sea. Yet, even in his deep slumber, the sound of his nonno's piano sunk into the sea of his dreams, rocking him on a mellow moon tide.

Though, at the end of his nonno's playing, the older man would find young Fiero curled up by the door, the whistling of his soft snores mimicking that of the song previously played.

For years, Fiero's nonno would teach him how to play, sometimes even until gold exchanged places with black in the sky."Come stavo, nonno?" Fiero asked, young hopeful eyes gazing up at his nonno, searching for an opinion on his abilities, possibly even a compliment.

But the old man just stood, wrinkled and veined fingers playing with the tuft of silver on his chin, playing with the strands as if he was twirling moonlight in wondrous reels. And then he shrugged, saying, "Could be better."

Fiero's body fell limp, and melancholy filled his heart, engulfing him in disappointment. "What was wrong about it? Did I play out of tune-"

"You-"

"-Was the flow of the song not-"

His nonno quickly snapped his fingers in front of Fiero's face to get him to be quiet, an austere expression stamped onto his face that held the tale of his long life between salient wrinkles and dotting freckles. "Stop rambling, bambino, and maybe I can tell you what you did wrong." Fiero made a pretend zipping motion against his closed mouth, twisting an imaginary key at the end to symbolize his promised silence. His nonno continued, "Bene, now keep it shut until I permit you to speak." He began to walk towards the open window before looking back over his shoulder, "Are you just going to sit there all clueless, or are you going to follow me?"

Fiero immediately stumbled to his feet, the legs of the duet screeching against the wood flooring. He followed his nonno to the window, leaning against the ledge to allow the autumn wind to patter against his face, sending a chill down his spine. The city outside was absorbed in twilight's breath, street and house lights flickering like ailing fireflies to counter the darkness in twinkling heartbeats and scintillating wings — a balance between the spirits.

"What do you see?" His nonno questioned, awaiting an answer. When he didn't receive one, he rolled his eyes — they too were an entrancing azure like Fiero's, "Parla, bambino." He ordered, throwing up his hands slightly from where they drooped over the ledge.