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Day 0: The Second Ploy

Aa px

"Don't let them know."


As the chilly autumn air blew through the streets of the city. Above the howling winds and the noise of traffic, a melodious voice could be heard.

Spirat anguis inter flores et colores explicando tegit fel.

It was late October, three days before the annual Starlight Festival. The streets were busy with its inhabitants getting ready for the week long holiday ahead of them. From toddlers to grandparents, lawyers to teachers, priests to monks. Everyone was preparing for the most celebrated event of the year.

All, but one.

A young boy stood at the street corner, with his eyes closed, singing his heart out to the point it could rival even the angels above. Though melodious, it carried an extremely sad undertone to it. It cried of pain and suffering, a huge contrast to everything that was going on.

Sed occulto factus ore homo demens in amore saepe lambit quasi mel.

Thunder rumbled through the air, reminding the citizens below of the wrath the sky was waiting to unleash upon the earth below. The young boy continued to sing, going higher and higher, the tone getting angrier and more vivid. Right up until the moment where the first raindrop fell.

Nulla in mundo pax sincera sine felle.

The boy looked up at the sky and opened his eye, the other being bandaged. He raised his hand into the air as he held out the last note, as the sky broke its banks.

He kept his hand outstretched as if waiting for someone to rescue him as the downpour drenched everything exposed. Everyone hurried to get out of the rain as this lone boy kept looking upwards for his saviour.

Everyone was oblivious but he knew.

He knew that this year, there was going to be a Starlight Festival that no one would forget.


The Latin lyrics were taken from Nulla in mundo pax sincera, a motet by Antonio Vivaldi. The lyrics captured the feeling I was trying to get portray in this chapter. The English translation for the lyrics used in this chapter is below.

The serpent's hiss conceals its venom, as it uncoils itself among blossoms and beauty. But with a furtive touch of the lips,  a man maddened by love  will often kiss as if licking honey.  In this world there is no honest peace free from bitterness; pure and true.

You can listen to a rendition of the motet from Awet Andemicael and the Sebastians.


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