Rapimento del Profondo
Sofie woke with a start. Her heart raced, and her breathing was ragged. She looked down. Sofie was covered in sweat, and it took a minute for her to get her bearings. She propped herself up on an elbow, and loosened her hair from her cheek.
By touch, Sofie surmised that she lay on the velvet couch in her dressing room. Her head ached, and she felt a little drunk. The room was dark, save for a little light that peeked through a window on the other side of the room. A digital clock display near the window read 11:45am. Sofie yawned. “Time to get moving,” she thought, “Rehearsal’s in two hours.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Yes?” Sofie called out. She sat up.
The door creaked open.
“Miss Weiss?” a tenor voice called. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, no,” Sofie lied, standing up quickly. “Please come in.”
“May I turn on the light?” the tenor voice inquired politely.
Sofie realized just how dark the room was even with the little bit of daylight that streamed through the window. “Oh yes, please do! I’m terribly sorry; I was just- resting my eyes. I’ve been on tour these last six months, so I can scarce remember what day it is, let alone the time.”
There was a click, and a fluorescent light overhead flickered on. Sofie yawned.
A middle-aged man stood in the doorway.
“It’s not a problem at all,” he said with a smile, “I’m Rico Ginastera, the composer you have been emailing these last few months. It’s nice to finally meet you face to face.”
Sofie crossed the room to close the gap between herself and Rico.
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Mister Ginastera. We’re all very excited about tonight’s premier of your concerto. Your music is quite moving.”
“Thank you, Miss Weiss,” he proffered his right hand.
“You can call me Sofie,” she smiled.
They shook hands, and Rico smiled in return.
“Thank you, Sofie. Was your flight to Aspen good?”
“It was, although as I said before, I’m tired. Perhaps dinner last night was just too rich for me. I’ll be fine by this evening.”
“Ah, yes. Americans sure lavish the butter, no? I myself have gained one kilo since I arrived two weeks ago!” Rico joked.
Sofie chuckled, and beckoned Rico to take a seat on the sofa.
“Maestro della Prima said you wished to speak to me?”
“Yes! I did. About that, I had a question about the cadenza in the final movement,” Sofie began, and beckoned the composer to close the door. She crossed over to a piano that stood across from the velvet couch. Pulling out the bench, she took a seat, and opened the score to a page that had been marked with a yellow Post It note near the end. Indicating with her index finger near the bottom of the page, she looked to Rico.
“Maestro and I have not been able to agree on what it is you wish here. There is nothing written for several measures, yet no indication that you wish for me to improvise. Is this the case?”
“What?” Rico said, with alarm. He sat on the bench next to Sofie and pulled out a pair of reading glasses. He put them on so that he could closely read the score. Sure enough, there were four blank measures near the end of the cadenza. No notes, no rests, only words in cursive that read, “We've been transformed into a state of grace.”
“Oh, yes. That!” Rico looked embarrassed. “The editor removed my instructions. I will have to call the publisher this afternoon and see if they can fix that. In the mean time, I’ll explain what it was I wanted. These measures,” he indicated to the blank staff on the page, “is for the soloist to interpret their own transformation. You and the conductor should have some sort of agreement, however. Have the two of you worked on this?”
“The Maestro and myself?” Sofie considered for a moment before she continued. “We have rehearsed it, but we disagree. He speaks of arpeggios, but I think simplicity is the key to grace. Like Mozart, Beethoven, or Copland. Not like Bach or Liszt.”
Rico smiled. “I see. Truly, there is no wrong way, to play this. You are the soloist. You have the final say in the cadenza.”
Sofie gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Rico. I feel much better about the piece.”
“No problem at all,” Rico smiled. “I should see to it that Maestro della Prima is on the same page as you and I. Did you have any other questions before I go?”
“No, that was all. Thank you again.”
“My apologies for the incomplete score,” Rico said with a smile. He tapped his head when he continued, “My editor does not always catch my mistakes.”
Sofie laughed. Rico bade farewell, and Sofie sat at the piano to warm up for the dress rehearsal.
*** ***
Dress rehearsal call time for Sofie was 2pm. She opened the door of her dressing room at 1:45, and set off down the corridor to the stage. Since she had extra time, Sofie decided that a little chat with the Maestro before rehearsal about the cadenza was necessary, just to make sure they were on the same page.
The dressing room door was slightly ajar. Sofie knocked, and then decided to peek inside to see if the Maestro was in the room. The main room was empty, save for a baton and several music scores, which sat on a piano.
“Hello? It’s me, Sofie. Do you have a moment?” she called.
Sofie heard a low moan from the adjoining bathroom. Her head began to hurt again, and she stumbled across the room. After she regained her balance, she took a deep breath, and pressed forward.
“Maestro?” Sofie crept forward toward the bathroom door. “Arturo? Is everything okay?”
Another moan, a little louder this time, emanated from the bathroom. The pain in Sofie’s head intensified, and she swooned.
The voice from the bathroom grew louder, “Oh così buono!”
The bathroom door swung open, and Sofie fainted.
*** *** ***
At a quarter to six, Sofie stood next to the stage doors with a perplexed expression on her face. She couldn’t remember anything that happened after she left her dressing room for rehearsal. Her head hurt quite a bit for some reason, just as it had before Rico came to visit her. She assured John, the house manager, that she could still play the concerto that evening. John handed her a glass of water and suggested that Sofie use the oxygen tank before the performance.
“Since Aspen is nearly 8000 feet above sea level, it is not uncommon for many of our guest performers to suffer from altitude sickness, which is Colorado’s version of a ‘case of the bends,’” John informed her. “Don’t worry, we’ll have a medic here in the wings should you need one.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sofie said, “Thank you.”
Sofie breathed from the oxygen mask and sipped at the water. She knew this wasn’t a case of the bends. She had experienced that before while on holiday once years before, having suffered from an acute case while scuba diving in Hawaii. It was an unforgettable, horrible experience overall.
This was different. But was it altitude sickness? Sofie felt drunk and short of breath, which were both symptoms of altitude sickness. Yet the absurdity of the very idea made her laugh. Sofie had traveled to Aspen before without incident. She just couldn’t pin point why this visit was different.
“How could I lose nearly four hours?” Sofie asked John. It was this that troubled her. Memory gaps from this afternoon, this morning, the whole thing was odd.
“It happens from time to time. Perhaps you were just a little too absorbed in your post rehearsal practice session this afternoon,” he admonished.
“Or Maestro Prima,” someone heckled from behind. “They were locked away for at least-”
“Shush! What goes on during private rehearsals, is not your concern!” Concertmistress Lisa hissed at the heckler before approaching Sofie. “You sound lovely, and it’s a pleasure performing with you again. Are you feeling better?”
Sofie smiled weakly. “Yes, thank you,” she replied.
Arturo’s hand gently touched her shoulder. She looked up, smiled, and he smiled in return.
“Are you okay, Miss Weiss? I was worried about you after this afternoon.”
“I- uh,” Sofie hesitated, “I’m fine, but honestly don’t remember much from this afternoon. And you?”
“Perfetto,” Arturo smiled broadly. He winked.
Sofie suddenly found herself ill at ease, yet she dismissed the feeling as pre concert jitters. Sofie took one last deep breath before she removed the oxygen mask, and a long drink of water. She stood and focused on Rico’s concerto. When her mind stilled itself, she nodded.
“I’m ready, Maestro.” Sofie smiled.
The stage door opened; conductor and pianist entered the stage to take their places in front of the orchestra. Sofie sat at the bench; and Arturo ascended to the podium.
Lifting his baton, all eyes were on him, instruments at the ready. Glancing over his left shoulder, he saw Sofie Weiss, staring with the intensity of a bird of prey. He smiled, and then gave an impassioned downbeat to Rico Ginastera’s “Concerto per Pianoforte: Rapimento del Profondo.”
****
The orchestra began with a lively introduction before the piano joined for a duet. Rico Ginastera’s love for lively rhythms was evident, and the audience danced in their seats.
Sofie settled into the music easily. Her head was clear and the music spoke to her. The danceable ostinatos between the piano and trumpets were fresh to the ears of the audience. She played a pattern of triplets while the trumpets and violins sailed on a cloud of chromatic melodies before the trombones, celli and drums joined soon after.
As the music died down to a piano, Sofie began the first cadenza of the concerto. The improvised solo was a magnificent marriage of the opening melody with bold jazz harmony. Rico beamed from the front row at Sofie who was buried in a sea of musical oblivion. Her eyes closed as she came to the end of her cadenza.
“Così buono!” she heard Arturo shout in her mind. Her head throbbed. The bathroom door burst open, and Sofie opened her eyes to give the conductor a cue. Their eyes met, and she shivered slightly.
Arturo della Prima waved his baton to cue the orchestra.
What was that just now? Sofie wondered to herself. Never mind. I must focus!
She regained her focus just in time for the ending of the first movement, odd moment was forgotten.
The second movement was a pastoral piece, and time moved slowly. The music beckoned the listener to come to a place where time forgot, and the hills rolled along a nearby pasture. The movement was very easy to play, and it was because of this that Sofie’s mind began to wander.
She imagined herself at a countryside dinner where her friends surrounded her. They toasted to world premieres and concert tours to come. Her husband came out onto the veranda to join the group with glasses of red wine. He offered one to Sofie, and as Sofie graciously accepted the drink, his face came into focus. It was familiar, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight, but she did not know him.
Then as the melody swelled to the climax of the movement, the dream husband smiled at Sofie. However, it was not the warm, endearing smile one gives to a loving wife. Rather, it was a cold and lecherous smile of a peeping tom. As the smile grew and the man’s face came into focus, she realized the face was that of Arturo.
Sofie shuddered, and she was back in the concert hall. The second movement was over, ending on a soft minor chord. Soloist and orchestra lingered in a pause between that chord and the next movement. Sofie wiped the sweat off of her brow, relieved to be in the present, and not in some twisted dream. She looked to the podium, and made eye contact with Arturo. He nodded, and began the final movement of the concerto.
Nothing to worry about, Sofie thought to herself. When the music festival ended, she was going to go home and catch up on some much needed sleep.
Sofie immersed herself into the music. She played out the rapid rhythms and melodies with precision and grace. Colors of blue and purple danced around behind her eyes as she danced in keys of D and E-flat. When the final cadenza came, she was ready to shine.
Sofie began with a glissando that reached down to a low D trill. Next, came the tremolo with the left hand an octave below. The right hand chimed a diminished chord, a sound that signaled distress in the music. Sofie’s head exploded with pain.
The bathroom door opened, and he stood smiling. His smile was cold and creepy. Behind him, a phone lay with a photo of her in a half state of undress. “Maestro? What have you done?”
Sofie ignored the pain in her head. This cadenza must play out. The tremolo erupted into a series of diminished arpeggios that scattered across the keyboard from left to right. Another arpeggio followed from the bass, up a half step. Higher…
“So good, and now Miss Weiss, you’re here. Come! Play arpeggios with me,” he said.
The next chord rang like a bell. The arpeggio started from an E this time, and proceeded to the highest point possible.
“What the hell?” Sofie thought.
Ascending by thirds, the arcs continued from an F, then an F-sharp.
“Ti desidero, Principessa.” His arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome. The heat from his body was palpable from where she stood.
“I have to go,” she murmured softly.
A G major chord rippled across the keyboard, followed by the g-minor with a seventh.
“Ardo di amore per te. There is no rush, Sofie.” He closed the gap between them. His presence was overwhelming. Oh God, was he completely naked?
Sofie played the E-flat arpeggio that would in Rico Ginastera’s eyes, show the audience the music’s transformation into a ‘state of grace.’ The final notes lingered like a twinkling star.
“I assure you, you are my type, Principessa.” Arturo said ever so gently. His arms encircled her gently, and he kissed her tenderly. Sofie softened at this touch, yet her mind panicked at the events that played out.
“Ahh, my princess. It was meant to be, you see? No, this is no dream.”
The audience leapt to their feet before Maestro Arturo della Prima set the baton down on the podium. Sofie rose from the bench, shaken by her strange reverie. The members of the orchestra jumped to their feet, and Rico Ginastera came to the stage.
As is the tradition, Sofie approached the podium to exchange congratulations with the conductor. They shook hands, and then they turned to the audience to take their bows. As they stood side by side, the Maestro leaned in to whisper in Sofie’s ear.
“Bravissimo, Miss Weiss! Così buono, Principessa.”
Author notes: While fictitious, Rico Ginastera is a distant relative of real famous Argentinian composer, Alberto Ginastera.
This week is an intersection week, where I worked with the lovely and very talented xo_kizzy_xo. You can read her story here.
Special thanks to my proof readers neonyellow7, amandalor, and zedmanauk.
By touch, Sofie surmised that she lay on the velvet couch in her dressing room. Her head ached, and she felt a little drunk. The room was dark, save for a little light that peeked through a window on the other side of the room. A digital clock display near the window read 11:45am. Sofie yawned. “Time to get moving,” she thought, “Rehearsal’s in two hours.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Yes?” Sofie called out. She sat up.
The door creaked open.
“Miss Weiss?” a tenor voice called. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, no,” Sofie lied, standing up quickly. “Please come in.”
“May I turn on the light?” the tenor voice inquired politely.
Sofie realized just how dark the room was even with the little bit of daylight that streamed through the window. “Oh yes, please do! I’m terribly sorry; I was just- resting my eyes. I’ve been on tour these last six months, so I can scarce remember what day it is, let alone the time.”
There was a click, and a fluorescent light overhead flickered on. Sofie yawned.
A middle-aged man stood in the doorway.
“It’s not a problem at all,” he said with a smile, “I’m Rico Ginastera, the composer you have been emailing these last few months. It’s nice to finally meet you face to face.”
Sofie crossed the room to close the gap between herself and Rico.
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Mister Ginastera. We’re all very excited about tonight’s premier of your concerto. Your music is quite moving.”
“Thank you, Miss Weiss,” he proffered his right hand.
“You can call me Sofie,” she smiled.
They shook hands, and Rico smiled in return.
“Thank you, Sofie. Was your flight to Aspen good?”
“It was, although as I said before, I’m tired. Perhaps dinner last night was just too rich for me. I’ll be fine by this evening.”
“Ah, yes. Americans sure lavish the butter, no? I myself have gained one kilo since I arrived two weeks ago!” Rico joked.
Sofie chuckled, and beckoned Rico to take a seat on the sofa.
“Maestro della Prima said you wished to speak to me?”
“Yes! I did. About that, I had a question about the cadenza in the final movement,” Sofie began, and beckoned the composer to close the door. She crossed over to a piano that stood across from the velvet couch. Pulling out the bench, she took a seat, and opened the score to a page that had been marked with a yellow Post It note near the end. Indicating with her index finger near the bottom of the page, she looked to Rico.
“Maestro and I have not been able to agree on what it is you wish here. There is nothing written for several measures, yet no indication that you wish for me to improvise. Is this the case?”
“What?” Rico said, with alarm. He sat on the bench next to Sofie and pulled out a pair of reading glasses. He put them on so that he could closely read the score. Sure enough, there were four blank measures near the end of the cadenza. No notes, no rests, only words in cursive that read, “We've been transformed into a state of grace.”
“Oh, yes. That!” Rico looked embarrassed. “The editor removed my instructions. I will have to call the publisher this afternoon and see if they can fix that. In the mean time, I’ll explain what it was I wanted. These measures,” he indicated to the blank staff on the page, “is for the soloist to interpret their own transformation. You and the conductor should have some sort of agreement, however. Have the two of you worked on this?”
“The Maestro and myself?” Sofie considered for a moment before she continued. “We have rehearsed it, but we disagree. He speaks of arpeggios, but I think simplicity is the key to grace. Like Mozart, Beethoven, or Copland. Not like Bach or Liszt.”
Rico smiled. “I see. Truly, there is no wrong way, to play this. You are the soloist. You have the final say in the cadenza.”
Sofie gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Rico. I feel much better about the piece.”
“No problem at all,” Rico smiled. “I should see to it that Maestro della Prima is on the same page as you and I. Did you have any other questions before I go?”
“No, that was all. Thank you again.”
“My apologies for the incomplete score,” Rico said with a smile. He tapped his head when he continued, “My editor does not always catch my mistakes.”
Sofie laughed. Rico bade farewell, and Sofie sat at the piano to warm up for the dress rehearsal.
*** ***
Dress rehearsal call time for Sofie was 2pm. She opened the door of her dressing room at 1:45, and set off down the corridor to the stage. Since she had extra time, Sofie decided that a little chat with the Maestro before rehearsal about the cadenza was necessary, just to make sure they were on the same page.
The dressing room door was slightly ajar. Sofie knocked, and then decided to peek inside to see if the Maestro was in the room. The main room was empty, save for a baton and several music scores, which sat on a piano.
“Hello? It’s me, Sofie. Do you have a moment?” she called.
Sofie heard a low moan from the adjoining bathroom. Her head began to hurt again, and she stumbled across the room. After she regained her balance, she took a deep breath, and pressed forward.
“Maestro?” Sofie crept forward toward the bathroom door. “Arturo? Is everything okay?”
Another moan, a little louder this time, emanated from the bathroom. The pain in Sofie’s head intensified, and she swooned.
The voice from the bathroom grew louder, “Oh così buono!”
The bathroom door swung open, and Sofie fainted.
*** *** ***
At a quarter to six, Sofie stood next to the stage doors with a perplexed expression on her face. She couldn’t remember anything that happened after she left her dressing room for rehearsal. Her head hurt quite a bit for some reason, just as it had before Rico came to visit her. She assured John, the house manager, that she could still play the concerto that evening. John handed her a glass of water and suggested that Sofie use the oxygen tank before the performance.
“Since Aspen is nearly 8000 feet above sea level, it is not uncommon for many of our guest performers to suffer from altitude sickness, which is Colorado’s version of a ‘case of the bends,’” John informed her. “Don’t worry, we’ll have a medic here in the wings should you need one.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sofie said, “Thank you.”
Sofie breathed from the oxygen mask and sipped at the water. She knew this wasn’t a case of the bends. She had experienced that before while on holiday once years before, having suffered from an acute case while scuba diving in Hawaii. It was an unforgettable, horrible experience overall.
This was different. But was it altitude sickness? Sofie felt drunk and short of breath, which were both symptoms of altitude sickness. Yet the absurdity of the very idea made her laugh. Sofie had traveled to Aspen before without incident. She just couldn’t pin point why this visit was different.
“How could I lose nearly four hours?” Sofie asked John. It was this that troubled her. Memory gaps from this afternoon, this morning, the whole thing was odd.
“It happens from time to time. Perhaps you were just a little too absorbed in your post rehearsal practice session this afternoon,” he admonished.
“Or Maestro Prima,” someone heckled from behind. “They were locked away for at least-”
“Shush! What goes on during private rehearsals, is not your concern!” Concertmistress Lisa hissed at the heckler before approaching Sofie. “You sound lovely, and it’s a pleasure performing with you again. Are you feeling better?”
Sofie smiled weakly. “Yes, thank you,” she replied.
Arturo’s hand gently touched her shoulder. She looked up, smiled, and he smiled in return.
“Are you okay, Miss Weiss? I was worried about you after this afternoon.”
“I- uh,” Sofie hesitated, “I’m fine, but honestly don’t remember much from this afternoon. And you?”
“Perfetto,” Arturo smiled broadly. He winked.
Sofie suddenly found herself ill at ease, yet she dismissed the feeling as pre concert jitters. Sofie took one last deep breath before she removed the oxygen mask, and a long drink of water. She stood and focused on Rico’s concerto. When her mind stilled itself, she nodded.
“I’m ready, Maestro.” Sofie smiled.
The stage door opened; conductor and pianist entered the stage to take their places in front of the orchestra. Sofie sat at the bench; and Arturo ascended to the podium.
Lifting his baton, all eyes were on him, instruments at the ready. Glancing over his left shoulder, he saw Sofie Weiss, staring with the intensity of a bird of prey. He smiled, and then gave an impassioned downbeat to Rico Ginastera’s “Concerto per Pianoforte: Rapimento del Profondo.”
****
The orchestra began with a lively introduction before the piano joined for a duet. Rico Ginastera’s love for lively rhythms was evident, and the audience danced in their seats.
Sofie settled into the music easily. Her head was clear and the music spoke to her. The danceable ostinatos between the piano and trumpets were fresh to the ears of the audience. She played a pattern of triplets while the trumpets and violins sailed on a cloud of chromatic melodies before the trombones, celli and drums joined soon after.
As the music died down to a piano, Sofie began the first cadenza of the concerto. The improvised solo was a magnificent marriage of the opening melody with bold jazz harmony. Rico beamed from the front row at Sofie who was buried in a sea of musical oblivion. Her eyes closed as she came to the end of her cadenza.
“Così buono!” she heard Arturo shout in her mind. Her head throbbed. The bathroom door burst open, and Sofie opened her eyes to give the conductor a cue. Their eyes met, and she shivered slightly.
Arturo della Prima waved his baton to cue the orchestra.
What was that just now? Sofie wondered to herself. Never mind. I must focus!
She regained her focus just in time for the ending of the first movement, odd moment was forgotten.
The second movement was a pastoral piece, and time moved slowly. The music beckoned the listener to come to a place where time forgot, and the hills rolled along a nearby pasture. The movement was very easy to play, and it was because of this that Sofie’s mind began to wander.
She imagined herself at a countryside dinner where her friends surrounded her. They toasted to world premieres and concert tours to come. Her husband came out onto the veranda to join the group with glasses of red wine. He offered one to Sofie, and as Sofie graciously accepted the drink, his face came into focus. It was familiar, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight, but she did not know him.
Then as the melody swelled to the climax of the movement, the dream husband smiled at Sofie. However, it was not the warm, endearing smile one gives to a loving wife. Rather, it was a cold and lecherous smile of a peeping tom. As the smile grew and the man’s face came into focus, she realized the face was that of Arturo.
Sofie shuddered, and she was back in the concert hall. The second movement was over, ending on a soft minor chord. Soloist and orchestra lingered in a pause between that chord and the next movement. Sofie wiped the sweat off of her brow, relieved to be in the present, and not in some twisted dream. She looked to the podium, and made eye contact with Arturo. He nodded, and began the final movement of the concerto.
Nothing to worry about, Sofie thought to herself. When the music festival ended, she was going to go home and catch up on some much needed sleep.
Sofie immersed herself into the music. She played out the rapid rhythms and melodies with precision and grace. Colors of blue and purple danced around behind her eyes as she danced in keys of D and E-flat. When the final cadenza came, she was ready to shine.
Sofie began with a glissando that reached down to a low D trill. Next, came the tremolo with the left hand an octave below. The right hand chimed a diminished chord, a sound that signaled distress in the music. Sofie’s head exploded with pain.
The bathroom door opened, and he stood smiling. His smile was cold and creepy. Behind him, a phone lay with a photo of her in a half state of undress. “Maestro? What have you done?”
Sofie ignored the pain in her head. This cadenza must play out. The tremolo erupted into a series of diminished arpeggios that scattered across the keyboard from left to right. Another arpeggio followed from the bass, up a half step. Higher…
“So good, and now Miss Weiss, you’re here. Come! Play arpeggios with me,” he said.
The next chord rang like a bell. The arpeggio started from an E this time, and proceeded to the highest point possible.
“What the hell?” Sofie thought.
Ascending by thirds, the arcs continued from an F, then an F-sharp.
“Ti desidero, Principessa.” His arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome. The heat from his body was palpable from where she stood.
“I have to go,” she murmured softly.
A G major chord rippled across the keyboard, followed by the g-minor with a seventh.
“Ardo di amore per te. There is no rush, Sofie.” He closed the gap between them. His presence was overwhelming. Oh God, was he completely naked?
Sofie played the E-flat arpeggio that would in Rico Ginastera’s eyes, show the audience the music’s transformation into a ‘state of grace.’ The final notes lingered like a twinkling star.
“I assure you, you are my type, Principessa.” Arturo said ever so gently. His arms encircled her gently, and he kissed her tenderly. Sofie softened at this touch, yet her mind panicked at the events that played out.
“Ahh, my princess. It was meant to be, you see? No, this is no dream.”
The audience leapt to their feet before Maestro Arturo della Prima set the baton down on the podium. Sofie rose from the bench, shaken by her strange reverie. The members of the orchestra jumped to their feet, and Rico Ginastera came to the stage.
As is the tradition, Sofie approached the podium to exchange congratulations with the conductor. They shook hands, and then they turned to the audience to take their bows. As they stood side by side, the Maestro leaned in to whisper in Sofie’s ear.
“Bravissimo, Miss Weiss! Così buono, Principessa.”
Author notes: While fictitious, Rico Ginastera is a distant relative of real famous Argentinian composer, Alberto Ginastera.
This week is an intersection week, where I worked with the lovely and very talented xo_kizzy_xo. You can read her story here.
Special thanks to my proof readers neonyellow7, amandalor, and zedmanauk.