Masiro Vilende

[Exile]

He was always playing on his piano in the back of his chambers when i came by to visit him. An old, fragile piano. He wasn't all that good at it, but that never mattered to him. It reflected his body, but not his soul, he always told me. No, his soul was reflected by the one song he could play. The one song he wrote himself. He titled it love. After the one mission he failed. The one failure his life had known.

Masiro Vilende past on recently. At the fine age of 102 years old. He left me, Elisabeth Vilende, his grand grand daughter, his most prized treasure of all. The instrument that kept him alive through all these years, the keeper of his soul, his piano. Along with it, a few simple word whispered gently into my ear. Never let something good get away from you, never, he said.

I never dared to touch the piano. I was afraid it might break, that it is too old to be played. My mother always says that, the piano died with him. As if they were, and are, connected. But no, i wouldn't accept that. Masiro, would never want it to remain untouched by the fingers of his family.

Not two days ago, I opened it. I raised the wing, and what I found there we're not mere tones and instruments, no. What i found there was of far greater value. An old, forgotten book. One that Masiro never hoped that anyone would find, except me. And within this book, was written down on the crumbling pages, the tale of his failure. Of the one time, he didn't win.

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