will reveal itself over time, once you start playing the Moon Melody. You want to get better, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Dany replied with hope.
The Treasurer spoke in a serious tone:
“Then trust me. This violin will help you. And I’ll take your old one and care for it. Agreed?” he added, his voice softening.
For a moment, Dany hesitated, looking at his old violin lying on the table beside him. Its worn body and frayed strings, once so familiar and dear, now seemed too plain, too ordinary to hold the power to fulfill his dream.
In the end, Dany swallowed hard and nodded:
“All right… if it will help…”
He handed the old violin to the Treasurer, who barely managed to hide his triumph. With careful, almost reverent movements, he took the instrument, his fingers brushing over its worn surface as if cradling a treasure.
Concealing his satisfied smile, the Treasurer praised Dany:
“You’ve made the right choice, my boy. Now, keep playing, and your wish will surely come true.”
The Treasurer left Dany’s house, clutching the violin like the most precious trophy, his steps were quick and triumphant. Meanwhile, Dany remained with the new violin, full of hope that his dream would now become a reality. Yet, deep in his heart, something felt wrong. A hollow ache stirred within him – subtle, nameless, but growing. As though he had given away not just violin, but a part of himself.
Chapter 5. DANY’S DESPAIR
That same evening, after the Treasurer had tricked him into giving up his violin, Dany, full of faith in his imminent recovery, took his usual place on the chair by the window, ready to play the Moon Melody.
Holding his new, shiny violin, Dany carefully drew the bow across its strings. The first notes, soft and resonant, emerged from the instrument. The melody, though beautiful, felt foreign to him. It lacked the magic, the warmth, and the mysterious light that had come alive in the sounds of his old violin.
Dany froze, staring down at the violin as if unable to believe what was happening. He ran the bow across the strings again. But the melody remained hollow, devoid of the bright and profound power that had once nourished his hopes.
The boy’s heart tightened. He tried to play the Moon Melody, but the more he tried, the more he felt that this wasn’t the same music. The new violin didn’t respond to his emotions. It played smoothly and flawlessly, but without soul. The sound was ordinary, like any other violin. Desperately, he dragged the bow across the strings once more, but his hands trembled, and the notes broke into a sharp screech. Dany lowered the instrument, tears welling up in his eyes.
“I’ve been tricked,” he thought, feeling a lump rise in his throat. “This violin isn’t magical… which means my dream will never come true, and I’ll never be able to walk…!”
Dany placed the new violin on the table, but now it seemed alien to him, no longer the instrument he had trusted with his dearest wish. With great effort, he moved from the chair to the bed, hugged his pillow, and quietly began to cry. Warm tears, which he could no longer hold back, streamed down his cheeks, soaking the fabric. These weren’t just tears – they were the pain of losing hope, the hope that had lived in his heart for so long.
He thought of his old violin, every note it had played, how it had responded to his touch, how it had helped him believe in miracles. And now it was gone, and with it had gone the spark that had warmed his soul.
It felt as though the whole world had dimmed, turned gray and cold – just like the hollow sound of this new violin.
Chapter 6. THE REVENGE OF THE MAGIC VIOLIN
The Treasurer carried Dany’s violin into his home. Once inside, he locked the door behind him, turning the key with a satisfying click. He clutched the violin tightly in his bony hands, as if afraid someone might snatch it from him even here, in his own domain. But then he exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down:
“Even if the boy quickly realizes I tricked him – what can he do to me? Me, the town’s Treasurer? Nothing. Absolutely nothing!”
He placed the violin gently on a chair in the center of the room. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at its worn body and aged strings – an ordinary instrument, yet it seemed to watch him in return.
“Could such an old thing really hold so much power?” he thought.
“Old or not – it doesn’t matter. What matters is that now it’s mine,” he said to himself, his voice full of smug satisfaction.
The Treasurer sat in his armchair, setting his cane beside him, and rubbed his hands together as he thought:
“If this violin truly possesses magical power, then I can use it to obtain the Moonstrings. And then… then I’ll play the Moon Melody and make my greatest wish come true. Power – absolute power over the town and its people! Everyone, even the burgomaster, will do as I say. No – what burgomaster? I’ll be the burgomaster myself!”
He reached out, took the violin, and cautiously drew the bow across its strings. The sound echoed through the room – unexpectedly loud, almost menacing. He flinched, pulling the bow away, as if the strings had burned his fingers. But then a crooked smile crept across his face.
“Well… Let’s see how your magic works.”
“I wish for the Moonstrings. Let them appear right now.”
He drew the bow across the strings again, and for a moment, the room filled with a sound like a distant whisper of wind. But instead of the coveted strings, old, dry moss mixed with dust and cobwebs rained down from the ceiling. The moss quickly covered his shoulders and arms, lodging itself in the folds of his clothing.
The Treasurer leapt to his feet, furiously brushing the debris off himself.
“What nonsense is this?! This isn’t what I wished for!” he shouted in fury.
He collapsed back into the chair, his chest heaving as he struggled to calm himself.
“Perhaps the violin’s power wasn’t enough to summon the strings. Or perhaps… it required more effort,” thought the Treasurer.
“Money… I’ll start with money. I’ll find the Catchers of the Moonstrings and pay them to retrieve the strings for me.”
He gripped the violin tightly, closed his eyes, and made his wish:
“I wish for a lot of money. More money than I could ever count!”
He began to play again, but this time the sound was sluggish and heavy, as if the notes themselves resisted his desire. A moment later, there came a loud, insistent knock at the door.
The treasurer’s head snapped up. He smoothed his hair with a trembling hand and called out:
“Who… who’s there?”
A voice replied from behind the door:
“A messenger, master. Bad news. The carriage transporting your money was attacked by bandits. They took everything – down to the last coin.”
The Treasurer froze. His face turned pale, and his hands clutched the violin so tightly that its strings let out a faint, pitiful twang.
“This can’t be a coincidence. This cursed violin is mocking me!” he cried out in despair.
He hurled the violin onto the table and stepped back, glaring at it with hatred.
“It doesn’t grant wishes – it destroys them! But why? Why is everything going wrong?”
His eyes darted around the room.