I can vividly make out the sound of my steps echoing and bouncing off the looming walls encompassing me, as I slug my way onwards in the darkest of nights. As I walk there, all alone, it is very difficult to keep dark thought at bay. Long shadows are cast along the crooked streets, and I find myself thinking of each slight movement in the shadows as a potential murderer. The violin trembles in my frail embrace as I walk, the chilly wind whispering in my ears, telling me that this is the night I die. Truly a fools errand now that I think about it, why did I accept to be delivering a violin to my master’s friend this late at night, always letting his poor apprentice do his dirty work, who does he think he is. My eyes turn to the violin resting in my arms. It truly is beautiful with all those intricate carvings along the slim head. It cannot hurt to play a note, can it?