Pieta
Legacy Name: Pieta

For what you can find in the books, you might already know that Pietà is a subject in Christian art depicting the Virgin Mary cradling the dead body of Jesus.

Want to know the real story behind The Pietà?
Well, allow me introduce myself, my name is Pietà. Yes, you read that right. Pietà as in The Pietà.

Do not astound yourself so much, Pietà is just a common name, a name that was given to me by my, let's say, demiurge...
You were given a name, your mom was given a name, your dad was given a name and I bet you've given a name to someone too. No big deal, right?
I am barely about a million or two years old, I stopped counting after the 7th century to be honest, but that's not important for the story, I just wanted you to know a little bit more about myself.
Yourself? You'll have time to tell me about yourself when you die so sit down and listen for what I am about to say might change the way you see The Pietà.
AND IT'D BETTER! Otherwise there'd be no point on telling you my story.

It all began in the 1514's festivity of L'Immacolata Concezione, celebrated with incredible devotion by every Italian on December 8th. I was taking a peaceful walk in the old Florence, watching every single human passing by from the top of the Santa Maria del Fiore's dome.
It had turned into an avocation to me to do that, specially during the holidays, and Florence was my favorite city of all Europe. There has always been motion....
So I was there, lying on my tummy, humming the Le mont Aon de Thrace to myself when a light blinded me for a moment...

Some shiny coins had dropped from someone's pouch. No.... more like the pouch was being torned from its propietor and a couple of coinds had fallen out from it.
It called my attention that the rickety, recently shaved and clean man did not do much but laugh about it and reach onto his tunic to grab another pouch, just exactly as the one that had been stolen away from him.
You see, during that era the gap between misery and wealth was really big and it was not unusual to see a wealthy man chasing some little boy or girl for the streets because his pouch had just been stolen by some hungry kids.
The situation kind of always made me feel uncomfortable and this young man awakened something in me. And something even rarer happened afterwards. Rich men would always buy jewels, paintints, clothing brought from the other side of the world.... but this young gentleman limited himself to buy a couple brushes, clay, chisels and a hammer.
I wondered if he was planning to build a house by himself or just being punished by someone of greater category because he kissed the wrong lips.

I decided I had to follow him and find out which was. As a fly to a lamp, I followed him for all the city and saw the weirdest places I never dared to visit before.
Last stop was a gypsy campsite, I started screaming and tried to warn him about the troubles he'd find in a place like that with the rags he had but our voices aren't meant to be heard by the humans.
Some big hairy and smelly guy standed in front of him before he even had the chance to pass the entrance banner and a couple of skinny kids were hiding behind this huge man.
For a moment there, I thought I have had a wrong perspective of the young man's laughter, and when I was about to leave, the youngster took the sack from his back and put it in front of the bear man.
I could not help but stay a little bit more and when the huge man opened the sack, we all fell into surprise. The sack was filled with pieces of bread, some butter, milk and wine for the grown ups. There was even some meat in it. Men smiled at each other and a coven had just begun.
I should have left in that moment, I mean, that's what I thought back then, our kind was warned of going to those kind of meetings but I never knew what was the big deal about it so I decided to stay, just to watch the young man's behavior. He spent the night at a tent that the gypsies used to give performances when allowed into the city, woke up, had breakfast with them, they shared some laughs and then left. It was my first time watching those reunions and something in me made me want to follow him longer.

And so I did, I followed him for a couple of days, perhaps weeks, and there was always something interesting and bright that made me feel exultant. It was a year or two after that festivity or day that I saw him take a shipment to another Italian city. We arrived to a desolate cellar outside Arezzo that, at first, didn't look like an outstanding place but as soon as I got to put an eye on the inside, even the breeze felt different. It was a mess of statues, planes, paintings... and even in that mess everything seemed to have found its place on the universe. An extraordinary harmony inhabited the whole scene.

The time passed by as I observed Michelangelo's working in fury and ecstasy, he'd rarely get any visitors but he'd always have job to get done. More statues, planes and paintings being sent to different cities of Europe. At times it felt like he was seeking for someone, he'd mutter to himself but more like talking to someone that wasn't clearly there. If he had spoken a little bit louder, I'd have known what he was saying. As days went by something changed in him, he seemed quite distant and indifferent.

A month of poor eating habits went by and one day he stood up earlier than usual, went out to buy some bread, recently made butter and fresh milk and prepared a table for two in the middle of the room. He even took a shower and prepared some good tableware. He dressed up with a clothing I had never seen him wearing and sat. One or two hours passed by and no one came, he hadn't even touched the meal and at some point he got quite desperate, muttering and muttering he finally spoke louder than usual.

-What is your name?

We both waited for a response and then again...

-Who are you?

But no one was there.

-Now and then I am scared when I seem to forget how sounds become words or even sentences... No, I don't speak anymore and what could I say? Since no one is there, there's nothing to say...

This time I knew who he was talking to.

-... or someone to talk to for something to share, but there is no hope as no one is there...
-(I am here and you knew it... all this time, you knew it.)
-No, no, no, not one living soul and there is nothing left to say.

A deep sorrow engulfed my heart and once again I managed to gather all my strength and something echoed in the room.

-PIETÀ

A first, he shook in surprise and a gesture of relief filled his face.

-Thank you, Pietà, for letting me know that you were always there, ever since that coven night. Thank you for not leaving me alone and carrying with my heavy soul.

Credits

Profile overlay, design, coding and story belong to me.
Text background: jinifur, Vintage Ivy Scrap Page from DeviantArt
TC Ribbon: ShioriArimizu, Ribbon from DeviantArt
Overlay: Made on canva by me.
Michelangelo's words taken from No one is there song by Sopor Aeternus And The Ensemble Of Shadows.
The Pietà is a world-famous work of Renaissance sculpture by Michelangelo Buonarroti, housed in St. Peter's Basilica, Vatican City.
Le mont Aon de Thrace is a song interpreted by Ferrara Ensemble that belongs to the antique Codex Chantilly, a manuscript of medieval music containing musical compositions belonging to a style known as Ars subtilior, which compositions date to the second half of XIV century.