Is it that bad to be the Devil's son?
We are in Italy, early XIX century and we are observing a musician about to enter on stage. Niccolò is staring at the mirror. Only an old curtain hanging between him and the crowd. He looks at his long fingers, the ones that have brought him so much glory. He observes his long hair, something that distinguishes him from any other musician. He smiles whilst setting the flaps of his long jacket straight. He then closes his eyes and remembers all the suffering he went through as a kid when people called him Son of the Devil. All the tears, the nightmares, the time spent on his own with the violin and the guitar as his only trusted companions. He was not over it and he knew his mother struggled a lot on her supposed deal with the devil. But he had made the most of it and used his peculiar image and skills to be successful in doing what he liked the most. Playing music. He stands up as the bell rings. Curtains open. Audience receives him with an standing ovation. The violin on his hand...