Nipples of Venus (M for F, Historical, NC)

[Richardson]

It is 18th century Vienna and an upstart young genius named Mozart has made a terrible enemy at court.  Impoverished and drinking himself mad, his young wife Constanze, known intimately as 'Stanzi' seeks out Herr Salieri in order to plead with him to help her husband, unaware that he is the driving force behind his husband's failures and the price he will exact for any help will most likely fall on her to pay.

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The ink was just drying on the latest composition as Salieri leaned back on his stool to better see the finished product.  The part must always be subject to the whole, in music as in life.  Each of us must see ourselves not in and of ourselves but in God's grand design.   That is how he had been taught to see himself and the world and for years it had been enough.

Then he came with his laughter and his smile and his music.  His diabolically perfect music.  If he had just been an upstart, doomed to popularity one day and consigned to obscurity the next, that would have been fine.  Salieri could live to be overshadowed, secure that the lasting victory would be his.  But no!  Even with his fading popularity at court and in the streets, the monster's music could not be denied.  Salieri was too honest with himself to dissemble and try to suggest that his music would not live on for centuries to come, celebrated as the work of genius it truly was.

Looking over his humble offering, he knew it would earn his keep at court, keep the emperor happy and secure his position and his wealth.  But it would never be great.  A part of him wanted to tear it to pieces and throw it in the fire where history would send it soon enough along with all memory of its composer.  The monster had it all.  Even in his madness, even in his poverty he had everything Salieri ever wanted.  Except now Salieri wanted something else.  He wanted revenge.  Not just on the monster but on everything the monster cared for.  Salieri  had worked hard to see to it that the monster's career lagged, that work came few and far between and that favour of those that mattered was withheld.  It wasn't enough.  He wanted to hurt him even more.

He wanted Mozart to suffer for daring to be so great.

When the knock came on his door he scowled, wondering just who would dare to disturb him at his work.  Smoothing his wig, he shouted in a clipped voice, "Yes yes.  Come in.  Don't dawdle."