Deep down, I knew I was not a cat at all, but I had to play the part to stay in her arms a little longer.

– Stella Fracta, Wild and Violent

Cover Design Alexandra Undead

Translator (from Russian) Alexandra Undead

Editor Phaenon Dee

© Stella Fracta, 2025

ISBN 978-5-0068-1899-6

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

0. No choice

I tried to fill the void – but I didn’t know how to fill it with joy … So I filled it with pain.

I slid on the black mud, I scraped my palms on the rough ledges of the rocks, trying to catch hold of something … But in the end, everything turned out as I was told.

A loser, a weakling, and a hopeless fool – once I believed that I could be like everyone else – if I tried hard enough. I just wanted – I do want – to be with her. That’s all I need.

Magic Unnamed Violins, fulfilling wishes, showing the truth, have nothing to do with it. Even if I hear music that has not yet been played … Everything has already happened.

Everything is predetermined, everything is predestined, by the rules of the Game, by invariants. We are all cursed – to run forever in an endless cycle of deaths and rebirths around the Fractured Star, in the wheel of samsara, from the merry-go-round of which no one can escape.

I was told I had a Choice.

I have no choice … I have only love – which they call the strong bond that holds the Universe together, another immutable element of the system, the burden of predestiny, the chain and the rope.

I’m really sorry that it all turned out this way. I’m really sorry.

But I still have many tries for a world of verses in the other multiple variants – for these are the rules of the Game.

1. The Violin

In the reflection of the dressing room mirror, there are two figures caught by the light: mine, with my arms folded thoughtfully across my chest, and a man on a stool in the center of the room, with a package on his knees.

Baphomet continued to boast about his new violin, listing the instrument’s features, using terms jarring to the inexperienced ear. I would have been happy for him – if not for the circumstances.

He was almost late for the concert, he missed the rehearsal and sound check, brought some kind of violin, showed up only at the very beginning of the performance, and even with a jacked up face.

“Look at the ribs, the c-bouts, the f-holes,” he continued. “And the plates are made of flame maple – like those on Venetian gondolas!”

“Yeah, Met, I see. Tell me what’s wrong with you. Were you fighting for this violin?”

He burst out laughing, threw his head back, showing an even row of sharp teeth, and then got serious and started to glance around – at the shadows sitting in the corners.

“Well …” he drawled. “Yes.”

“Did you steal it?”

He clutched the silk-wrapped violin to himself – as if it were the greatest treasure. I let out a cry of indignation.

“Victor, don’t talk nonsense,” he narrowed his eyes – as if I had said something stupid. “A violin like that, it’s impossible to steal!”

Baphomet emphasized the end of the phrase with his voice. Damned wordplay – my musicians’ favorite pastime … Sometimes I didn’t get it, and I was tired of trying.

Rare and antique musical instruments are carefully guarded in museums and private collections. I doubt that Met can afford the legendary violins.

I shifted from one foot to the other and kept a pause of disapproving silence. It didn’t work on him.

“Oh really? In this world, you can steal anything if you want,” I shook my head. “So where did you get it from?”

I pointed at the package. I wouldn’t have cared what kind of violin it was or how it ended up in his hands, but he was acting suspicious. He was strange, stranger than usual. If the police came for him, we’d all be face down here.

“An auction of antique instruments. Early eighteenth century, an unregistered example of the highest quality, not the Cremonese School …”

I was a gifted vocalist, I played keyboards and guitar well, but never touched the violins: the sound of bowed stringed instruments caused me auditory discomfort. The voice of the violin is compared to the human voice … A subject for speculation by mystifiers.

“Last documented appearance – in Eastern Europe, everything matches up. This is the very violin, custom-made by the Unnamed Luthier, the violin thought to be lost forever,” Baphomet declared. “The violin of the Architect of this universe, the only one known to have survived, the Unnamed Violin!”

So that’s it! Antique violins worth a fortune are not the worst of it … Met can’t get enough of his Fractured Star sect, can’t get over the legend of some great violin of the Architect of the Universe – which is somehow special, reveals some kind of secrets of creation.

People believe in what they want to believe. Our aliases, demonic entourage, grotesque costumes are part of the stage image, but Baphomet believed in all this nonsense about the Fractured Star, the Mother of Demons, the center of the multi-world Universe, the Game, and the rules … I just played along with my mates, I didn’t get into the essence.

It would be better if the violin remained in oblivion … Several centuries ago, the aristocracy dabbled in the occult, ordered exclusive instruments from luthiers, and now they are in special demand.

“And you decided that you needed it.”

“Of course!” Met did not perceive my remark as irony. “Yes, Victor, I bought it, and it was not easy, believe me, especially because of the psych fanatics who would do anything.”

Is it really worth it?

“For the record, you are no different from them now, the same patient at Kings Park. Legends remain legends, a violin is just a violin – no matter what got into your head. You’ve got a screw loose because of your sect, and the violin’s place is in the Met Fifth Avenue!”

Baphomet blinked and, confused, as if waking up, clasped his hands around the instrument. He was silent.

“Screw it. Why did you fight?”

Met hesitated.

“I was about to come here, it was dark, he jumped out like a jack-in-the-box, out of nowhere, attacked me, gloomy, creepy … The violin thief! But that’s not the point, absolutely not the point! I haven’t told you the most important thing yet! You confused me with your nerdy questions!”

Baphomet theatrically, smiling, hit himself on the forehead. I frowned.

“The last Unnamed Violin belonged to Lord Vladan, that same Count in Eastern Europe – until it was stolen from the castle by a wandering architect. Well, you remember. The violin had not been heard of for two centuries – but recently it was miraculously found in some junk shop, in the clutter of antiques, they contacted an appraiser – and here we go. No one could even imagine! Victor, do you hear me? This is actually your violin too,” he stressed, “that is, the violin of your ancestors, since Count Vladan is your distant relative. I wanted to make a surprise, I rushed here to explain everything … But don’t get your hopes up – I won’t give it to you, because you don’t know how to play.”

Wait! What does this have to do with me? Another legend! I really did have a Count Vladan in my family, and he had some kind of violin …

The magic Unnamed Violin and my ancestors with their family tree – which I don’t even really know.

Freaking sect.

“Victor, are you speechless from joyful amazement?” Met laughed, slyly squinting his cat-like green eyes. “Or are you not happy?”

I hardly put my thoughts into speech.

“What should I be happy about?” I muttered, discontented with the subject. “Violins are your thing. Fine,” I sighed and took a step back, I had lost the desire to continue the conversation. “We’ll wait for you on stage.”

I turned abruptly on my heels and left the room, leaving a satisfied Baphomet alone with that violin.

With my devilish violin.

2. Forget My Name

Good Room nightclub hall in Brooklyn was bright, loud, sweaty, and crowded – just like the seven masked demons always were at their shows. For the third day now, both at rehearsals and tonight, Baphomet had been playing the Unnamed Violin, and I wanted to run out of the room from an inexplicable unease. Only the music held me back, I was drowning in beams of white light, blinded by a stroboscope, driven by the stories on stage.

There was a struggle inside, a torment and a sweet, terrifying pleasure, flashes of images that I couldn’t even describe. It had nothing to do with the acting task … I felt like I was starting to go crazy, like I wasn’t myself while I was on stage.

I asked Kaftz and Belial if anything strange had happened on stage – but the guitarists only praised the play, using the phrase ‘your violin,’ as if, damn it, it was me playing and not Met!

Am I the only one who notices how the instrument affects us?!

Cellist Met Hedman, aka the demon Baphomet, left yet another girlfriend looking around boredly, separated from the major group and sat down next to me, who had settled down at the bar counter. I was trying to get drunk and get over the intrusive violin melody spinning in my head – under the booming beats of rhythmic patterns for dancing sinners, merging into colorful spots with flashes of neon lights.

“Victor, what’s wrong with you? Stop being sad, join us … Look, your fangirls are over there. They’ve asked about you many times. Look at one of them’s ass … Come on, look, she’s waving at you.”

I winced, shaking my head without even turning around: I didn’t need one-time acquaintances. I’ll manage somehow.

“You sang well today,” he chuckled, and I looked up at him sullenly. “Your voices merged into unison.”

He twirled something suspiciously resembling a violin case in his hands at chest level, and I wheezed, “Do you carry this around with you all the time?!”

“Yes,” he answered carelessly, misinterpreting my reaction, “otherwise anything could happen …”

I sighed heavily, leaning my elbows on the counter in resignation, covering my face with the hand. I really wanted Met to leave me alone, I wanted to be alone.

“Everything is clear with you,” he said, as if he had read my thoughts, standing up and stretching in his typical cat-like manner – as much as there was space among the bodies surrounding the bar counter. “Don’t drink too much,” he laughed at last, pushing me in the shoulder. “The whole night is ahead of you.”

Well said … Despite my build, which would require just one cocktail to make me forget my name, I didn’t get drunk for a long time – even if I took everything the bartender had on the shelves.

The idea of forgetting my name seemed very tempting.