I watched Lazarus grow. He was seven when he discovered music for the first time. The pianoforte had been invented not long before he was born, almost as though it was made just for him.

He had heard someone inside the Emerson's manor house playing and was instantly addicted to the sound, hounding anyone and everyone that didn't look like they'd punish him for trespassing to tell him what that instrument was. Poverty meant little more to Lazarus than a cold home and small, plain meals. He didn't care that his family didn't have the money to buy a pianoforte, he simply had to have one. He had been punished for trespassing on private land, but the warnings and scoldings fell on deaf ears. He was enthralled with the idea of being able to make music just as beautiful as the melody he had heard.

Lazarus begged and pleaded and nagged and cried and refused to cooperate until someone found a way to get him one. He dragged his heels to church, where he misbehaved so much the priest smacked him around the back of his head and promised him God was frowning upon his antics and would punish him if he continued. In a fit of petulant anger - a moment that made me smile - Lazarus spat on the priest's foot and swore loudly, making every head turn in their direction.

His older brother, Michael, had laughed about it later on, despite getting in trouble for teaching Lazarus how to swear. "He'll only learn 'em later on. What's th' point in keepin' 'em from 'im?" Michael had asked. That had earned him a smack and a good shouting at from his mother about children's innocence. Silently I agreed with him, but as always, I stood out of the way, invisible to them all.

I could feel Lazarus' longing for a pianoforte of his own. It was like an emotional tidal wave, crashing down upon me. For a moment, I was surprised that his family couldn't feel it the same way I could. It took me a while to remember that only I could feel it; when an angel becomes the guardian of a human, we are linked to them until they die. We are intertwined as one being in some ways. The feelings and thoughts of our human are obvious to us, and picking it up on it all is as easy as breathing. Easier, perhaps. It wasn't telepathy, no nothing like that. Just an... instinct, if you will.

I suppose this is the downside of becoming the guardian of a child. Their emotions are so raw and strong. An adult, even in their own mind, will guard them closely. Lazarus' desire to create music was so intense that for the rest of the day, all I could think about was a way a boy being raised in poverty could ever hope to have a pianoforte of his own.

The End

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