Author's Note: Oh, dear, this is a tad late. I am sorry to whomever read this. Oh, bother, only one review thusfar. Oh, well, I don't mind much. Thanks to Maya Bebop for boosting my ego. Tell your friends, dear, and thanks for the compliments.

Disclaimer: Yeah. I don't own POTC or any of its affiliations. Tear, tear

THE VIOLINIST

Chapter One - The Red Violin

The girl was beautiful the moment she was born, but she quickly blossomed into even more beauty. The village people were impressed with her mannerisms and her looks. Mariana, the baby who would not cry, was a quirky character, always happy and eager to help whomever desired it.

But the village people were most impressed with her father, a man who had overcome the death of his wife to raise this beautiful girl. But there was something very special about this girl, something that was very rare in the day. She was a mute: she could not speak a word. Her father had taught her to understand Spanish, English, French and Italian, but she could not utter a word of any of them.

The father was a violinist, and he made and sold violins. He tutored children of village whose parents were sure that they were prodigies and would one day play for the King himself. But the father knew that these children did not possess the gift that his own daughter possessed.

Mariana had started playing the violin when she was four. Now at age seven, she was a genius with a violin. She could make it sing angry, sharp chords, or sad, sweet melodies. She used violins of her father's, and made them all sing sweeter than her father ever could have imagined.

Mariana was more talented than most children or adults in the world, and she knew that beyond a doubt. She did not brag about such a thing, but she knew her gift was deeper than most people would ever know. But Mariana wanted something more, and though she could not tell her father what, he knew. She wanted a violin of her own, a special violin. Something...one of a kind.

The father had a small ship, for fishing when they were short on money. He often visited the port as a result, to check up on the upkeep of his ship. A merchant vessel docked there one afternoon, and there was a man upon the ship who had the exact violin the father was looking for to give to Mariana.

It was beautiful, though not structured differently than any violin he had ever seen. The only thing really unique about it was that it was a deep, rich red, a color he had never seen before or at least could not recognize. He did not even play it to make sure it was intact. He saw it and knew it was meant to be for Mariana.

"Sir?" the owner of the violin asked in Italian. His skin was mahogany and his hair was curled in close to his skull, and the father guessed he hailed from Africa. "Can I be of any assistance?"

The father swallowed and managed to close his jaw as he pointed at the violin. "This. How much is this?"

The owner glanced at it and shrugged. "I've had that thing for years. I'm willing to trade, even. Why do you want it, Sir?"

"My daughter is a violinist," he answered with a few meaningless nods. "She wants her own violin more than anything."

The owner frowned. "How young is the daughter?" he asked.

"Just seven years," Mariana's father said.

The owner's frown deepened. "Sir, I must protest," he argued. "This violin is much too large for a little girl. Perhaps a smaller make…?"

"I'm sure she can handle this one," the father insisted. "She is a maestro. Now, good sir, how much do I owe you?"

He bought it and brought it home, but by the time he had Mariana was already fast asleep. He held back his eagerness and waited until morning.

When Mariana awoke, as she always did, earlier than her father or the servants in their home, she made her bed with extra care. Her father had come home late the previous night, and she wanted everything to be in perfect order so as to not provoke a disturbance in the household. As she tiptoed to her kitchen, Mariana found something very peculiar, something in all her years alive she had not seen.

Her father was awake, a package in his lap, sitting at their table and sipping on coffee. He smiled as she stared at him.

"Can you understand me, Mariana?" he asked in English. She nodded. "Good, good. Good morning, my dear."

Mariana smiled and gave a nod in response. She walked to her father and sat in the chair opposite of him.

Her father smiled back and took another sip of his coffee. "Sleep well, I suppose?" Mariana nodded yes. "Good, good. I have here a gift for you."

He handed the package to Mariana and she looked up at him. She pointed to herself and arced an eyebrow. Her father smiled and nodded and Mariana looked back at the package. She carefully tore away the wrapping encasing it and pulled out the red violin, her eyes growing wide.

"It is not one of mine," he admitted as Mariana stroked the hard wood, gazing on in open-mouthed silence. "But I saw it and I thought of you. The merchant said it was too large for so small a girl, but I'm sure you'll manage. It is for you, Mariana. Your very own violin."

Mariana looked up again, setting the violin aside onto the table. Her deep brown eyes stared at it, transfixed. Mariana was puzzling over the color of it, though anyone who saw her expression would think she were simply overwhelmed by the gift. Her father cleared his throat and her eyes darted upwards, apologizing for dazing off. The father silently forgave her in a manner only they both understood.

"Of course, as this is your first violin, I should expect you will take extremely good care of it." He paused and looked at his daughter wisely. Mariana nodded in agreement, excitement seeping from her every action. "Never let it be broken, mio caro," he insisted.

Mariana nodded again, quicker than before. It was at times like these she wished she could speak. There was no way silence could express her gratitude. Her father nodded to her.

"I should very much like to hear you play it," he said, switching from English to Spanish. Mariana paused and looked at the red violin sitting on the table. Her father touched her arm. "Don't be afraid to play, my dear," he insisted. "Never be afraid to play."

Mariana slowly nodded and picked up the violin. She walked over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. With great care she lifted a bow from the blue velvet encasing of the drawer and settled the violin to her shoulder.

Pen cannot describe the noise that came from that violin following the first vibration of the string, so I shall not try to describe it. It would come off as a jumble of words meaning nothing, and there are no words in the languages of all the world for this music. Just know that when Mariana finished playing, they were both happier people.

Closing Notes: BACKGROUND INFO! Woohoo. Review, will you, dears?