Page 84 of DATE
"But sexual orientation and gender—they’re all things that constantly change in perception."
Hedy paused, noticing that he was still watching her, and her tone became much calmer.
"As for sex, I’m not in a position to comment, but no matter whether you’re standing next to a naked man or a naked woman, it won’t change my perception of you."
Da Vinci was momentarily stunned and repeated, "Won’t it?"
"No."
He always tried to be kind and friendly to everyone, but he couldn’t avoid being misunderstood and maligned.
Some people thought he was a blasphemer, an evil, ugly sodomite. He might not care about their opinions.
But because of past experiences, da Vinci didn’t want to lose this friendship.
She, like him, understood many things in this world, and she was good at listening and offering companionship.
Without Hedy's prompting, this painting might not have even had a draft by next year.
"So, what’s this friend’s name?"
The young man laughed, his bare chest full and beautiful.
"Atalante Migliorotti."
He appeared to be about twelve or thirteen, with slender limbs, fair skin, and faint freckles on his face.
"Put your clothes on first," da Vinci instructed, then found a chair for Hedy. "He came over to visit me earlier and did a quick sketch."
This place was rather remote, and there were usually no visitors.
Hedy nodded, her gaze shifting to the long-necked instrument.
"What is this?"
Da Vinci smiled and, as though cradling a pet, reached out togently stroke the instrument's long neck.
"It's my design for a lyre."
It had five playing strings and two plucked strings, with a silver sheen on its neck, shaped like an unusual horse skull.
"You designed this?" Hedy paused for a moment, more surprised by this than seeing the naked man. "Is it like a violin?"
Da Vinci nodded, holding the bow in one hand and placing the lyre against his arm with the other.
As his wrist flicked, the smooth and flowing sound of the lyre poured out, its melody flowing like a clear stream, filling the entire side courtyard once more.
What was even more amazing was that he began to sing as he played.
"The world is silent now, the winds have calmed—"
His usually soft and clear voice lifted in pitch, becoming more melodious and beautiful.
"The night falls with its starry glow, the sea sleeps quietly, without a trace—"
One hand held the bow while the other plucked the double strings, and he was able to sing at the same time.
The rise and fall of the lyre's tones intertwined with his slightly lowered voice, like two nightingales weaving through a dense forest as they flew away.
