Fine. Ostinato destino is not tragedy. Tragedy implies surprise, a fall from grace. This is something older: a tread wheel, a pulse, a return. It is the knowledge, at age twelve, that your life will rhyme with your parents' lives. It is the phone that rings with the same bad news every third Tuesday. It is the note you keep writing because you cannot write the other note.
Then the ostinato returns — not softer, but deeper. The pianist adds weight. The room vibrates. Now the right hand doesn't fight. It plays the same four notes, one octave higher, in canon. Left hand calls, right hand answers. Both trapped in the same circle. ostinato destino
The right hand tries again. This time in A♭ major: sweeter, almost tender. For four bars, it believes it can escape. But the left hand — the destino — tightens its grip. The major mode wilts back to minor. The melody breaks. This is something older: a tread wheel, a pulse, a return