My first memory of him is a voice from the other room. An angry voice, which made me scared.
I think I was quite young, because Vanni wasn't born yet. I was three, maybe four. No, now that I think about it I was definitely three.
"How long did you plan to hide her from me? Did you think Antonio wouldn't tell me?"
I was scared, because my room was dark and my mother had put me in bed even if I didn't want to. That man entered after she left me there, alone, while ghostly shadows were seeping in from the slits in the blinds.
I've seen this memory in my mind again and again, so I must have invented lots of details. For instance, I'm sure I saw white butterflies dancing on the wall. I tried to catch one, but it dissolved as soon as I touched it, leaving shiny dust on my fingers.
Perhaps it was a dying moth. Perhaps it wasn't even real. One shouldn't have memories from that age. Mine are so neat, that I can tell you precisely what the adults said in the next room.
The man's voice was calmer now. It sounded broken. Pained.
"Why didn't you tell me, Rosa?"
Silence.
"Would you have stayed then? Of course not, you had to leave. You always have to leave. First Firenze, then God knows where! Even if I wanted to tell you, how could I have reached you?"
He didn't answer. I heard him sitting on the old stool, the one which always creaks.
"Can I see her?"
"She's sleeping."
"Rosa, please. If you wish so, I'll never see her again. But just for onceā¦I want to see her face."
After a never ending minute, during which I prayed that she chased him away, I heard the door opening.
A candle light melted darkness away, and so my white moths disappeared. My mother's blue-grey eyes were quite sad.
"Are you awake, little one?"
"There were butterflies."
She didn't take my words seriously. She smiled, lifting me from my bedding to hold me in her arms.
Then, I saw the man.
He was tall, with a long straight nose and dark skin. He didn't look scary, but I was still quite wary about him.
"Chi sei?*", I asked.
He smiled too, and stretched a finger to stroke my cheek. "Mi chiamo Ezio. **"
Then, my mother said something unnecessary. I got it from the very first moment I had heard his voice.
"Bianca, Ezio is your father."
*Who are you?
* * My name is Ezio.
Hello! This is the first story I dare to publish here on , and it's a translation from my almost completed fanfic "Bianca come il peccato" (literally, "White like sin" in Italian ^^) As you may have noticed, I'm not an English native speaker, sothere might be grammatical and syntactic mistakes that I didn't see while correcting the draft. I will promptly correct them if you will be so kind to point them out! Constructive criticism is more than welcome.
BlackFool84
