This lends a lot on coincidences and chances (which I think lost doesn't really develop on so far) so I'm sorry If you think the events are too coincidental to be true. Disclaimer that I didn't create lost, and this entire thing is completely fiction, and any likeness to real people are just well, coincidences. My English Is far from perfect, especially the grammar, so I'd love It If you could comment on that. Hope you enjoy nonetheless.
(note to readers who had read the first chapters I put up a while ago: I re-did the entire thing, so I'm sorry you have to start all over, but the chapters do end up somewhere In the story.)
01 the first memory?
The setting sun cast a warm pink hue to the otherwise pale grey sky of a Venetian autumn. It was the least of Rosa's worries, though, as she cautiously watched the woman beside her. She was swathed in layers of cloth fashioned into a patch-dress of queer colours.
She had been motionless for the past few minutes; so had Rosa. Her eyes were fixed straight, looking at the steady stream of humanity walking past the cobbled pavement, instead of slanting sideways like Rosa. Rosa found herself fidgeting inadvertently; there was some hatred mixed with fear in small degrees in her. She was completely not at ease with her, but decided to follow suit, frowning.
It proved to be not as dry as she had thought, as she was easily entertained by the people in front of her. Their gait, their clothing and sometimes their speech—it cracked a hint of their respective personalities. She hid a small smile, and thought how easily everyone wore their hearts on their sleeves.
The smile diminished a moment later, though. Wearing your heart on your sleeve, Rosa chanted silently in her mind. It's English, an English proverb which has no sense in Italian. Stifling a sigh, Rosa tried to convert her thoughts into the crude Italian she could manage from the intensive drilling from the woman beside her.
Slowly, her train of thought was carried away by the ebb and flow of the people. Suddenly, a short blonde head entered her peripheral vision and Rosa turned to face that direction. She was about her height and age, Rosa decided. Her eyes were clear grey-blue like a summer sky, very much unlike Rosa's blue-green. The light azure of the irises complimented the blonde locks, cut in a long bob which brushed her shoulders, a stark contrast to Rosa's cobalt and chocolate brown combination.
She had her eyes fixed at Rosa already and their eyes locked for a long moment, considering each other. The blonde girl broke the gaze first; Rosa quelled another sigh. It was rather obvious that Rosa was very much incapable of stealing anything from her (unlike the woman beside her) but the mere proximity from her made Rosa seem like her, too.
I'm not a gypsy, Rosa wanted to get up and speak. I want to roam Venice with you. Her chances of communication came back a moment later, when the girl finally looked back. She had walked past Rosa already, and so she had to crane her neck backwards. In a split second, Rosa forced out everything she wanted to say through her eyes, but it didn't work.
So much for telepathy, Rosa wanted to scoff, as she looked helplessly at the blonde girl turning her head to face the end of the Venetian street, the constant flow of people making her bob away from Rosa. Once again, Rosa rolled her eyes to her side to face that woman, taking in her curious mixture of smells, deriding herself once more for thinking in English.
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