This story is about a girl named Rosaria Vargas, but very few people know her true identity as the Personification of the Island of Sicily. To us humans, she is strange, but among her people- her fellow nations- she is family. Our story begins not in present day, but with where our darling girl came from. It begins a long time ago, back during the time of the mighty Roman Empire...
The Small Island Girl
A newly conquered land. That's what Rome originally thought of the island- just another piece of land. He didn't know that, like himself, the land he had just took was tied to that of a person, only a small child at the time.
Rome looked at his soldier. He held a small girl in his hands. She was dressed as if she was a Grecian, but her clothes had been torn by something and she was barefoot. Her hair was a mess and matted by mud and many other things, but the beautiful auburn color still shone through. Her eyes were the color of dirt, but they also sparkled like jewels. Unlike most children Rome had seen, the girl's tender skin was littered with cuts, bruises, and scratches. It looked like as if she had been attacked. But who would harm such a small girl? She couldn't have been more than two years old. Despite her state, the child was fighting against the soldier's grip.
"I found her trying to steal food, sir," the soldier explained, "What do you want me to do with her?"
"Please don't hurt me!" cried the child, "I haven't eaten in days, not since-" The soldier covered her mouth to keep her from speaking anymore. Rome looked towards his soldier and back down at the child. Her eyes held fear and terror.
"It's fine," Rome answered after a long pause, "Let the girl go."
"But sir-" the soldier said.
"She's just a lost child, Marcus. Now put her down and leave us be." With a confused look on his face, the soldier placed the girl on the ground and left the two alone.
Rome knelt down to the girl's level. She took a step back.
"I'm not going to hurt you." The girl shook her head wildly and took another step back.
"Papa told me not to trust the Romans," the little girl stated confidently before her voice slackened, "I-I think." Rome stood up. The girl took another step back. He managed however, to get a look at the back of her head. Among the mud in her hair, there was also a great deal of dried blood. She must have gotten hurt somehow, and the injury must have caused her to lose her memory.
"I assure you that you can trust me," said Rome in a voice he only reserved for two people. "It hurts, doesn't it?" The girl hesitated for a moment but nodded slowly. "Will you let me take a look at it?" She shook her head. "Will you trust me?" After another moment's hesitation, the girl nodded. She walked towards Rome until she was right in front of him. Rome knelt down to face her. He was finally able to get a good look at the child and discovered something strange. Lifting her face, Rome turned her head to the right. Underneath the dirt and blood, a small piece of hair seemed to stand up on its own to form a curl like shape.
The child turned her head away from his gaze. Neither one of them moved. Rome now clearly knew who this child was. The final words of Cathrage burned in the back of the Roman's mind.
"Even with my death...you will never truly have Syracuse."
He wasn't talking about the land, no, but Cathrage instead spoke of a child. And Syracuse was right in front of him.
"What is your name?" Rome asked her. Syracuse shook her head.
"I don't think I have a name," she answered. So it was true, the child had no memory of Cathrage or anything else. As for her injuries...he had caused them. "Are you alright, sir?" Rome snapped out of his daze.
"Yes I am. But please, don't call me sir."
"What can I call you?" The child asked. Her eyes were now big and bright and something in them made the light brown color shine like the stars. Rome now felt bad for the child. Syracurse would have no memory of her life, she was hurt and it was because of him. The Empire felt pity in his heart, which had been a rare occurance in these times. He had only two options and the first was put out of his mind almost as soon as it came. He wasn't going to abandon Syracuse here.
"You can call me your grandfather, okay?" Syracuse nodded and smiled. It was the least Rome could do to take the child in. I mean...it was his fault she was now like this.
"But what are you going to call me?" Syracuse asked curiously. Rome thought carefully about his next words. He could not, under any circumstance, call her by her true name. This child was no longer Syracuse. She had lost all that a long time ago. The girl needed a new name- a new identity.
"You, my child," said Rome, "are my granddaughter. You are my beloved Sicily."