~~ The Passing of Time ~~
"They - part 2"
- Oh and I'm not going to get too detailed with my theories of Rambaldi, because it's flawed and confuses even me, besides this fanfic is already turning into a novel, and would go on forever if I tried to go in depth!
-OKAY folks, here it is, the LAST part of the PAST!!!
~ By 1480, Rome had heard the news that their neighbors to the north had finally freed themselves from almost 200 hundred years of tyranny. They had a new leader, lovingly called Ivan the Great, who had led his people to victory. There were also rumors of others whose roles were far less visible yet extremely vital to the salvation of the Russian nation.
The most popular myth was that of a spy within the household of a powerful leader, what made this particular story interesting was that the mole was supposedly the oppressor's own wife. While many believed she had turned traitor to her Russian heritage, in the end many realized they owed their lives to her clever bravery.
Unfortunately, the story could never be proven, for she had disappeared; some feared that she had perished in her palace that had mysteriously burned to the ground after all the men had passed out from drinking. Others held on to hope that she had escaped. Regardless, Sophia became a nameless, faceless hero and inspiration in the fight for freedom.
Soon after the reformation, Ivan desired to marry the sister of Basil and Constantine, the duel leaders of Constantinople, which was widely considered to be the second Rome. In order to earn his bride he agreed to convert to Christianity, and encouraged all of his fellow Russians to do the same. A great spiritual, educational, and cultural revival spread throughout the entire land that had missed out on the Renaissance. Many great minds and creators traveled to the heart of Russia to share their knowledge and abilities. [If you are wondering, this is factual according to my Russian professor!]
By this time Milo had grown bored with his theories and research, but if truth be told, he had scared himself with one of his experiments, which resulted in bazaar illusions and visions of people and places he had never seen before. He felt a need for an escape from the weird world he had created; the problem was that he could never escape his own mind.
However, he COULD escape the citizens of Rome, who were beginning to turn on him and his blasphemously bazaar theories. So he and his friend Giovanni Donato, (who had joined him as an assistant in Rome, after Alicia passed away) along with his son Michelangelo Donato (who looked more like Milo than Giovanni) set out to journey through Russia.
They stayed at the palace of Ivan the Great for months and, like he had done in his youth, Milo managed to impress the royalty of the court with his masterful skill in drawing and craftsmanship. Milo was adored, yet Michelangelo was loved even more for his equal ability, youthful good looks, and contagious personality.
Milo was tempted to feel pride, but he knew that although Michelangelo had inherited his abilities and brilliance, it was his upbringing by Giovanni and Alice that created such a kind, caring, compassionate, humble, and approachable young man. He truly seemed flawless, until she arrived.
She swept into the grand hall in all her majesty; followed by an entourage that looked more like an army and she their general, despite her regal gown and tapestry of curls. She didn't speak and looked only at Ivan. She did nothing to draw attention to herself, and yet all eyes were riveted on the queen-like creature that had graced them with her presence.
The court announcer finally found his voice and proclaimed "Anastasia Derevko!"
Michelangelo was mesmerized and watched her every move. Annoyed and impatient, by the attention she was receiving, she quickly passed by the throne and entered a door to the left. He watched as the Tsar slipped away, once the room had resumed its activities. His curiosity got the better of him and he slipped outside to the adjoining balcony to observe the group in the garden below.
They seemed to be in a heated debate, one that ended with the Tsar storming off in frustration and leaving the mysterious Anastasia with an expression of regretful victory. She dismissed her men and began to walk towards the river. Michelangelo was intrigued; he ran back into the great hall, grabbed his paper and pencils and went in search of the one who had just stolen his heart, he was determined to retrieve it and her in the process.
He came to a stop at the sight of her, sitting on the shore, watching the river slowly pass by. He approached quietly, or so he thought.
"I thought I said I wanted to be alone!" She said in quiet determination.
"I'm sorry milady they didn't make THAT announcement," he smiled at his own attempt at humor. But she was unimpressed, and before he could blink in one graceful swift move, she stood up and faced her intruder, with her knife revealed and ready to use in self defense.
He was stunned, but not speechless "Nervous!?! Relax, I'm just an artist, the worst I can do is draw a terrible portrait of you."
No response, he was learning that his charm didn't work on everyone. What he didn't know was that he WAS having an effect on her, typically she would have fought first and asked questions later.
"Of course, that would require me actually drawing your picture," he dared to continue, and watched her lower the dagger and slowly turn back to the waters, sinking to the ground.
His heart sank with her, and longed to ease whatever pain that was holding her prisoner. He joined her on the bank, sitting slightly in front of her, and began to draw. They sat in silence and he worked quickly; but every time he looked up, to observe her, he grew increasingly concerned.
"There, all done."
He held it up for her inspection but her eyes didn't even glance in his direction.
"Don't you want to inspect my work?"
In a voice lacking the passion her presence produced, she replied unemotionally, "No, I don't look at myself, I wouldn't even recognize the girl in your drawing."
Sensing she had shocked him, she turned to stare into his eyes, looking for signs of shock, but what she saw shook her to the core. It wasn't pity, false concern, or even horror, but honesty, acceptance of whatever shocking thing she might say, and worst of all she saw comfort, and safety. But she refused to break down in front of this stranger, no matter how comforting his green eyes were!
Rising to the challenge, Michelangelo returned the unwavering stare, hoping to look through her eyes and straight to her soul. What he saw there was a mixture of sadness and hopelessness, defeat and despair. Outwardly, she seemed so young, beautiful, and confidant; the outside was nothing more than a pretty painting that covered up an intricately woven canvas of secrets and a past that was obviously filled with much pain.
Something inside of him awoke, he had never felt so desperate to reach someone, so full of purpose; he wanted to save this girl's soul, to set her free, but knew full well he was incapable of doing so.
"Sir, thank you for your company but I am sure there are much more interesting and lively people up at the palace with whom you could converse."
"It's very kind of you to look out for my social well being, but I find the company much more interesting out here!"
Stasia smirked at this sappy line that he obviously genuinely meant, "Don't waste your charm on me, I have no heart, therefore I will not be loosing it to you!"
"How can it be that you have NO heart, for you have stolen mine, but if you are in need of one that badly, please keep it!"
He had meant it as a joke, but something in his remark had sent Stasia back into her seriously silent revelry.
"I was only joking, but you DO need it don't you? A heart I mean."
"Time, that's what I need."
"You are young, beautiful, and can clearly command a room; time should be the least of your worries. Whatever ever time you DO have, I'm certain it will be well spent."
"Wishful thinking by the innocently ignorant, it is not the future I long for, but the past. Time is like this river, powerful, steady, constant, yet always changing, always flowing. It goes around all obstinate obstacles, leaving them behind, and carries away the weak."
"And which are you, stubborn or yielding?"
"Both, I am stuck in a life that is out of my control! Perhaps if I could begin again, start over, knowing the outcome, knowing,,,"
"What is there to know? Perhaps you SHOULD look at my drawing and see the woman you are!"
"The woman I am? Do you presume to know who I am, what I've done? Do not let this gown and my curls fool you, I am not the daughter of royalty, Sir; I do not live a life of leisure, but of secrets and lies. My life is a lie. And truth takes time, but time is the ONLY thing that I cannot seem to control. Perhaps I never will."
Despite the seriousness of the moment, Michelangelo chuckled, "You sound like Milo, obsessed with time, determined to master it!"
"You speak of Rambaldi, I am familiar with his work, do you know him!?!"
This startled Michelangelo out of contemplation; it wasn't WHAT she had said as much as HOW she said it. In her eyes, flames had replaced ice, and he now wondered which was worse. Thankfully, he never got the chance to find out; one of her men chose that very moment to call her away to urgent business. And he was left pondering the dangerous desperation he saw in the eyes of the most dangerously beautiful woman he had ever met.
She was gone, as quick as she had come, and Michelangelo was tempted to believe she was only an apparition, but the rumors that continued for weeks after her departure, confirmed his suspicion; Anastasia Derevko was definitely not a force to be reckoned with.
The more he heard, about her ruthlessness, her wrath, and destructive determination, the more he was worried by her interest in Rambaldi and his studies. He tried to bury his growing concern for a woman that he would most likely never see again. She haunted him, her eyes, her emptiness, and her quest for immortality.
Eventually, he found the courage to express his concern to Milo, and when he saw his reaction, he wished he had done so earlier. Milo, began to rant and rave, about his visions, and something called the circumference. He spoke of blasphemous success. As he and his father listened to the confessional Rambaldi, they learned of his research before they arrived, and a particular experiment that unfortunately worked. Although it could be a wonderfully positive thing, in the wrong hands it could potentially "render" what Milo considered to be "the greatest power," time, "unto utter desolation."
They vowed to each other, and all humanity, to prevent Anastasia Derevko, and all those who would follow her, from obtaining Rambaldi's works. They would return to Rome, from there Michelangelo would follow specific instructions given by Rambaldi to hide his journal and other important instruments all over the world, with hopes of discouraging any "seekers."
Immediately, they set out for Rome. On their way home, they stopped at a village on the river, to sleep and replenish supplies. They went to the local monastery for a safe place to stay. Like all Christian buildings in Russia at the time, it still looked new and fairly unused. They were welcomed by a young minister, who showed them to their rooms and then to the dining hall.
They sat at the far end of the table, next to the young man who had let them in, too preoccupied with their meals to notice the woman who joined them. But as she quietly walked into the room, Milo felt something deep in his soul, something he hadn't felt since he was three years old, something he could barely even remember.
He looked up to look at the instigator of a feeling he couldn't even describe. Her hair fell in long cascading curls around her shoulders, and despite the speckles of frost; it still looked of golden chestnuts. She sat like a queen, but with eyes down cast focused on the task at hand. Her silence was depressing, and while she looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment, she also had peaceful serenity about her, as if she had accepted the lot she had been given.
Milo, found his voice and questioned their host, "who is that?"
The young priest followed his gaze and replied "we don't know, a week after we opened our doors, she showed up and with pleading eyes simply said 'sanctuary?' and she hasn't spoken since. She's a great helper though; she earns her keep, but seems to be in a another world most of the time. If she's not working or here eating, she spends her time in the chapel, starting at the cross or on her knees in prayer."
Milo, absorbed all this information, and kept his attention on his muse until she walked out of the room. Then he quietly excused himself and followed to her sanctuary.
He stopped at the entrance, in awe. He had seen the most magnificent cathedrals in the world, he lived in the Vatican; yet he had never been overwhelmed by the powerful presence of God, as he did in that moment, and he hadn't even ENTERED the humble, plain, wooden room yet.
He quietly observed the angelic creature on her knees before the cross. The room was dark save a light coming from a single window, whose rays rested upon the weeping woman, for as he dared to draw near he could hear her sobs. When he moved quietly closer still he heard her pleas.
"Lord have mercy, have mercy on my child, I praise you for the grace you granted me, please do the same for my daughter, save her from herself!"
His curiosity got the best of him, "angel of whom do you speak?"
Startled she turned around in surprise with instinctively downcast eyes, and determined silence. As she raised her eyes he gasped, and saw what he could not from a distance, a familiar face, and he spoke for her "Anastasia Derevko."
This surprised her even more than his intrusion, "you know of her, you've seen her, is she well!?!"
The broken woman before him, broke Mill's own heart, he wanted to lie, but somehow he knew she had had enough lies to last two lifetimes. "I fear she is not, she lives a life of lies, many fear her wrath."
The woman before him began to weep, and sank to the ground forced prostrate by, what appeared to Milo to be, an invisible force. She looked as though she carried the wait of the world and he desperately wanted to take it from her. Like a guilty man, he knelt down before her "Forgive me, dear lady, I should not have spoken so honestly."
At this she looked up through her tears and slightly chuckled and confirmed his earlier suspicion, "Sir, I have had had enough lies for two lifetimes! Besides, I already knew the truth, I have heard the rumors myself, I have even tried to reach her, but she never stays in one place long enough, I always run out of time."
In a matter of moments this woman had managed to steal his heart, and he knew he would give her the world if she asked for it, but that he did not have. Time, on the other hand, that he had mastered, and dared to offer her all of his secrets. "If it is time that you want, I can give it to you, would you like to begin again, KNOWING the outcome, or live forever having plenty of time to right your wrongs!?!"
It seemed so simple to him, a simple solution to her incredibly difficult problem.
"You speak blasphemy Milo Rambaldi," she replied in a compassionate voice free of judgment.
"You know my name? Please tell me yours!"
"My name is Sophia Derevko, and your reputation precedes you, you are a man of great knowledge, but you lack wisdom, He will give it to you if you ask."
"He?"
"Our creator, the ONLY one who controls time, no matter what you do to change it, He is STILL in control! Besides, why would I wish to relieve the past, even if I could change it, I would not wish to; for it has brought me to Him, and I would not trade His presence in my life for a million lifetimes."
Had she not said it so humbly he would have been more hurt, but he was mesmerized by her, and replied in his defense, "The greatest power is time, and he who controls IT has the ultimate control."
"Oh no, Milo, 'these three remain faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love.' Love Milo; THAT is the greatest power in THIS world or any other. Time is changing, love is constant, 'it never fails'. Love is what my daughter needs, but I failed to teach her that, I taught her to hate and that bitterness and revenge would save her. But it can't Milo, only love can save her now, selfless love, sacrificial love. But she lives in bitterness and hate. Hate, that is love's greatest enemy, if her anger is not prevented I fear hate will rule in her heart and have its shattering affect on all those around her. But I live in hope Milo, I know God hears my prayers and He will answer, in His own way, in His own time."
He felt as in a trance, as if he had just heard the tongues of angels, and the very voice of God. It was evident she had LIVED through much pain, and had CAUSED much pain, and yet she seemed at peace. And he saw it now she DID glow but it wasn't from the window's light, it was from within.
"Milo, I grow weary of this world, and long for my home, I know that in truth I cannot save my daughter, and may never get the chance to tell her of true love. Milo, in time she will no the truth, but it may be like it was for me, and too late for those who come after her. If you want to make a difference in time, promise me this, that you will find a way to protect her, from herself. Love is the only thing that can save her from her own hate and anger, and if it can save HER, there is hope for the rest of the world!"
She left him then, to contemplate all she had said. He starred at the empty spot she had filled, and felt a great void, he was frantic and looked upwards, and saw the cross, and the truth of her words began to fill up the empty spot in his soul, and he began to weep tears of joy. Then looked down and picked up a long strand of hair that Sophia had obviously left behind, and as he starred at it, his mind began to work.
When the weary travelers finally returned to Rome, Milo, Giovanni, and Michelangelo devoted themselves to the completion of Milo's journal and concluded his works, binding them up, for he knew it was no mistake he had been given these gifts, and that they could someday be used for good.
With detailed instructions Michalangelo and Giovanni set out to see the world and hide Rambaldi's treasures. Before they left the three huddled together, knowing it would most likely be the last they ever saw of each other. Rambaldi retrieved a small box and spoke softly, "Giovanni your are my greatest friend, and you will live an exceptionally long life, live it well and think of me fondly. Michealangelo, you are the son I never dared to have, so I give you this."
He opened the box and revealed a strange contraption; it was a clock, but none like anyone had ever seen before, it was small and look as if it were attached to some sort of bracelet. "It is a watch that goes on your wrist, so that you can not easily loose it. You can set your heartbeat to it. Despite our attempts to prevent destruction caused by Anastasia, she has started a heritage of hate that will continue throughout the ages. We must start a heritage of love that will ultimately stop it. I have created this watch to stop at the sight of her, and her descendants."
He noticed their skeptical looks and replied, "don't look at me that way, I AM a genius after all, might as well put it to good use! You must pass it on to your own son, and he his, and so on and so on, until the day their paths cross again. He must watch out for her, protect her, from herself, and outside forces that would evoke her wrath, but most of all he must love her!"
With that they parted. By the time they finished securing his contraptions around the world, Milo had died alone and rejected by the citizens of Rome, but he no longer feared time, or his absence from it, and welcomed death as the true entrance into eternity.
Giovanni, returned to Parma and lived an unusually long life, just as Milo had predicted. His last sight was the face he had seen in Russia many years earlier.
Michelangelo, settled in France, and married a "good person" who gave him a son. And to that son he gave his watch with telling of its importance and the responsibility that came with it.
And so time passed on, as did the watch, for hundreds of years, from father to son, each trying to tell what their father had told them. But somewhere along the line, the whole story got lost, and was forgotten; the only thing that remained was its ability to be set to one's heart. But even that stopped, on Oct. 1, 2001, when it entered HER presence!
TBC
(cheesy, a flawed I know, but I STILL believe their relationship has a Rambaldi significance even if it's not my interpretation! I'm not finished either, I have the PRESENT, and FUTURE, coming soon to a fanfic near YOU!!!)
- Also, I used the NIV version, and the love chapter from 1 Corinthians!
"They - part 2"
- Oh and I'm not going to get too detailed with my theories of Rambaldi, because it's flawed and confuses even me, besides this fanfic is already turning into a novel, and would go on forever if I tried to go in depth!
-OKAY folks, here it is, the LAST part of the PAST!!!
~ By 1480, Rome had heard the news that their neighbors to the north had finally freed themselves from almost 200 hundred years of tyranny. They had a new leader, lovingly called Ivan the Great, who had led his people to victory. There were also rumors of others whose roles were far less visible yet extremely vital to the salvation of the Russian nation.
The most popular myth was that of a spy within the household of a powerful leader, what made this particular story interesting was that the mole was supposedly the oppressor's own wife. While many believed she had turned traitor to her Russian heritage, in the end many realized they owed their lives to her clever bravery.
Unfortunately, the story could never be proven, for she had disappeared; some feared that she had perished in her palace that had mysteriously burned to the ground after all the men had passed out from drinking. Others held on to hope that she had escaped. Regardless, Sophia became a nameless, faceless hero and inspiration in the fight for freedom.
Soon after the reformation, Ivan desired to marry the sister of Basil and Constantine, the duel leaders of Constantinople, which was widely considered to be the second Rome. In order to earn his bride he agreed to convert to Christianity, and encouraged all of his fellow Russians to do the same. A great spiritual, educational, and cultural revival spread throughout the entire land that had missed out on the Renaissance. Many great minds and creators traveled to the heart of Russia to share their knowledge and abilities. [If you are wondering, this is factual according to my Russian professor!]
By this time Milo had grown bored with his theories and research, but if truth be told, he had scared himself with one of his experiments, which resulted in bazaar illusions and visions of people and places he had never seen before. He felt a need for an escape from the weird world he had created; the problem was that he could never escape his own mind.
However, he COULD escape the citizens of Rome, who were beginning to turn on him and his blasphemously bazaar theories. So he and his friend Giovanni Donato, (who had joined him as an assistant in Rome, after Alicia passed away) along with his son Michelangelo Donato (who looked more like Milo than Giovanni) set out to journey through Russia.
They stayed at the palace of Ivan the Great for months and, like he had done in his youth, Milo managed to impress the royalty of the court with his masterful skill in drawing and craftsmanship. Milo was adored, yet Michelangelo was loved even more for his equal ability, youthful good looks, and contagious personality.
Milo was tempted to feel pride, but he knew that although Michelangelo had inherited his abilities and brilliance, it was his upbringing by Giovanni and Alice that created such a kind, caring, compassionate, humble, and approachable young man. He truly seemed flawless, until she arrived.
She swept into the grand hall in all her majesty; followed by an entourage that looked more like an army and she their general, despite her regal gown and tapestry of curls. She didn't speak and looked only at Ivan. She did nothing to draw attention to herself, and yet all eyes were riveted on the queen-like creature that had graced them with her presence.
The court announcer finally found his voice and proclaimed "Anastasia Derevko!"
Michelangelo was mesmerized and watched her every move. Annoyed and impatient, by the attention she was receiving, she quickly passed by the throne and entered a door to the left. He watched as the Tsar slipped away, once the room had resumed its activities. His curiosity got the better of him and he slipped outside to the adjoining balcony to observe the group in the garden below.
They seemed to be in a heated debate, one that ended with the Tsar storming off in frustration and leaving the mysterious Anastasia with an expression of regretful victory. She dismissed her men and began to walk towards the river. Michelangelo was intrigued; he ran back into the great hall, grabbed his paper and pencils and went in search of the one who had just stolen his heart, he was determined to retrieve it and her in the process.
He came to a stop at the sight of her, sitting on the shore, watching the river slowly pass by. He approached quietly, or so he thought.
"I thought I said I wanted to be alone!" She said in quiet determination.
"I'm sorry milady they didn't make THAT announcement," he smiled at his own attempt at humor. But she was unimpressed, and before he could blink in one graceful swift move, she stood up and faced her intruder, with her knife revealed and ready to use in self defense.
He was stunned, but not speechless "Nervous!?! Relax, I'm just an artist, the worst I can do is draw a terrible portrait of you."
No response, he was learning that his charm didn't work on everyone. What he didn't know was that he WAS having an effect on her, typically she would have fought first and asked questions later.
"Of course, that would require me actually drawing your picture," he dared to continue, and watched her lower the dagger and slowly turn back to the waters, sinking to the ground.
His heart sank with her, and longed to ease whatever pain that was holding her prisoner. He joined her on the bank, sitting slightly in front of her, and began to draw. They sat in silence and he worked quickly; but every time he looked up, to observe her, he grew increasingly concerned.
"There, all done."
He held it up for her inspection but her eyes didn't even glance in his direction.
"Don't you want to inspect my work?"
In a voice lacking the passion her presence produced, she replied unemotionally, "No, I don't look at myself, I wouldn't even recognize the girl in your drawing."
Sensing she had shocked him, she turned to stare into his eyes, looking for signs of shock, but what she saw shook her to the core. It wasn't pity, false concern, or even horror, but honesty, acceptance of whatever shocking thing she might say, and worst of all she saw comfort, and safety. But she refused to break down in front of this stranger, no matter how comforting his green eyes were!
Rising to the challenge, Michelangelo returned the unwavering stare, hoping to look through her eyes and straight to her soul. What he saw there was a mixture of sadness and hopelessness, defeat and despair. Outwardly, she seemed so young, beautiful, and confidant; the outside was nothing more than a pretty painting that covered up an intricately woven canvas of secrets and a past that was obviously filled with much pain.
Something inside of him awoke, he had never felt so desperate to reach someone, so full of purpose; he wanted to save this girl's soul, to set her free, but knew full well he was incapable of doing so.
"Sir, thank you for your company but I am sure there are much more interesting and lively people up at the palace with whom you could converse."
"It's very kind of you to look out for my social well being, but I find the company much more interesting out here!"
Stasia smirked at this sappy line that he obviously genuinely meant, "Don't waste your charm on me, I have no heart, therefore I will not be loosing it to you!"
"How can it be that you have NO heart, for you have stolen mine, but if you are in need of one that badly, please keep it!"
He had meant it as a joke, but something in his remark had sent Stasia back into her seriously silent revelry.
"I was only joking, but you DO need it don't you? A heart I mean."
"Time, that's what I need."
"You are young, beautiful, and can clearly command a room; time should be the least of your worries. Whatever ever time you DO have, I'm certain it will be well spent."
"Wishful thinking by the innocently ignorant, it is not the future I long for, but the past. Time is like this river, powerful, steady, constant, yet always changing, always flowing. It goes around all obstinate obstacles, leaving them behind, and carries away the weak."
"And which are you, stubborn or yielding?"
"Both, I am stuck in a life that is out of my control! Perhaps if I could begin again, start over, knowing the outcome, knowing,,,"
"What is there to know? Perhaps you SHOULD look at my drawing and see the woman you are!"
"The woman I am? Do you presume to know who I am, what I've done? Do not let this gown and my curls fool you, I am not the daughter of royalty, Sir; I do not live a life of leisure, but of secrets and lies. My life is a lie. And truth takes time, but time is the ONLY thing that I cannot seem to control. Perhaps I never will."
Despite the seriousness of the moment, Michelangelo chuckled, "You sound like Milo, obsessed with time, determined to master it!"
"You speak of Rambaldi, I am familiar with his work, do you know him!?!"
This startled Michelangelo out of contemplation; it wasn't WHAT she had said as much as HOW she said it. In her eyes, flames had replaced ice, and he now wondered which was worse. Thankfully, he never got the chance to find out; one of her men chose that very moment to call her away to urgent business. And he was left pondering the dangerous desperation he saw in the eyes of the most dangerously beautiful woman he had ever met.
She was gone, as quick as she had come, and Michelangelo was tempted to believe she was only an apparition, but the rumors that continued for weeks after her departure, confirmed his suspicion; Anastasia Derevko was definitely not a force to be reckoned with.
The more he heard, about her ruthlessness, her wrath, and destructive determination, the more he was worried by her interest in Rambaldi and his studies. He tried to bury his growing concern for a woman that he would most likely never see again. She haunted him, her eyes, her emptiness, and her quest for immortality.
Eventually, he found the courage to express his concern to Milo, and when he saw his reaction, he wished he had done so earlier. Milo, began to rant and rave, about his visions, and something called the circumference. He spoke of blasphemous success. As he and his father listened to the confessional Rambaldi, they learned of his research before they arrived, and a particular experiment that unfortunately worked. Although it could be a wonderfully positive thing, in the wrong hands it could potentially "render" what Milo considered to be "the greatest power," time, "unto utter desolation."
They vowed to each other, and all humanity, to prevent Anastasia Derevko, and all those who would follow her, from obtaining Rambaldi's works. They would return to Rome, from there Michelangelo would follow specific instructions given by Rambaldi to hide his journal and other important instruments all over the world, with hopes of discouraging any "seekers."
Immediately, they set out for Rome. On their way home, they stopped at a village on the river, to sleep and replenish supplies. They went to the local monastery for a safe place to stay. Like all Christian buildings in Russia at the time, it still looked new and fairly unused. They were welcomed by a young minister, who showed them to their rooms and then to the dining hall.
They sat at the far end of the table, next to the young man who had let them in, too preoccupied with their meals to notice the woman who joined them. But as she quietly walked into the room, Milo felt something deep in his soul, something he hadn't felt since he was three years old, something he could barely even remember.
He looked up to look at the instigator of a feeling he couldn't even describe. Her hair fell in long cascading curls around her shoulders, and despite the speckles of frost; it still looked of golden chestnuts. She sat like a queen, but with eyes down cast focused on the task at hand. Her silence was depressing, and while she looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment, she also had peaceful serenity about her, as if she had accepted the lot she had been given.
Milo, found his voice and questioned their host, "who is that?"
The young priest followed his gaze and replied "we don't know, a week after we opened our doors, she showed up and with pleading eyes simply said 'sanctuary?' and she hasn't spoken since. She's a great helper though; she earns her keep, but seems to be in a another world most of the time. If she's not working or here eating, she spends her time in the chapel, starting at the cross or on her knees in prayer."
Milo, absorbed all this information, and kept his attention on his muse until she walked out of the room. Then he quietly excused himself and followed to her sanctuary.
He stopped at the entrance, in awe. He had seen the most magnificent cathedrals in the world, he lived in the Vatican; yet he had never been overwhelmed by the powerful presence of God, as he did in that moment, and he hadn't even ENTERED the humble, plain, wooden room yet.
He quietly observed the angelic creature on her knees before the cross. The room was dark save a light coming from a single window, whose rays rested upon the weeping woman, for as he dared to draw near he could hear her sobs. When he moved quietly closer still he heard her pleas.
"Lord have mercy, have mercy on my child, I praise you for the grace you granted me, please do the same for my daughter, save her from herself!"
His curiosity got the best of him, "angel of whom do you speak?"
Startled she turned around in surprise with instinctively downcast eyes, and determined silence. As she raised her eyes he gasped, and saw what he could not from a distance, a familiar face, and he spoke for her "Anastasia Derevko."
This surprised her even more than his intrusion, "you know of her, you've seen her, is she well!?!"
The broken woman before him, broke Mill's own heart, he wanted to lie, but somehow he knew she had had enough lies to last two lifetimes. "I fear she is not, she lives a life of lies, many fear her wrath."
The woman before him began to weep, and sank to the ground forced prostrate by, what appeared to Milo to be, an invisible force. She looked as though she carried the wait of the world and he desperately wanted to take it from her. Like a guilty man, he knelt down before her "Forgive me, dear lady, I should not have spoken so honestly."
At this she looked up through her tears and slightly chuckled and confirmed his earlier suspicion, "Sir, I have had had enough lies for two lifetimes! Besides, I already knew the truth, I have heard the rumors myself, I have even tried to reach her, but she never stays in one place long enough, I always run out of time."
In a matter of moments this woman had managed to steal his heart, and he knew he would give her the world if she asked for it, but that he did not have. Time, on the other hand, that he had mastered, and dared to offer her all of his secrets. "If it is time that you want, I can give it to you, would you like to begin again, KNOWING the outcome, or live forever having plenty of time to right your wrongs!?!"
It seemed so simple to him, a simple solution to her incredibly difficult problem.
"You speak blasphemy Milo Rambaldi," she replied in a compassionate voice free of judgment.
"You know my name? Please tell me yours!"
"My name is Sophia Derevko, and your reputation precedes you, you are a man of great knowledge, but you lack wisdom, He will give it to you if you ask."
"He?"
"Our creator, the ONLY one who controls time, no matter what you do to change it, He is STILL in control! Besides, why would I wish to relieve the past, even if I could change it, I would not wish to; for it has brought me to Him, and I would not trade His presence in my life for a million lifetimes."
Had she not said it so humbly he would have been more hurt, but he was mesmerized by her, and replied in his defense, "The greatest power is time, and he who controls IT has the ultimate control."
"Oh no, Milo, 'these three remain faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love.' Love Milo; THAT is the greatest power in THIS world or any other. Time is changing, love is constant, 'it never fails'. Love is what my daughter needs, but I failed to teach her that, I taught her to hate and that bitterness and revenge would save her. But it can't Milo, only love can save her now, selfless love, sacrificial love. But she lives in bitterness and hate. Hate, that is love's greatest enemy, if her anger is not prevented I fear hate will rule in her heart and have its shattering affect on all those around her. But I live in hope Milo, I know God hears my prayers and He will answer, in His own way, in His own time."
He felt as in a trance, as if he had just heard the tongues of angels, and the very voice of God. It was evident she had LIVED through much pain, and had CAUSED much pain, and yet she seemed at peace. And he saw it now she DID glow but it wasn't from the window's light, it was from within.
"Milo, I grow weary of this world, and long for my home, I know that in truth I cannot save my daughter, and may never get the chance to tell her of true love. Milo, in time she will no the truth, but it may be like it was for me, and too late for those who come after her. If you want to make a difference in time, promise me this, that you will find a way to protect her, from herself. Love is the only thing that can save her from her own hate and anger, and if it can save HER, there is hope for the rest of the world!"
She left him then, to contemplate all she had said. He starred at the empty spot she had filled, and felt a great void, he was frantic and looked upwards, and saw the cross, and the truth of her words began to fill up the empty spot in his soul, and he began to weep tears of joy. Then looked down and picked up a long strand of hair that Sophia had obviously left behind, and as he starred at it, his mind began to work.
When the weary travelers finally returned to Rome, Milo, Giovanni, and Michelangelo devoted themselves to the completion of Milo's journal and concluded his works, binding them up, for he knew it was no mistake he had been given these gifts, and that they could someday be used for good.
With detailed instructions Michalangelo and Giovanni set out to see the world and hide Rambaldi's treasures. Before they left the three huddled together, knowing it would most likely be the last they ever saw of each other. Rambaldi retrieved a small box and spoke softly, "Giovanni your are my greatest friend, and you will live an exceptionally long life, live it well and think of me fondly. Michealangelo, you are the son I never dared to have, so I give you this."
He opened the box and revealed a strange contraption; it was a clock, but none like anyone had ever seen before, it was small and look as if it were attached to some sort of bracelet. "It is a watch that goes on your wrist, so that you can not easily loose it. You can set your heartbeat to it. Despite our attempts to prevent destruction caused by Anastasia, she has started a heritage of hate that will continue throughout the ages. We must start a heritage of love that will ultimately stop it. I have created this watch to stop at the sight of her, and her descendants."
He noticed their skeptical looks and replied, "don't look at me that way, I AM a genius after all, might as well put it to good use! You must pass it on to your own son, and he his, and so on and so on, until the day their paths cross again. He must watch out for her, protect her, from herself, and outside forces that would evoke her wrath, but most of all he must love her!"
With that they parted. By the time they finished securing his contraptions around the world, Milo had died alone and rejected by the citizens of Rome, but he no longer feared time, or his absence from it, and welcomed death as the true entrance into eternity.
Giovanni, returned to Parma and lived an unusually long life, just as Milo had predicted. His last sight was the face he had seen in Russia many years earlier.
Michelangelo, settled in France, and married a "good person" who gave him a son. And to that son he gave his watch with telling of its importance and the responsibility that came with it.
And so time passed on, as did the watch, for hundreds of years, from father to son, each trying to tell what their father had told them. But somewhere along the line, the whole story got lost, and was forgotten; the only thing that remained was its ability to be set to one's heart. But even that stopped, on Oct. 1, 2001, when it entered HER presence!
TBC
(cheesy, a flawed I know, but I STILL believe their relationship has a Rambaldi significance even if it's not my interpretation! I'm not finished either, I have the PRESENT, and FUTURE, coming soon to a fanfic near YOU!!!)
- Also, I used the NIV version, and the love chapter from 1 Corinthians!