Perennial Nest - A "Fate - The Winx Saga" Story

1

It was snowing when you found her.

You lived alone in a little villa on the italian Alps. It was the beginning of winter.

You had gone down to the village to buy some bread, milk and one of those fresh croissant you liked so much. You loved going down in the chilly mornings. Your house was isolated, high on the right side of the narrow valley, and you had to take a short path in the woods and then walk for a while along the roaring river to get to the village.

It had been a hard choice retreating to the mountains. You were an artist, before. Only three years had passed, and yet it felt like a lifetime ago. But what else could you have done?

You had always been a bookworm, and oneday a book had changed your life. You had discovered that magic was real. Oh, it had opened a door of wonders for you. You could finallysee the threads of the world, you could finally touch what you had been searching for your entire life.

But you couldn't speak about that with anyone. Not your family. Not your friends. Not your coworkers. The few times you had tried they had blamed your words on the wine you had been drinking to get to courage to tell them. So you had grown more and more apart from what used to be your world.

You had tried to search for other magical adepts. But you hadn't find anyone. You were alone.

Practicing magic on your own was exhilarating but also, sometimes, terrifying. You longed for a teacher or, at least, for someone to compare your experiences with.

In the end, the feeling of detachment from the mundane world had been too painful to endure, and you had decided to retire on the mountains. You had left your work, rented the apartment you had in the big city where you had been based and you had found the house where you lived now.

Your family and friends still said to everyone that it was only a nervous breakdown, that you'd come back sooner or later. After all, you were an actress, famous for being overly emotional, and the theatre scene can be stressing, everyone knew that.

But you were happy on the mountains, or, if not happy, at least peaceful. You were free to dedicate yourself, body and soul, to magic. Your black cat and your books where company enough, and when you felt the need to chat you could always go down to the village pub. The people there were Alps' men; they accepted you and didn't ask too many questions.

That morning you were already looking forward to lighting the fire, choosing the book of the day and having your first breakfast when you spotted a dark something in the snow near your house.

You immediatly thought about an animal. Maybe a deer, coming down from the mountain top after the first colds?

Whatever it was, it wasn't moving. You left your small bag in front of the door and went to see what it was. At the beginning you didn't understand. You noticed a dark blue coat, then an intricate hairstyle with a few golden curls escaping from it. It dawned on you. Sweet Artemis, that was a person. A woman, lying down in the snow. You ran to her, kneeling down and then gently turning her body. She was unconscious, but she was breathing. She must have been around fifty. She had very peculiar, strong, but beautiful features and clothes way too light and elegant for the beginning of winter on the Alps. What was she doing here? Where did she come from?

You sat down in the snow, oblivious to your clothes rapidly getting wet, and delicately put her head on your legs. You didn't want to move her, yet; you had to be sure there was no trauma to the head.

"Mi sente?"

After a few minutes the woman opened her eyes. She seemed confused for a second, but when her gaze focused on your face she tensed up, as if ready to hit you.