'All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.'
—Edgar Allan Poe
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CRAWFORD HIGH [VERONA, ITALY 2000]
The dome like structure and the Victorian-style columns of the foyer seemed humongous to the eight year old, in fact everything was so magnificent and innovative that she couldn't keep her eyes off of her surroundings. She'd been brought up with a silver spoon, everything came easy, materialistically of course but she was just a kid, and was still in awe of every new shiny thing that met her eyes. Hand-in-hand with her father, her curious eyes roamed up and about the corridors. She was a new transfer student of Crawford High, one of the oldest and most prestigiously renowned high schools in Verona—as to the reason she was being transferred; it was one of the many long standing traditions that was passed on from generations. Apart from the families, only descendants belonging to old-money, well-to-do aristocratic families attended this school.
The school also had two separate wings—middle and junior wing.
Rain belt along the gothic architectures—the high walls to the arches and like the weeping willow, wavy droplets dribbled from leaves and blossoms in rapid sequence outside. As they made their way into the dean's office, her father Salvestro Giordano stopped, so did she and the men behind her. Intimidated by the frightening looking men in black in front of them, she sheltered herself behind her father's legs.
"Don Moretti" Her father said agreeably, "What a pleasant surprise."
"You know I don't believe in coincidences Mr Giordano." Don Moretti turned to her. "It seems you have been rather occupied with fatherly duties. No harm in that I suppose. But we should have a drink sometimes. Call me when you have cleared your schedule." He responded good-naturedly.
"Don Moretti I—"
"You know better than to take advantage of my kindness Mr Giordano."
After a brief conversation, which seemed less restrained now, her father gave the man a forced smile and pulled at her arm; she, at first hesitated but gradually peeked out to see from where she hid and saw amused look on all of their faces except one. Her face burned. It was then, she noticed a boy, a little older than herself staring at her with eyebrows creased and squinted grey eyes, an intensity that made her feel uncomfortable and anxious.
The sky thundered,
The wind howled,
The rain pelted down,
Foretelling an impending doom
The little girl was not used to the feeling of fear.
But at that moment,
She knew, she was terrified.
The boy looked at her as though she was a nasty bug he wanted squished. His eyes turned hateful when he looked at her father. She didn't like the dark glint in his eyes, she decided, not at all. He wore a royal-blue polo shirt and black jeans with hands behind his back—he had an air of supremacy which made him look like royalty despite his tender age. She knew who he was—everyone knew who he was but they never had been once introduced formally.
"Aren't you an adorable little lady" Don Moretti bent forward and ruffled her hair. He then looked at his grandson, "Nipote" He called.
Like a trained soldier, the boy stepped forward in a collected manner and stretched out his right hand.
"Valente. Valente Enzo Moretti." His voice smooth and velvety; it was deeper than other boys of his age who had high-pitched tone and Sera decided she liked his voice.
"Can I call you Enzo?" She asked politely with an air of innocence and her hand still on his while the elders watched them with an intrigued fashion. Their curiosity was apparent.
Nobody called him Enzo. No one dared called him by his name. 'Young don' was his only reigning title.
Did she say something wrong?
Her father was about to make an excuse for her rudeness when Valente spoke again.
"Your name"
Salvestro Giordano raised a brow at the demand but maintained his poise while Don Moretti had his poker face intact.
"What's your name?" He asked her again, the first ever exception he made for anyone.
"Oh. I-Its Seraphina. Seraphina Rose Giordano."
Valente seemed to mull and test the name on his tongue.
"You can call me Enzo . . . . Only if I can call you Rosa, deal?" He looked straight into her eyes.
Seraphina looked at her father who gave a slight nod.
"Deal"
"Rosa" His lip twitched the slightest.
She liked it and so did he.
"Enzo"
His stoic face broke out into a smile when the little girl blushed and smiled so bright, the stars dimmed in comparison.
Rosa looked so pretty, the prettiest of them all.
There weren't many things that surprised Don Moretti anymore, but this was one of the few moments.
A smile
It was fucking precious because his grandson never smiled.
When they walked past each other, Seraphina waited few moments before she turned her head one last time.
There, Valente walked beneath the umbrella held by a big man.
To the eight year old, he looked like a prince.
An evil prince
Then, as he entered the car, he raised his head—grey to green—their eyes met.
Amongst the wild,
Under the beguiling rain,
Oblivious hearts, intertwined in a twist of fate
It was an unbeknownst claim of a ten year old,
His "Rosa" as he called her,
Everyone knew,
Except her
♡♡♡
YOU ARE READING
Rose Among Thorns
RomantikThe sky thundered, The wind howled, The rain pelted down, Foretelling an impending doom. The little girl was not used to the feeling of fear. But at that moment, she knew, she was terrified. The boy looked at her as though she was a nasty bug he...
