The Secret Muse (#1)

Chapter 9

It feels good to do familiar things once again. I wasn't able to touch a book for weeks and finally having some in my hands felt exhilarating. I started with Dante as he's been my favourite during the 15th century. I only managed to find the divine comedy.

The Vita Nuova would have been a great addition but for some reason, they don't have it. I barely felt the time passing by. I was so lost in his world despite the grimness of the first book, Inferno.

"I see you've finally found an interesting thing to do," Botticelli said, tearing my eyes away from the book. Looking a lot better and smiling, he started preparing for all of his equipment.

"Yes, on our way home, I spotted a bookstore and quickly bought anything that I can carry home," I replied, suppressing a giggle.

He looks up and saw the book I was reading. "I didn't know you like Dante Alighieri."

Nodding my head yes, I spoke, "Yes, he's one of my favourites. Although my other favourites haven't been born yet."

"I also have a deep fascination for him."

The way he looked at the book reminds me of the future. About what he'll be doing about Dante's work that will soon hang on the walls of the museum only that this time, it wouldn't be consisting of beauty but pain, suffering, and fear.

The total opposite of how he captures beauty. "You know, 400 years from now-"

"If it's alright with you, I prefer not to hear anything about me in the future. I have asked the same thing Constantine before. I hope you'd respect that." He said, sensing that I'm about to reveal something from the future.

I usually don't like being cut off, but this time I truly understand. "Don't you want to change something if you knew of the unpleasant things that will come to pass?"

He was silent for a while, then look over the Iris on the vase, slowly withering then smiled. "There must have been a reason why it must come to pass. I do not wish to meddle with anything. I like living not knowing what's going to happen to me. It makes me appreciate the beauty around me even more as the day passes." I have never felt admiration the way I do right now for Botticelli.

The inclination of humans to know what they can seems to be overlooked by Botticelli. I think it might be the reason why he can paint so masterfully. Building on the topic, however, I started thinking about the future of his famous friends that my father had closely studied before.

I started to wonder if he perhaps wanted to know about the upcoming loss of two of his friends. My train of thought was cut off when he asked me to begin posing.

As days turn to weeks, Botticelli and I started to become more and more close. For some reason, the painting was taking longer than I initially thought it would. I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief.

Being able to see him every day invigorates me. Looking forward to seeing him has become a part of my day.

We would talk about the silliest things or the most serious of topics. I realized that Botticelli is a lot more intelligent than I realized he'd be. I thought he's always been so focused on his art that he doesn't have any time for other things such as politics, history, and literature. Despite his knowledge, he chooses to not meddle with anything.

In these weeks that we have spent together, I must admit that it didn't even bother me that I don't get to go outside anymore. His company has been sufficient enough to fill my day.

The painting progresses, and so are my feelings for him. The attraction has gradually increased to something deeper than friendship.

It was dark. Everything else appears so. There's no light, apart from the distant explosion up in the sky. The devastation that the war has caused has been apparent on the streets of London.

I'm all alone, pain taking over my body as I walk the silent streets. The scent of smoke fills the air and it's starting to get colder.

Despite the darkness, I saw a pair of ballet shoes within the rubble. All torn up, just like the ones I previously had when I have worn it from practices. I wanted to pick it up but knowing I do not need it, I decided to walk past it.

Then my leg suddenly aches making me stumble and fall to the ground. Then someone appeared. A man walked toward me. I could not see his face because of the darkness but he stretched out his hand for me. As I reach my hand to him, the ache slowly disappears.

We walk side by side, hand in hand when he suddenly vanished. When he disappeared, it felt as if someone has taken air away from my lungs. I feel dizzy, I feel pain then I see blood between my legs. Have I been hit? Have I been injured?

The pain is too much I can no longer will my legs to carry my body. When I fell to the ground, I hear a faint cry of a man. He was calling my name but then a bomb went off, pushing me in the air.

Sitting up, panting heavily, I grabbed my chest to feel my heart pounding hard inside. Nightmare, it's just a nightmare. It's been a long time since I've had one. Just like my other nightmares, this one's felt just as real.

The very thought of it made me feel weak. I'm scared. I thought of pushing them back into my mind would eventually suppress any memories I have left.

The truth is, I'm still running away. I may be 400 years back from my previous time and yet it still caught up to me. I went back to the past to run away from mine. The thought brought tears to my eyes. No matter what I do, I can never outrun my past.

"Antonia?" Aunt Simona said, breaking my reverie.

"Yes, Aunt Simona?" I asked, realizing that I have lost track of time and that for some reason, I'm sitting across from her as we eat breakfast.

Her eyes study me with worried eyes. "Are you alright? You look rather pale, my dear."

Forcing a smile, I shake my head no. "I'm quite alright, Aunt Simona. No need to worry."

I can tell she doesn't believe me as her gaze continues to pierce through me. "If you're not ready to talk to me about it, I understand."

True. I'm not ready for it. In fact, for the duration of my stay, I have barely even thought of it because I am truly enjoying myself. All but one nightmare would change that.

Today, Botticelli will be unable to come to the house and paint me due to some matters that need his full attention. Sitting down by the window while staring at the dark geranium flowers makes me think of how relieved I am that I wouldn't be seeing him.

It wouldn't be the best time. I barely heard her knock nor come in, but I did hear her voice when she spoke. "Did something happen between you and Sandro?" She asks as she moves towards me. She took another chair next to me and sit on it.

"No, nothing's happened between us."

Leaning back, my Aunt placed her hands on her lap. "Hmm, something did. I can tell by the way you look at each other."

Facing down, I fidget. "I can't speak for him but there's no sense in denying that I do like him."

I can feel her smile grows and fades at the same time. "Is it not a good thing?"

Sighing, I shrugged my shoulders while still looking down at my hands. "I'm not sure."

"What is it you're not sure of, my dear?" She asks with a mixture of curiosity and concern in her voice.

"I'm not sure if succumbing to these feelings is the right thing to do." Then, I started to rub my left ring finger.

I know she's looking at my hands and somehow, I knew that she knows what it means. "You have loved once before."

Nodding faintly, I spoke, "Yes, deeply and intensely."

"What happened then?"

Finally, have the courage, I look over at her as my tears slowly run down my cheeks. "He left me."

Without any other word, Aunt Simona pulled me in for a hug. Her arms are warm and soothing. When he left, I had no one else to comfort me. My uncle was away, and my father and I weren't on speaking terms at the time.

It feels nice having someone to lean on at times like this. I cried hard against her chest. Years of bottled-up memories and emotions stream like a waterfall. Slowly, I felt lighter and then calmer.