The storm had passed, leaving behind a strange quiet that clung to the city like mist.
From the balcony, Alessia gripped the cold railing, her heart still pounding.
The fire below had been extinguished, leaving trails of smoke curling into the violet dawn.
But what caught her breath wasn’t the ruins or the glow—it was the two figures she’d seen moments ago on the distant hill.
"Luca," she whispered, pointing. "There... look! Do you see them? A woman in white, and a man beside her... "
But when he turned, the hill was empty.
The smoke had swallowed everything.
Luca’s gaze followed her trembling hand, then returned to her face with quiet amusement. "Alessia," he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. "You have been dreaming and seeing a lot of strange things lately."
"I saw them," she insisted, voice shaking. "They were real and watching us... "
He chuckled softly, that deep, velvet sound that could melt steel. "Maybe Seriona’s air is too rich for you, you start seeing ghosts before breakfast."
Her chest tightened. "Don’t mock me."
"I’m not." His tone softened, though his eyes carried a flicker of something unreadable. "But your daydreaming has to end, amore. You came here to rest, to get your sanity back, remember?"
She flinched at the word sanity, though he said it tenderly. Luca reached out to her hands leading her back inside the room and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "No more ghosts, No more fire, it’s Just us."
Before she could respond, a knock echoed from the door—three slow, deliberate taps.
Luca’s brow arched. "Who could that be?"
Alessia hesitated, then moved to open it.
Standing there was a woman dressed in layers of crimson lace, her face half-veiled, eyes bright and mischievous beneath heavy lashes.
She held a cake wrapped in a red translucent veil, its scent rich with spice and honey.
"Good morning, Signora Morano," the woman said in a warm, lilting voice. "And you too, young Don Morano. I’m your neighbor from across the west garden. Call me Lady Gaga though most here prefer Old Lady G."
Luca’s lips curved faintly. "Lady G, Quite an introduction."
She laughed, her jewelry clinking like wind chimes. "One must make an entrance in Seriona, dear. Especially before the Veil Festival. I brought you this.... " she lifted the cake slightly " a traditional welcome gift for new arrivals, Red for luck, Veiled for protection."
Alessia accepted the offering with a polite smile. "It’s beautiful... Thank you."
"My pleasure, child." Lady G’s gaze lingered on her before shifting to Luca, eyes narrowing with fond recognition. "And you... you look so much like your father. Same eyes, same stubborn mouth."
Luca’s expression changed for just a heartbeat, his charm dimming into something cooler. "You knew him?"
"Knew him?" The old woman chuckled darkly. "My dear, every stone in this city remembers Don Alessandro Morano, Some with love and some with fear."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
Then, just as quickly, Lady G’s smile returned, bright and unbothered. "But that’s a story for another evening. For now, you both must attend the festival.
It’s tradition every guest in Seriona wears a veil and joins the revel. Music, masks, secrets. It keeps the city alive."
Luca inclined his head politely. "Perhaps later, My wife.... "
"Oh no, Don Morano." Lady G wagged a jeweled finger. "Not attending would offend the city’s guardians. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?" Her grin deepened, showing a flash of gold tooth. "I’ll have a carriage sent at sundown. Don’t be late." Thıs text ıs hosted at novel※fire.net
And with that, she swept down the corridor, her red skirts trailing behind like spilled wine.
Alessia turned to Luca. "What did she mean by ’guardians’?"
He exhaled slowly, gaze drifting toward the shuttered window. "Old superstition, Every city has its ghosts. Seriona simply names hers."
She wanted to ask more, but the distant chime of bells cut through the air—the call of celebration rising from the lower quarters.
By evening, Seriona had transformed.
Lanterns lined every bridge and balcony, their violet flames replaced by soft gold. Musicians played along the canals, their melodies hauntingly sweet, carried by the sea breeze.
Women in veils of every color drifted through the streets like living tapestries, laughter mingling with the scent of cinnamon and salt.
Alessia stepped out of their carriage, her golden veil draped over a flowing gown that shimmered like liquid sunlight.
The moment she stepped into the plaza, whispers followed.
She could feel their eyes curious, reverent, , something else she couldn’t name.
Luca took her hand, guiding her through the crowd. "You look like a queen," he murmured against her ear. "Seriona might crown you before the night ends."
She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. "You say that to make me forget how strange this place feels."
"Maybe," he said, eyes glinting. "Or maybe I mean every word."
They reached the central square, where a stage was set for performances—dancers in veils of flame, acrobats twisting above in silken ribbons, and a chorus that sang in a language older than the city itself.
The festival pulsed with beauty and hidden menace.
Alessia sat at a reserved table near the edge of the square, surrounded by petals and soft candlelight.
For a moment, it almost felt normal.
She laughed at the dancers’ playful mimicry, sipped sweet wine, and allowed herself to believe that maybe Luca was right—that she’d been dreaming too much.
But as the night deepened, she realized he was gone.
Her gaze darted across the crowd—first calmly, then sharper. His dark coat, his familiar stance, the faint gleam of his ring—nowhere.
A ripple of unease moved through her.
She rose, lifting the edge of her gown, weaving through the crowd toward the back of the square. A waiter tried to stop her, but she brushed him off.
A woman in a long silver veil stood at the shadowed edge of the old town hall, her hand resting lightly on Luca’s chest.
The soft lantern light framed them perfectly—too intimate, too knowing.
Luca’s head was bowed, his expression unreadable.
The woman’s voice carried softly through the wind, low and tremulous.
"I fell deeply in love with you after you left..."