Tarnished in Sanguine

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<<link "➻">><<run Engine.backward();>><</link>>  <span>Et tu, Cosimo?</span>  <span style="grid-column:3;"><<link "➻">><<run Engine.forward();>><</link>></span>

<<link "settings">><<run UI.settings();>><<toggleclass "#menuLinks" "unstow">><<toggleclass "#header" "shadow">><<toggleclass "#menu" "glow">><</link>> <<link "saves">><<run UI.saves();>><<toggleclass "#menuLinks" "unstow">><<toggleclass "#menu" "glow">><<toggleclass "#header" "shadow">><</link>>  <<link "character profile">><<run Dialog.create("Character Profile", "profile").wikiPassage("Character Profile").open();>><<toggleclass "#menuLinks" "unstow">><<toggleclass "#header" "shadow">><<toggleclass "#menu" "glow">><</link>> <<link "extra">><<run Dialog.create("Extra", "profile").wikiPassage("Extra").open();>><<toggleclass "#menuLinks" "unstow">><<toggleclass "#header" "shadow">><<toggleclass "#menu" "glow">><</link>>  <<link "restart">><<run UI.restart();>><<toggleclass "#menuLinks" "unstow">><<toggleclass "#header" "shadow">><<toggleclass "#menu" "glow">><</link>> <<link "credits">><<run Dialog.create("Credits").wikiPassage("Credits").open();>><<toggleclass "#menuLinks" "unstow">><<toggleclass "#header" "shadow">><<toggleclass "#menu" "glow">><</link>>

<img class="character" src="images/cosimo_blush.jpeg">  <h2>The Giftless</h2> <div id="charInfo" class="character">  <span>Name:</span> Cosimo Spadaro <span>Alias:</span> ? <span>Pronouns:</span> he/him <span>Label:</span> MC <span>Quote:</span> "I'll, I'll paint you as you are someday… Hopefully." <span>Favorite flower:</span> lavender <span>Playlist: </span><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4C7rNZQDQT6z9rZQhr3SUS?si=s8BCLWltRpiBKJg5-BACjw" target="_blank">HERE</a>  </div> <div id="charBio" class='character'>  Cosimo was the shy and sensitive boy he has always been when he began to learn the trade of craftsmen and work with his father's associate, Augusto Di Pietro. Under his new teacher's strict guidance and a well-known workshop, Cosimo is desperate to grow into the man his father expected him to be when he sent him away. In the way all children must, Cosimo has to honour his family name.  </div>  <img class="character" src="images/aurelia_gray.jpg">  <h2>The Ambitious</h2> <div id="charInfo" class="character">  <span>Name:</span> Aurelia Di Pietro <span>Alias:</span> ? <span>Pronouns:</span> she/her <span>Label:</span> best friend <span>Quote:</span> "You're worth getting to know." <span>Favorite flower:</span> white bougainvillea <span>Playlist: </span><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Wt5KzVmlyivR6m17qixqM?si=ly3I_AglQmiJEKEcnxDHFw">HERE</a>  </div> <div id="charBio" class='character'>  As the daughter of the workshop master, Aurelia breathed in the artistic knowledge most girls never could at a young age. Immediately showing interest and skill in sketching, Augusto let her indulge herself in it and made her an apprentice. Most believe her determination to succeed in the field is a phase, but only a few know how far her ambition goes.  </div>  <img class="character" src="images/emiliano_gray.jpeg">  <h2>The Passionate</h2> <div id="charInfo" class="character">  <span>Name:</span> Emiliano Mora <span>Alias:</span> ? <span>Pronouns:</span> he/him <span>Label:</span> best friend <span>Quote:</span> "You're awfully more interesting to look at than them." <span>Favorite flower:</span> red rose <span>Playlist: </span><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ImPNw5VTBRr0bsrGXn1vm?si=e9083bff0b3546c7">HERE</a>  </div> <div id="charBio" class='character'>  Despite being from a humble background, Emiliano easily outshines most of the students in Augusto's workshop. Be it because of his charm or his fascinating artwork, it's as if he was born for the craft. Yet as his time slips away working for Augusto his heart longs for a change.  </div>

<h2>Team</h2> <ul> <li>Writing and programming by <a href="https://a-villarroel.itch.io/" target="_blank">A. Villarroel (AKA The Sloth)</a></li> </ul> <ul> <li>Editing by <a href="https://workofpfunyxius.carrd.co/" target="_blank">pfunyxius</a></li> </ul> <ul> <li>Beta reading and character design by <a href="https://starrysaboutme.carrd.co/" target="_blank">STARRY (melat0nin_martini on Discord)</a></li> </ul> <ul> <li>Character art by <a href="https://www.instagram.com/qulek69?igsh=MXdhbHFnZmIwZGEwZg%3D%3D" target="_blank">Qulek</a></li> </ul> <ul> <li>Menu, cover, and upcoming CG art by <a href="https://llxoxll.carrd.co/" target="_blank">Soma (lxoxl)</a></li> </ul> <ul> <li>Logo by <a href="https://x.com/mieec__7?t=1gp_zI3kEeH9PJ1oTydwyg&s=09" target="_blank">Mieec</a></li> </ul> <ul> <li>Music by <a href="https://soundcloud.com/lucifern222?ref=clipboard&p=i&c=1&si=4864F2D8CDDC42EB8603289747654BA7&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing" target="_blank">Lucifern</a></li> </ul> <h2>Resources</h2> <ul> <li>//Leonora// UI Template by <a href="https://lapinlunaire-games.neocities.org/" target="_blank">LapinLunaireGames</a></li> </ul> <ul> <li>//100% Good Twine Sugarcube Guide// and //100% Good Twine Sugarcube Templates// by <a href="https://manonamora.itch.io/" target="_blank">Manon</a></li> </ul> <ul> <li>Rocky Cliff with Stormy Sea, Cornwall (1902) by William Trost Richards from <a href="https://artvee.com/dl/rocky-cliff-with-stormy-sea-cornwall#00" target="_blank">Artvee</a></li> </ul> <ul> <li>View of a City at Night (1831) by Camille Roqueplan from <a href="https://artvee.com/dl/view-of-a-city-at-night#00" target="_blank">Artvee</a></li> </ul> <ul> <li>Untitled (Field of Bluebonnets) (1918) by Julian Onderdonk from <a href="https://artvee.com/dl/untitled-field-of-bluebonnets/#00" target="_blank">Artvee</a></li> </ul>

Thanks for downloading my Leonora template! Don't hesitate to leave a comment on itch or contact me (https://lapinlunaire-games.neocities.org/contact/) if you have any questions and the code comments aren't quite getting you the info you need. Here's a quick guide to getting started: // CUSTOMISATION In the STYLESHEET, look for the sections marked with 🌸🌸🌸 and 🌙🌙🌙 emojis to customize the colors/background images of each theme. In passages tagged "Edit-Me!", look for the sections marked with 🌸🌸🌸. // AUTOSAVE Tagging a passage with ''autosave'' will create an autosave file at that passage. // GUIDE Below is a key to the colour-coded tags I've used to identify which passages should be edited with your own text, and which should not be edited without deeper HTML/CSS/Twinescript familiarity. //--------------- TAG KEY ----------------- "Guide" (BLUE) Reference passage. "Edit-Me!" (GREEN) Passages tagged "Edit-Me!" contain text meant for you to change to your own project's information. The relevant sections to change in each are marked with 🌸🌸🌸. "No-Touchy!" (RED) Editing strongly not recommended without advanced HTML/CSS/JS/Twinescript knowledge.

<img class="logo" src="images/cover.png"> <div id="splashLinks"> [[Play|Passage1]] <<if (Save.browser.size > 0)>> <<link "Load">> <<run UI.saves();>> <</link>> <</if>> <<link "Settings">><<run UI.settings();>><</link>> <<link "Credits">><<run Dialog.create("Credits").wikiPassage("Credits").open();>><</link>> </div>

<<audio "cosimo_track" loop play>> <h1>Chapter I</h1> "No!" "Come on!" Father demands as he pulls me away from Mother. "Can't you wait a little longer?" Mother pleads on my behalf, but she doesn't hold me, doesn't try to keep me close to her. "You protected him for too long." "But…" I scream as he tugs me back to pluck me from my mother's waist and I stumble when he gets to tear me away from her. I try to free myself of his hand, gripping my wrist, but he's much stronger than I am. "Ma!" "It's… it's only a trip, child." No, I was sure they were packing too many of my things to only be a trip and Father was furious as he set my drawings on fire last night. I stretch out my arm with all my strength, hoping she would grasp my hand. She only gives me a small smile to encourage me, but it quickly fades and she turns around, going to speak to a servant. "Stop crying," he tells me while we exit through the great entrance and I dry the tears that keep falling, taking care not to completely ruin the flower in my hand despite it being already a bit mangled. It's hard to leave, because I did everything I could so this would turn out right… "It's time you learn our craft," he says earnestly as we sit on the carriage. "Let's go!" he barks at the coachman. At the first whip at the horses and the sound or wheels driving me away from my home, I focus on my flower. I think Mother liked its violet petals, she would have liked to have the little plant as a gift of mine. "Augusto will know what to do with you." Maybe, when I return, I'll be able to plaster the house's faces with beautiful lavenders. Nobody can destroy these, right? <p style="text-align: center;">· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·</p> I almost trip as I come down the unsteady steps of the carriage, Father making me go first when it just stopped. Yet, I don't fall because of his hold. He releases my hand as he shuts the door close, and I blow the dust off my shoes as I find my footing. I smile a bit at the goofy shadow of Father's slender and wobbly legs over the puddles, and my own long fingers even longer as the yellow lights distort them. "Come along," Father urges me. I look up and as I follow him into the building before us, a dark, large, mass of bricks with no open windows most certainly not welcoming me. Regardless, Father pulls the door handle and we go in. The first thing to flood my senses is the buzzing of busy men. The second is what the men work on: art. I can't sit and stare at them for long as Father strides across the room with nothing but the door at the end of it in mind. Still, I catch fragmented gesso around a woman's face bust, currently still rough and male-looking, while next to her a man stands polished and figure handsomely lean, still being polished by his craftsman. Father and I then have to get past a group of boys, with the occasional man in between. They catch me looking at their sketches of sweet cats, dogs, and horses. The boys' brows furrow as they watch me, smirking while they exchange looks at their comrades, as if they know something I don't. I hide behind Father as he leads the way and we get to that door. "Augusto!" he calls as he opens it and lets himself in. "Wait, he's here? Ugh, alright people please…" A man with soft yet commanding voice mutters at his assistants who, holding paint and other materials, stop their painting of a wonderful landscape background as their master leaves them in favor of greeting Father. "Marcello, so you did decide not to entirely forget our meeting at… midday was it?" The worn smile in the man's face as he approaches indicates the years of smiling at a business partner and friend. "I intended to arrive on time, but there was something I had to deal with." I don't need to look up at Father to know he means he had to deal with my problems, with me. So I'd rather look up at the often mentioned Augusto and his paint-stained clothing, who in turn frowns a bit as his gaze falls on me. "I see you brought your youngest boy, isn't he?" "Yes, Cosimo." "Well, may I ask why? You live cities away from here to bring your son with you. Do you think children find talking about workshops and money entertaining?" "Actually… We'll get to that, but can I make a request from you?" Augusto's eyes narrow a bit as his gaze shifts between Father and I. "Go on…" "I hope it isn't too much to ask but…" Father leaves me behind as he comes closer to Augusto. "Unlike my other boys, Cosimo is incapable of learning the craft." His voice is lower as he continues, "I have persistently instructed him in drawing, even allowing him to try painting when his sketches weren't close to good, and sculpturing." "Patience, my friend. Even if he has no innate talent, he'll eventually get to do decent pieces, at least technically, that can at least sell to the more vulgar." "But I have been teaching him since he was no longer a baby and there are no signs! And I don't want him to do mediocre work that sells and leaves no more. His pieces ought to get to the homes of honorable families." "And what do you think you can do about it? Nothing, keep instructing him." "I can do nothing, I know, but I was hoping you could." "Excuse me?" "I need you to do me the favor of taking him in as an apprentice in your workshop." "And why mine and not yours?" "Because I am his father, and he acts brashly, but under your supervision I believe he will do better." Augusto's eyes show a mix of exhaustion and, as he glances at me, slight pity. "You live too far away. He'd have to move, and how old is he? Eight, nine years old?" "Can't he stay with you?" "Unfortunately, no. We'd have to rearrange the whole house." "He's only one boy, and you have visitors all the time don't you?" "Not really, and they don't stay long. Your boy would have to stay with me for how long? A decade?" "Remember, I'm still paying for everything he'll need." Augusto remains silent for a moment as he looks at me, and I wish I could hide behind Father, but I know the last thing he wants now is for me to shelter myself with him. Augusto looks back at Father. "I have my daughter to take care of." Father gives him a grave look. "And?" "Marcello…" "It would be good. Despite his immaturity, you cannot discard him–" "We'll see when he's older, alright?" Again, I wounded Father's pride. His gaze has the spark of an offended man, yet there's the hint of gratitude underneath. "I'll have him stay elsewhere," Father says. "When can he begin?" "Whenever you'd like. It's rather late now and if he stayed he'd only have an hour or so to work, so you might want to take him with you and bring him back starting tomorrow." "But he can today?" "Yes…" Father turns to me as he heads towards the door. "You're staying with Augusto for a while." A while… How long is a while? In what sense? "What about our original business?" Augusto calls him. "I'll meet you at the bar tomorrow in the evening." "Fine." Father side-eyes me, warning me not to dare cry, while he leaves a few coins and paper on a desk. He tells Augusto, "Here's the address where he'll stay. When you're done here you can call a coachman and ask him to send him off there." Augusto simply nods as he gathers some materials. I watch as Father crosses the door, navigating again the crowd of working men. As he goes further away I feel my pass to home is escaping my grasp, yet, I don't think I can chase after him. I don't want to stay here "for a while" when the only thing I dread is having to practice doing my horrendous sketches with nothing but the hope they'll someday be good enough to realize. I don't want to embarrass Father before Augusto with his men and boys. I bite my lip in nervous irritation as Father finally closes the door and is off to the street, leaving me stuck here. Augusto touches my shoulder, bringing me from the doorway to a table with different sorts of "stones" if I can call them that and a mortar with its pestle. "Please start by crushing the blue ones. Once the powder is done, you must put them in their respective pots. Take care of the differences in shade." I suppress a sigh. I'm already worn by the thought of crushing stones to paint, yet the idea of crafting a piece is even more daunting. "Back to work," Augusto orders the men that had been assisting him in his painting. With a little relief at this being my first task, I weakly grab the pestle and position a "stone" in the mortar. <p style="text-align: center;">· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·</p> My hands are red and purple after holding the stone and crushing material for so long. My fingers ache as I outstretch them, but as I'm done I take my time to find water and cool them. I walk to the nearest basin and immediately dip my hands. Its soothing also helps me ignore the whizz of the workshop. I can't hear it anymore, and I close my eyes… I'm exhausted. Mother never let me be up this late, yet I always wanted to try. Now that I have, against my will, I see why she didn't let me. I wish I could crawl into my bed, quarrel with Cecil about whether I fed her canary or not, and then drift to sleep. If I'm lucky, Mother would come into the room herself and reassure Cecil her little Prim is safe in its little cage and before going, she'd give me a goodnight kiss. I think when dad says "a while" he means a few years, only a few, I hope. I don't know how long apprentices have to stay with masters, but I don't want to be here for a week, much less years and years. "We're done for today," Augusto says behind me. I look up, finding him offering me a cloth. I slowly take it. It has paint stains in it, but has been washed before, so I dry my hands with it. "Do you feel better?" he asks me. My gaze remains on my hands, conflicted about the agony I feel and the thankfulness I should feel. "No…" "No?" he exclaims at my honesty. "I–I mean, I'm sorry, it's not as if…" Oh he must think I'm so rude. I am rude. I should be glad he handed me a cloth. I should be happy he accepted me in his workshop when I don't deserve to be taught if I can't learn. And I waste materials, and time, and make others suffer. "Wait, wait, why are you crying?" he answers me with surprise, rather than with the indignation I expected. "I was rude…" Feeling a sob coming up, I want to bite my hand, but I can't in front of Augusto. "I only meant I would like to be home with Mother." Quickly, to soften my confession, I add, "But I still owe you the biggest thanks!" "No, no, it's alright," he tells me hurriedly, uncomfortable. Oh he won't like me now! I ruined my first day… I blush as the men and boys chuckle at my spectacle. I have my gaze firmly set on the floor as I put my hand in my pocket with the violet flower. As Augusto leads me away, he murmurs to me, "Regardless, you better get used to this." I take the flower out of my pocket and a few petals fall off. He opens the door. "This is only your start." <div class="choice"> [[Next|Passage2]] </div>

<<set $visitedStyles to true>> <h1>Heading 1</h1> <h2>Heading 2</h2> <h3>Heading 3</h3> <p>This is a UI template for use with the Sugarcube Format in Twine. It is mobile-responsive and comes with 3 built-in themes, which are customizable in the Stylesheet (the sections marked with 🌸🌸🌸 and 🌙🌙🌙 emojis). There are sans serif (default), serif, and monospace font options.</p> <p>Passages tagged "autosave" (like this one) will create an autosave when the player sees them.</p> <p>The images (the stained glass background, the stone and tile textures, the window vectors, etc.) seen in this demo are included in the zip folder download. If you want to use your own images, the {{{Leonora.html}}} has CSS placeholders you can replace with your own.</p> <p>//Leonora// also comes with a pre-styled, optional <b>Character Profile</b> section in the menu. If you are not using it, you can simply delete its passage and corresponding link in the {{{Menu Links}}} passage.</p> <hr> <blockquote>The purpose of a stained glass window is not to allow those within a building to see the world outside or even primarily to admit light but rather to control it. The purpose of blockquotes like this is to highlight quotes.</blockquote> <div class="swatch"> <div class="card" style="background-color:var(--background);" data-swatch="background" lang="en"></div> <div class="card" style="background-color:var(--passageBG);" data-swatch="passageBG" lang="en"></div> <div class="card" style="background-color:var(--text);color:var(--passageBG);" data-swatch="text" lang="en"></div> <div class="card" style="background-color:var(--accent);color:var(--accent2);" data-swatch="accent" lang="en"></div> <div class="card" style="background-color:var(--accent2);" data-swatch="accent2" lang="en"></div> </div> <p>''This is bold text.'' //This is italic text.// __This is underlined text.__ <<link "This is what a link looks like.">><</link>> Links inside divs with the class {{{choice}}} will appear as below. </p>

// Audio List <<cacheaudio "cosimo_track" "music/cosimo_theme.mp3">> <<set $TwoBirds to true>> <<set $NoPetNames to true>> <<set $Chapter4 to true>>

<<if $visitedChapter4>> [[- June 7th, 1563|entry 1]] <</if>> <div class="choice"> <<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>> </div>

- [[Journals]] - [[Bonus scenes]] - [[Art gallery]] <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/new/ask/iamthesloth" target="_blank">- Make an ask</a> <a href="https://pin.it/7s1WMoxC4" target="_blank">- Pinterest board</a> <a href="https://iamthesloth.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">- Follow on Tumblr</a> <a href="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeHvswDJH5ws7MTvMptOALlwB6tY8aiMwvEAizJWN2QChamdw/viewform?usp=sharing&ouid=112285337864685541594" target="_blank">- Bug report</a>

Upcoming! <<if $visitedTwoBirds>> [[(Don't) Kill Two Birds with One Stone|(Don't) Kill Two Birds with One Stone Bonus]] <</if>> <div class="choice"> <<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>> </div>

<<if $visitedStyles>> <img class="gallery" src="images/cosimo_bg.jpg" alt="Cosimo's Field"> <</if>> Upcoming! <div class="choice"> <<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>> </div>

<h1>Chapter II</h1> After so long, I finally get to see the curves and lines of charcoal create figures by my own hand. It's a great step from just handing over materials to the rest or cleaning dust and paint splotches. Of rank it is, but of skill… I scrunch my nose at the ugly dove I'm drawing. It's nothing like my reference, who cocks its head to the side, its big brown eye on me. "I'm sorry…" I apologize to it. Poor one. I wonder how many times doves must be misportrayed for the sake of apprentices like me. It only turns to stare at its drawing. "Maybe you'll look better when I paint you…" I murmur. It looks back at me. "Hmm…" Besides clearly lacking in certain aspects, am I missing something else? I examine the sketches by small parts, starting with limbs, and compare them to the dove before me. I'm no longer looking for flaws, those are easy to find, but for a sense of emptiness. It seems alright though. Then why does it feel off? I stand up and I feel a little bad for the dove as its feathers flutter, scared for a moment at my movement. Regardless, I take a general look at my sketch again… Nothing new. Maybe… "Gian!" I call to the man closest to me. "Shush, boy," he mutters, almost covering his ear as if I had screamed in the highest pitch. "Sorry…" "What do you want?" "Emm…" My question sounds silly now that I try to say it. "Do you, mayhaps, know this dove's name?" He seems confused by my question, but as soon as his eyes follow where my hand is pointing at my dove an amused smile crosses his face. "I– I mean if it has one!" "The dove? Well of course not," he laughs. "We replace these too often to name them anyway." "Oh." A shame. Having spent most of the day with it I hoped to add a personal touch to my collection of sketches, like its name. If I were a beautiful dove, I'd love to be mentioned in my paintings. I'll leave a note then… "Gian?" "What?" "And do you know if it's female or male?" "And you ask with what purpose?" "I don't want to be offensive when I call it a handsome or beautiful little bird." His laughter is louder this time, but as another man walks by he quiets down and turns back to his work. "It's a white dove, boy," he says. "I can't tell, honestly." "Oh." I turn to the dove, but it seems entirely uninterested in my conflict of whether it's male or female. "It's not relevant, is it?" I ask. It simply snuggles against its own feathers. "Must be nice." "Cosimo, are you yourself over there?" a boy a few seats away mocks me. I sigh, drawing my paper closer to me and hiding my face as he chuckles. He should know who I am, but if I don't look the part how am I meant to impose any respect? Then it's my fault– <i>Whoosh.</i> <div class="choice"> [[Next|Passage3]] </div>

"Forgive me! Oh, careful, I'm carrying delicate work here. Excuse me!" My eyes follow the brunet boy who loudly makes his way through the workshop. Everybody glares or complains at his rushing in, but I just hurry up in picking up my things, especially my dove. What if the boy steps on it? He's rather thin, but practically running. It'd definitely die if that happened. Luckily, the dove has its claws safely clasped on my finger. As the boy passes through my spot, the dove's coo distracts him. I catch his curious gaze on it, but in a second it turns surprised. He trips as if to fall face down, and I don't know how I can be fast, or bold enough to grab his shoulder before he loses complete balance. "Oh my–!" he exclaims as he keeps his artwork balanced and catches falling sheets. He doesn't manage to grab one though, so I do before it touches the ground. My breath catches at the art on it. A piece showcasing different types of birds, regal, common, bright, dull, but altogether <i>wonderful.</i> His hands are rough, not the type that seems to have been born into the craft. His clothing is humble, more like… a peasant's. He's definitely not well-fed. Then, how did he get the time, energy, materials to become this skilled? "Thank you so much for your help!" he says, bringing me out of my thoughts. My eyes meet his instantly, and I understand. Though tired, there's a sense of spirit in them I have seen, rare, but I know. It's akin to Augusto's. It's… amazing. Is it the spirit the talented are born with? "It–It was nothing." "Sure it was." He smiles as I return his sheet. "And you're the only one not glaring at me." I blush. I didn't glare, but I must have gaped at his art and worse, at him. He must notice my thoughts, for his smile turns mirthful before he runs off to Augusto's chamber… Augusto's chamber? Nobody is allowed there without permission from him! I could guide the boy out, but it's just trouble. They'll give us both the boot. "Who are you?" I hear Augusto's demanding voice through the open door. "My name isn't of much relevance but I'm called Emiliano." So that's his name. "Anyway, I–" "Can someone give him a place to wait?" Oh, so he's rejecting whatever his plea is. "But Sir, look at all the sketches I did! Can't you give me just one chance?" "Well… <i>Well…</i>" Wait… They close the door. <p style="text-align: center;">· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·</p> "Sorry, again," I say to my unfortunate dove as I correct a stroke of grey in the wrong area of fresh white. It's been hard to focus on painting it when Augusto and the boy have been in there for a while now. I'm almost sure that the boy, Emiliano actually, will be staying for a while, will be tested. I only need confirmation. Now, what such a long talk is for, I can only suppose is out of Augusto's curiosity. About Emiliano's family background? Reasons for pursuing this craft? Those are the main questions, but there must be so much more to him. It's funny how much people can open up when you're truly interesting. A sharp brushing against wood and a light voice humming a little song grow closer to me. "Emiliano!" I start as I look up and find him glancing at my work. "Emiliano?" he repeats. "Oh I um, I heard it, from across the room." "Snooping around, huh?" "I didn't mean to," I say. "The door was open and I was close by so uh…" "It's alright don't worry," he says as he resumes sweeping the floor around my spot. "I'm snooping here too so let's agree neither of us mind." "You're snooping?" I almost choke as dust flies from his broom. "Why here?" "You're awfully more interesting to look at than them." He tilts his head towards the more experienced men and boys. I blink in confusion. "How old are you?" he asks me. "I'm ten years old." "I'm twelve, see?" he answers. "They're too old to be any fun." "But you're working here... right?" "Definitely." His brows furrow in concentration as he insists on a particularly dirty spot. "That's why I'm lightening the task by sticking with someone like you." I'm not sure of what to answer, so I focus on capturing my dove, even if his presence somewhat distracts me at times. He sighs and rests on the broom's handle, then patting my dove's head. "Careful with it, please?" I say. I don't know how… brute, he might be. His art expresses the opposite of that but I don't know of his demeanor towards animals. He only smiles at my defense, not annoyed but… touched? "I didn't ask your name," he states. "True." He laughs. "Well, so how am I meant to call you?" "Ah, yes. Well, I'm Cosimo." "Handsome," he says at my name. He looks about my spot, nodding. It's all clean, so he must be going I suppose. Disappointing, and my dove must agree as it tilts its head in his direction. "Find you later," he says as he walks backwards and away. I quietly nod before he spins around and on his way. <div class="choice"> [[Next|Passage4]] </div>

<h1>Chapter III</h1> "<i>Please</i> don't," I say as I cover my face, still holding my drying brush. Yet, Emiliano seems just as enthusiastic as before at the prospect of splashing water all over me. "Come on! Let's see if all those curls of yours survive dampening," he says as he leans over the boat, fingers dipped in the river's surface. "It's not worth it; you'll ruin your painting." I murmur. "Oh, you're right," he says, putting his hand on his chin. "I wonder, is there a way to test the hair theory without flooding the boat…" He looks into the water again, and I frown at his growing smirk. "Get your head in the water." "... Sorry?" "I swear I'll do it after you," he reassures. "The one who can hold his breath the longest wins!" "You're going to beat me." "No I won't! Why would I?" I shrug. "Come on. A little bit of excitement won't kill us," he says. "Well…" Though the waters are of greenish transparency, my eyes don't meet the bottom. I would die if I tried to hold my breath underwater, and Emiliano could fall off and die which leads to me dying because I'm too incompetent to save him. "Do you <i>really</i> not want to?" "I <i>really</i> don't" He puffs in disappointment, but when his gaze turns to me there's an adventurous spark. "You know what we're going to do one day?" "No?" "When we're older, we'll swim in this river in a race. Then, one will win and the other will pay with ham." "But I can have ham any day," I question as I pull a curl out of my face. "Such aristocratic airs…" I blush at his comment while he dries his hand in his own hair nonchalantly and sits back, immediately taking hold of his paintbrush. Do I act as proud as a noble? I peer at him, who is already biting his lip in concentration as he paints. Could I ask him? <div class="choice"> [[Next|Passage5]] </div>

"Emiliano?" "Yes?" "Do you think I'm arrogant?" I blink as he chortles at my question. "You? Of course not." "Then why…?" He hums as he stretches out, and I sigh in resignation as he closes his eyes and drinks the sun as a cat. It's not the best pose to reference, but since I'm just doing the last touches of my painting, capturing a bit more of his liveliness is enough. The wind strokes his face, and it gets some of his hair out of place, but I add the detail anyway. The breeze is rather cold in contrast with the sun's heat, but he smiles and fans himself a bit, as if he was shooing away invisible birds. Dramatic… I wonder how Nívea and Carminio are. Emiliano convinced me not to bring them with us. "Don't come crying to me if hunters shoot them," he had said, and I couldn't bear the thought. Then his eyes flutter open, and I find in them again the fire of his passion for his art. "Alright," he says as he grabs his painting from dry edges. "What do you think?" "Gorgeous…" I mumble the moment he turns it to me. The glow with which he portrayed the fish in the river turns them into gold fish if they're in warm hues, while the cold shades turn into moonlight fish of sorts. In composition, they all appear to be swimming casually, but the way they're positioned creates layers, as if they are of water too. I squint. "Could you step back a bit?" I ask him. I do so in reply, and the color choices make even more sense. I smile. It's a curious effect. "An eye?" "Yes!" He grins "I was afraid the paint would look like random senseless splotches. "Your art never looks like that…" I rest my cheek on my hand, admiring the hints of green flicks in the light blue iris. The ambiguity of it is slightly unsettling, yet full of beauty. "Now my turn to see." "I'm not done!" I warn him. I attempt to cover my canvas with my hands, but of course he's already leaning over my shoulder and with the full view. "It's <i>me</i>?" I gulp at the disbelief in his tone. "Cos, I'm melting…" "I'm sorry!" I look away from him and the painting, turning my eyes to the wooden base of the boat and biting my nails. I can't even look at my surroundings. I ruined everything I wanted to portray. "What?" "I didn't mean for you to look like you're melting or anything of the sort." I whisper, "I'll, I'll paint you as you are someday… Hopefully." Hopefully, what a miserable thing. If I had any talent or skill I wouldn't have to hope to be good enough to paint him. "Cosimo!" "Uh?" "I didn't mean–" He chuckles. "I just meant I'm melting, as in warmth, happiness." "Oh… <i>Oh</i>." A nervous laugh escapes my lips; I did it again. I misread his expressions. I glance at the painting, but the contrast with the reality of who Emiliano is becomes unbearably mocking now. "I… I still need to fix it," I say, eyeing the waters. "Or I could throw it away–" "What?! No!" he demands. "I'm in there so if you burn it or drown it or who knows how you disappear your hated-on artwork, you do it to me." The image of his destruction alongside the painting strikes me with a shiver, strangely, but maybe not unsurprisingly. "Keep it as practice if you still want to underestimate yourself," he adds. "Meanwhile, take care." "Of what?" "Yourself." "Why?" "You'll be my victim when you least expect it?" I raise my eyebrows at his quizzical answer. I go on sketching a water plant, while he checks if we caught any fish… Funnily though, I think I feel the weight of his gaze on me. <p style="text-align: center;">· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·</p> "It's fantastic, Emiliano," Augusto says as he observes the painting. Yet, I don't think he's entirely admiring. "For your age and time practicing, this is an outstanding use of light and color combination. I can also infer how you picked and mixed the colors of his skin." The edge of hopefulness in Emiliano's eyes fades the moment Agusto's eyes meet his. Emiliano lowers his gaze. Augusto finishes, "However, it's inaccurate." "How so?" Emiliano questions. His tone is flat, not much feeling showing, but I don't know how he even got the will to ask. "You have a tendency to favor certain individuals more than is standard in the way you paint them." "I am painting someone I know well," Emiliano says. "I'm bound to be more subjective, but I simply drew what I saw." Augusto simply stares at him, yet Emiliano puts on a small, lopsided smile as he leans closer to Augusto. "Do you think the subject does not live up to the artwork?" he says softly, but I hear him. I blush as Augusto narrows his eyes and glances at me. He remains silent for a while as he watches Emiliano. Goodness why did Emiliano ever decide to paint me? And for class work, of all things? It was only expected Agusto would scrutinize his work. If I'm the reference, he can see me in the flesh and find all the flaws Emiliano did not paint. He can even tell what a lie it is for me to smile in the way I do in the painting. I'm quite sure my smile looks like the one a baby puts on before sobbing for a frivolous reason, but here I just… don't. "I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Augusto says curtly. Emiliano smiles, dryly, yet satisfied. He did make a good move in his defense of his art. If Augusto calls me ugly or dispirited in comparison to the artwork he's compromising my "honor" in a way and thus my father's, that's the opposite of what he's aiming for. So if I'm not ugly, the art is well-done. I hate negotiating my attributes… Why am I even standing here? I have already shown Augusto my own painting. It was nothing interesting, really. I can't really manage to pick subjects I'm particularly interested in for critiques. The work always ends up black with marks and charcoal dust by the time the session is over, and I couldn't bear to see that, if I once saw it as fascinating or beautiful, it becomes the ruins of a carelessly-designed cottage, especially because I know it's my fault it is how it is. My fingers tighten around my painting and, wishing to run back to my seat in a corner of the room but unwilling to give the other boys another reason to laugh at me yet again, I silently take a step back. "Told you it was going to be fine," Emiliano whispers as he leans into my shoulder, and my step falters. His tone is kind, to my surprise, rather than smug. "Regardless, on proportions, you undersized the birds in the background…" I thought Augusto would leave Emiliano after his first criticism, but I was wrong, very wrong. I can't quite understand or see the faults he finds, but Emiliano's eyes are darker as he looks at the man. Augusto would mark with charcoal the mistakes, if he dared. He tends to do so with most of apprentice's work except, of course, for Emiliano's. Since Emiliano came in I always thought he was special, and Augusto felt it too, clearly. That's why he has never marked a single one of Emiliano's pieces, be them sketches or paintings. But that doesn't mean that, with the same mouth he praises, Augusto won't tear him down either. And despite my resolve to leave, as I watch Emiliano, I remain glued to the spot. I smiled with his teasing when I coped with my critique, and while I can't do the same for him, and if I'm seen by him, maybe so is my presence. "The lighting in the hair–" The door creaks softly, yet the woosh of its closing again is swift. My eyes dart towards the door, wondering what boy came in so late to work or merchant it is, but then I see… A girl? Her footing is secure as she makes her through the working men, curls falling gracefully down her shoulders. Behind her a chaperone follows, cheeks flushed. The girl also has a faint, glowing blush, but not as much because she lacks the rosacea of the older woman but still present. They must have rushed here considering the time it is. The girl looks about my age, twelve or thirteen maybe. I can tell because of the style of her dress, and quite a pretty dress it is. Painting so much female clothing I can recognize what designs are common for each age. I glance back at Emiliano while his side eye at me turns rather curious. He smiles knowingly the moment we both realize she's marching towards us and I look at Emiliano in unreasonable, silent panic, as if he knows how we ought to act now. Should we speak? Remain silent? Must we leave or stay? Maybe I should pull Emiliano's sleeve and let us leave back to our working spots. It's not like she's here to talk to <i>us.</i> On the other hand, Augusto's frown disappears the moment his eyes fall on the girl and is replaced with a fond, slightly amused grin. "Well now, Emiliano," he says casually, and Emiliano smiles. "With those few fixes, it'll be ready to exhibit in the gallery." At the <i>gallery</i>? "That would be all." Emiliano nods in acknowledgement, as if he isn't about to show off his first public painting in a gallery, but shifts closer to me before Augusto can place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Augusto looks away as Emiliano grabs his painting and nudges me to come with him. The girl had almost reached us, and before I followed Emiliano I caught a better glimpse of her. My jaw nearly dropped. Augusto wasn't an ugly man, not at all, but how come this is his daughter? A single glimpse of her at this distance enabled me to notice the similarities between them, and yet in her they're glistening, <i>refined</i>. Their skin had the same whiteness, but his reminds me of white dust, and hers of new marble. His hair is a mix of faded blond and white hairs, while hers is a charming strawberry blond. What makes the bigger difference is that his face and frame is harshly bony, and hers is rounder, in eye-shape and lips too, but retaining enough sharpness to give her a particularly Greek beauty. Then, while he had the blue eyes of a dead man, hers were the green of spring pastures, or the shining shade of Mother's earrings. Yes, I'm sure that if Mother met her, and she was older, she'd encourage her to wear those earrings that suit her complexion so well. "You look terribly ghastly," Emiliano murmurs as he takes his seat and gestures to mine. "You better sit before you faint." "I'm feeling <i>fine,</i>" I whisper back at his mischief while I sit back. "Huh." "What?" I follow his gaze, and find the girl again. She's sitting before a horse bust, and Augusto guides her hand across the delicate paper. "You think she's taking on an apprenticeship?" I ask Emiliano while hands me a pencil. "Quite certain," he replies. "But why would she be an apprentice if she's…?" "If you have been watching her, and you have, you'll know she's Augusto's daughter." He purses his lips in concentration as he observes his reference. "Only child, in fact." "How do you know that?" "Augusto mentioned his daughter a couple of times, vaguely." He shrugs. "She must have some artistic skills if he's training her for family business." "I suppose." Now the matter had been cleared up, I could focus, or so I thought. The truth is, I can't. I'm too shocked because how come I had no idea such a girl existed despite being under her father's surveillance? I was aware that he was a widower, had children, but beyond that his life has been a mystery for the past four years. While I'm debating over whether this is a ray of light that, later on, will reveal more about the man and his daughter herself, the boys watch the girl like the most interesting novelty of the year. On the other hand, Emiliano appears mildly curious but otherwise unfazed. <p style="text-align: center;">· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·</p> "Freedom!" "Emiliano, please quiet down!" I urge. "We're barely out the door." "Pff, nobody hears us," he says as we turn around the corner. "Well, I don't want you to risk offending Augusto," I mutter. "He granted you the chance to exhibit a painting. You have to keep him in a good mood." He raises his eyebrows at my concern, thoughtful. Well, maybe I'm being dramatic in my security measures. After all, Emiliano is Emiliano. Augusto doesn't really punish him, especially not by taking away a reward. Many boys hate Emiliano for it, I know, and maybe me too, a bit. In my case they dislike me because of whose son I am, and possibly because of my connection to Emiliano as his perceived privileges might extend to me. They say I cry and blush too much for a noble, Emiliano gloats too much for a smith's son, and we are each other's accomplices. They say other things too, but Emiliano never lets me hear it. Then there are those who watch Emiliano. They're always staring. They want to steal his secrets, he explained to me. I don't know what secrets really, since he has told me many secrets, and none seem useful to the others, in my opinion. Nobody wants to steal my secrets. It's not like they could if they wanted. Emiliano scares the mean ones off, and the kinder ones never speak to me other than to ask for a pot of water. And when they approach him, I'm his shield, not because I like to stand in the way, but because I'm just… there. Wait. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. No! "Emiliano," I whisper. "Go on." "Emiliano, you painted me!" "And?" "You painted <i>me.</i>" "I did." He smiles. "Aren't I clever?" "Of course you are, but, but, I mean, you know the painting will be…" "You're biting your fingers again." "Sorry…" I grip my satchel. "But the painting will be hung in the exhibition." He kicks a pebble. "I still don't understand the issue." "That's <i>my face</i> up there for everyone to see!" Augusto is right, Emiliano was too gentle with his portrayal of me, but not enough to make the picture false. I'm still recognizable. I still have my same laughable face. Can't he see the absurdity of it? "Congratulations for modeling your way up to the gallery, Cosimo Spadaro." "I don't want to model my way up to the gallery," I say. "And I'm not a model. I'm an apprentice." "You can be both." "No I can't. Models are…" I try to think of an example worth mentioning, other than Emiliano. "Like Augusto's daughter! We'd be lucky if Augusto lets us paint her someday." He narrows his eyes at me. "Do you want to paint her?" "Why wouldn't I? She's ethereal." He stops me then and there, grabbing my forearm. I stare at him in confusion, but he's biting back a laugh. "Has somebody caught your eye?" "<i>What?"</i> I stumble back and, quickly regaining my footing, start walking again. "Mhm…" He joins me before I cross the street. "No, it's not that. It's merely an artistic observation," I clarify. "I'm talking about art here." He doesn't answer for a while, and I'm trying not to blush at the thought he's scrutinizing my face, actually trying to see if I'm blushing. "Alright," he says casually, as if he hadn't made me endure any distress at all. "But if you say you can't model, does that mean I can't exhibit the painting?" And that's how he corners me. My heart is weak, but even weaker when it comes to disappointing. I can't be the reason why Emiliano can't showcase his work. If only I had known. "No," I say. "You must exhibit it." "Deal then." He waves a hand at me as we part ways. "And you are going with me, aren't you?" "I…" I stop waving at the request. "I'll try." <div class="choice"> [[Next|Passage6]] </div>

<h1>Chapter IV</h1> "How do you feel?" He peers at me, while he finishes whatever drink he was offered. "I don't know" I immediately respond. Of all things, not knowing what I feel is the easiest thing to know, especially when people watch my portrait. I only glanced at the first three people who looked upon it, not because I intended to, but because I didn't know the gallery well enough to avoid finding my own face, or at least Emiliano's version of it, hanging among other works. They were siblings, the three who observed, I'm sure. The eldest sister narrowed her eyes at the painting. The brother frowned at it. Then, the younger sister smiled. I didn't look at them for long, I didn't want them to see me in return, and maybe that's why I reached no conclusion as to the meaning of such gazes. Emiliano clears his throat, his eyes following a group of men whose nails show traces of paint yet wear their best clothes. Does he intend to approach them? Maybe. If he does, should I follow him? Wait, of course not. I don't want to be interrogated tonight, not ever, honestly. My eyes widen the moment one of the men shifts, revealing the figure he had been blocking. Augusto's daughter is watching me, well, not me, my portrait, but it feels like she is. The longer I look at her the more I realize how focused she is, or lost in thought. She doesn't even blink. Her gaze is calm, not entirely peaceful. I feel she's analyzing a million things, as if she's finding solutions to paradoxes, because her faint smile seems satisfied, or curious? She turns her head. I startle, and Emiliano nudges me in amusement. "You might just get to paint the <i>ethereal</i> lady, Cos," he says. "I'm not painting anyone!" I blurt out. It's alright for her to analyze paintings but if I had to have her staring at me as she stares at a painting I'd faint. "Fine, but calm down and smile already," he says. "She's coming." “But she…” No, there's no chaperone in sight. “Is she allowed?” “You have a girl come your way and you're thinking about whether she has permission to do so or not?” “I don't want to get in trouble.” Too late. She reaches us, looking at me first. “Greetings.” “Good evening,” Emiliano replies. I nod, as if agreeing with his statement. “I'm Aurelia Di Pietro,” she says, confirming my suspicion of her identity. “Emiliano Mora, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” "Likewise." She looks at me again and her silent wait reminds me I need to introduce myself. "I'm Cosimo Spadaro, and very glad to meet you!" "Thank you, Cosimo." "So, what brings you here?" Emiliano asks her. I side-eye Emiliano. Why is he asking a question with such an obvious answer? "To you two…" She tilts her head towards my painting, or Emiliano's I suppose. "What about him?" Emiliano questions. "The painting, I mean." "You are the painter, aren't you?" She could tell I wasn't the one who made it… "I am," Emiliano answers. "Then I can see for myself what my Father talked so much about." She turns to me. "My venture here was worth it after all." "Venture?" I say. "Is this your first time visiting the gallery?" "No, I've come with my father since I was a little girl." "You <i>are</i> still a little girl," Emiliano says. "<i>Emiliano-</i>" i cut myself short, the unfazedness in his gaze making apparent that he'd pay me no heed. I must apologize on his behalf. "He wasn't saying you're childish, but rather not old-looking. You're alright for your age, well, outstanding and more mature and graceful and…" I look down, blushing at my awkward phrasing. Then she laughs. I look up, finding her covering her mouth but not the rosey bloom of glee on her cheeks. "It's alright," she replies. "I know Emiliano meant no harm, and even if he did, earning my disfavor would not deter my father from keeping him." Emiliano smirks back at Aurelia, but there's a shadow of something else when he glances away, at the group of craftsmen. "Anyway, about gallery visits, this is your first time?" "It is," I say. "How do you like it so far?" "Quite well…" I frown, confused at the touch of Emiliano's shoulder against mine. He side-eyes me and turns his head slightly towards the group of men. He's asking me to follow him? It'd be interesting, taking notes of their methods, but also boring as they seem to be here for negotiations. I'd go with Emiliano but… Aurelia is still here. "As pleasant as your society is, I must go," he announces. "I wish you the best with your endeavours," she says, knowing what he plans. He nods in acknowledgement, but doesn't move. "I– I'll join you in a bit," I tell him. He seems mildly disappointed, but doesn't insist. "Alright." He gives me a pat on the back before leaving. "You're good-hearted." Slowly, I turn back to her. "Who?" "You, Cosimo." She was going to say more, but falters as she catches sight of something. Her eyes dart around the room before landing on me. She spins on her heels and rushes off without explanation. <div class="choice"> [[Next|Passage7]] </div>

<<set $visitedTwoBirds to true>> <h1>(Don't) Kill Two Birds with One Stone</h1> extra scene of how Cosimo found his 2 pet doves <div class="choice"> [[Return to game|Passage5]] </div>

"Miss?" I mean to call her attention, but I barely whisper. I don't realize I'm following her until I realize just where I am. I have no idea of where I am, actually. It's too dim and something silky and heavy hangs over my head. A curtain? I reach out, hands meeting soft hair and shoulders. "Uh!" I jolt back as the girl turns around. "Lord, I'm– I'm sorry!" "Shush," she whispers as she walks past me, towards the gap between the wall and curtains. I stand beside her, trying to spy into the gathering she just pulled me out of. The red-faced lady who accompanied her when she came to the workshop the other day wanders about the gallery. She looks like a dancing bee as she interrupts one group's conversation, moves on to another one, and does it again. "My chaperone almost saw me." "Oh…" I only manage as a reply. After a while of watching the lady my eyes couldn't help being drawn to Aurelia's eye. The sliver of light coming from outside hits it, the green iris consuming the pupil almost entirely. Is she afraid? No, the faintest smile crosses her face. The chaperone finds the craftsmen, among whom Emiliano is. She asks about Aurelia's whereabouts, I suppose, to one of the men, but she doesn't seem satisfied with his answer. However, Emiliano points somewhere. The woman nods, striding in the opposite direction to where our spot is. He did it on purpose. How cheeky… I'm glad he is, though. For a moment, he turns away from his company. I sense his gaze on us, and a pang of guilt hits me. I shouldn't have spoken over him when he teased Aurelia. As irreverent as he can be, he knows exactly how to push. "I owe your friend a thanks," she murmurs. "And I, an apology…" "You do?" She closes the curtain more tightly. "Why?" "Because…" I try to find the words. What am I trying to apologize for? For ever feeling shame on his behalf? For leaving? For hiding? Aurelia's pupils are blown wide in the dark, and by the way she tilts her head she looks like an owl. I hope she doesn't see as clearly as one. I blink, erasing any trace of tears in my burning eyes. "I can't know your intention completely, but you did… something to protect you both." I flinch at the memory of my compliment gush. "I think I'm beginning to understand his character, but had he thrown that comment at any other girl he'd be in trouble." "Blacklisted?" "Not that far but who knows…" She's right. He is just a plebian, but they know he's talented and under Augusto's wing, as much as I am maybe. "Careful," she says. "I always am." "Not that." "What about you?" I ask. "I don't want to be so inquisitive, Miss, but why haven't you pushed me out of your hideout yet?" "Why did <i>you</i> follow me?" "You… didn't dismiss me, or dismiss yourself?" I say tentatively. "Curiosity?" "Curiosity you say?" she wonders out loud. "I can say the same for myself." "About Emiliano?" "What? No, I'm answering your question as to why I let you stay here." "Excuse my foolishness," I mutter, abashed. "No worries. However, I am curious about him too. You see, first and foremost I wanted to meet you two." "Both?" "Of course both," she says with an edge of impatience. "I hear about you all too often at home." "About <i>me</i>?" "Yes, Father pretends not to care that much but he's watching over you decisively." "So you know why I moved here in the first place?" "That was years ago, Cosimo. I won't judge you for your circumstances," she says. "I don't want to be cold in my approach, but I know about our fathers' partnership. I'm my father's sole successor, and I intend to be so in his line of work as well. Their friendship is the foundation of their business. Thus, I would like us to be friends." "But I have older brothers." "I saw none of them, but I saw you." "I'm just…" I sigh. "A pawn." "Tell me about it," she mutters. "But you don't have to be. I'm not merely looking for an ally, especially not a fool. I saw it in the portrait, in you. You're worth getting to know." A nervous laugh escapes from my lips. I would never have thought anyone would say such a thing to me, much less a girl like Aurelia. I don't know how her strategic logic led her to think befriending me was a good idea. Delusions of ambition possibly? And yet… "What do you say?" her hand touches my own, outstretched like she's ready for a handshake. "I can't force you to like me, but at the very least we can work together, if it doesn't bother you or Emiliano." It's a bit risky, especially if Augusto isn't aware of his daughter's scheming. Maybe she's too interesting to let go, or I'm too lonely, but a part of me hopes this might be the start of a fruitful connection. "I'll see to it." I take her hand softly, and she shakes back. Maybe, we could be a set. After all, she's a girl, I'm a bastard, and Emiliano's a blacksmith's son. <p style="text-align: center;">· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·</p> The night is cool, and I wish we could eat out here, but of course we can't as we're right outside the gallery. Aurelia already showed me around, playing hide and seek from the chaperone. I was nervous, but Aurelia's 'experience' and frequent escapades gave me the confidence I needed to find the game thrilling. Emiliano saw us a couple of times, rolled his eyes the first time and I nearly tripped, but a smile creeped up on him the second time as he talked with Augusto. However, by the time we got to see her favorite painting we were already drained and hungry. I struggle not to laugh as she hides the two buns she just bought in her tie-on pockets. I wonder how she owns such an accessory, but I can't complain. It's easier to sneak inside with food when you can hide it in your clothes. "We can eat them behind one of those curtains." She chuckles. "They served us well before." "They could, but isn't the event ending already?" I say, a bit breathless as I climb the steps. "You suggest we eat them at home?" "Sorry…" I open the door for her and follow her in. "That does seem a bit pointless." "Well then, what do you propose?" "Maybe…" I squint as the chandeliers pour all their light on me. "Suffering the consequence of having such fair eyes again, aren't you?" "Emiliano?" I say at the same time he places a hand over my eyes, providing shade. "I was wondering if you were just going to watch us all evening," Aurelia tells him. "I'm glad you're not." "I wish I could join you but we must part," he replies, nudging me, almost pushing me in the opposite direction to where we were heading. "With 'we' you mean me too?" I question him, confused. "Augusto is– Just follow me and, Miss Di Pietro, your chaperone–" "Aurelia," a commanding voice calls behind us. "Father," she says, turning around and taking a step away from Emiliano and I. "Boys?" Augusto says, a bit surprised. I meet his gaze, which turns sterner the longer we remain silent. "Good–Good evening," I greet. "Boys we are," Emiliano finally says. "And we are also leaving. As I had mentioned to you sir, we need rest to work." "Well then, get ready for the morning." Augusto dismisses us, not without giving me a once over. He turns to Aurelia. "What did you do this time?" "We got here so early, so I got hungry," she says. "But I no longer am." She takes the buns out of her pocket and hands them over to me. "To recover strength." "Thank you." "See you tomorrow," she says, reminding me of our agreement. I wave timidly at Augusto and Aurelia, who the chaperone joins. Emiliano's yawn pulls me out of my daze. Wordlessly, he exits the gallery and I follow him. I offer him a bun, and he takes it. He takes a few bites off it, but I don't touch mine yet. I walk closely beside him, afraid rats might attack me if I stay closer to the dark side of the street. "Do you want us to switch sides?" "No, not really." The other side has the road with fast horses and wheels. "I'm fine." "Need a hug?" "Wh– What? I'm not a girl." "Exactly." "Why?" "Because I wouldn't hug a girl." "Why not? Isn't that kind?" "No, it's 'improper' and I'm no womanizer," he says. "But I understand if you don't get it." "A little…" I nibble at my bun, thinking. This isn't a jab, is it? "Do you like Aurelia?" I ask him. "Hmm, she's sharp enough, I like that," he says. "She's nice to you, and you like her so…" "If… If she were to sit close to us at the workshop she could give us feedback and we could give some to her." "If you mean to say you'd like her to join us, sure. " He swallows. "She's fun, I bet." "I think so," I say, glad at his welcoming attitude. "I'll make sure to get our seats arranged close then," he says. "Do you want to sit next to me or her?" "Huh?" Aurelia is the new one in our dynamic, and I'm pretty much the one who invited her in, so I should stay closer to her. On the other hand, I don't want to leave Emiliano at the mercy of another boy who'd take my place beside him. Emilian chuckles. "Don't think too hard." "Well, can't I be next to both of you?" I say. "In the middle?" "You cheat," he says. "Might not be the most comfortable option, but I'll try." "Thank you." "Anyway, regardless of if you want the hug or not, I'm curious," he says. "Why are you following me?" "Following you?" "Yes, don't you have a carriage to carry you off to your home?" "I forgot to tell the carriage man to come for me at the gallery and not the workshop…" "What?" his eyes widen. "Are you insane? Do you even know your way back to the workshop?" I blush. "I thought I could follow you until we go to it." "But I live near the outskirts of this place! There's no way we're even coming close to the workshop." "What?" I tremble. "But– But how do you make it to the workshop everyday?" "I walk." "You <i>walk</i> ?" "I do," he confirms, not noticing how appalled the fact makes me. "Now, I'll help you if you need me to but please get a carriage to get you to the workshop or you're lost." "Let's share it," I say. "No thank you," he answers. "But you can't go home in such darkness!" "I can and I will." "Is it about the money?" He bites his cheek. "No." He's lying. A carriage stops beside us. "Boys, are you in need of transportation services?" Emiliano smiles at the man. "He is." "We are," I say, getting a stern look from Emiliano. "I don't go into strangers' carriages alone," I say. "I'm paying you to accompany me." Emiliano shakes his head, but follows me in after I pay the man for our ride. Once inside, after a while, I feel Emiliano's heavy breathing beside me. He's exhausted. How does he walk so long every day? I would get him a carriage daily if I could, but I'm not allowed to spend that much money. I ponder upon the situation. Is there anything I could do about it? I <i>have</i> to think of a way. What even awaits him at home… Oh… Pictures of mornings and evenings at work and meals flood my mind, him in all of them. "Do you like cooking?" I ask suddenly, and Emiliano shifts. "Cooking…?" he murmurs. "Sure, well enough." Then maybe, someday… <div class="choice"> <<link [[Next|Passage8]]>><<if settings.notif>><<notify>>New journal entry unlocked!<</notify>><</if>><</link>> </div>

<<set $visitedChapter4 to true>> Thanks for reading! You have reached the end of chapter 4. If you've enjoyed the experience so far, follow us here on itch.io to get notified whenever we release more chapters.

<h1>(Don't) Kill Two Birds with One Stone</h1> extra scene of how Cosimo found his 2 pet doves <div class="choice"> <<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>> </div>

<div class="entry"> June 7th, 1563 Dear diary, Emiliano exhibited my portrait and I met Aurelia, Augusto's daughter; I can't sleep. It's still dark, and I awoke out of breath, but I must have been quiet while I slept as nobody checked on me, not even Lucio, as pushy as he is and attentive for the chance to get me in trouble. This entry will most likely be as fragmented as my memories of what I dreamt. The matter is simple: I had another nightmare. This time, however, it wasn't entirely horrifying, which is worse than it being completely so. My stomach churned, yes, but there was also a disturbing flutter. There was a monster brought from the depths of unknown matter, but then there were the entities from the great cathedral's stained glass windows. The monster wasn't extremely monstrous looking, in fact, I wouldn't have been able to tell it was one if I hadn't recognized my face in it. As always, there was something uncanny about it, more than what I think my true reflection looks like. Tonight it wasn't the eyes, or nose, or lips. As I stared up at the hanged being, with a frame around it, I thought I'd find the anomaly in the face, but I didn't. Then I looked down and just below the breastbone there was a protuberance. The breast was enlarged unnaturally, like a jar containing water for camels. Terrible sadness overcame me as color drained from the face and the tightening rope around the neck screeched, not necessarily because of grief for the boy but for the mockery of the painting Emiliano had poured so much effort into. I heard the rupture of the breast, and because I didn't have the time to run I closed my eyes. I collapsed like Jericho's walls, my own weight heavier than the substance that fell on me. I wiped my face, confirming by the look of my hands that the liquid was black. Yet, there was a sanguine undertone. My inspection was interrupted the moment warm lips greeted my cheek. I looked up. The last thing I saw, or thought I would have, was the one that burned my eyes. He was an angel, not like the ones in church, but like the original ones I'd heard about.. My description is lacking for its unearthly beauty, but all I can say is that its multiple, bronze arms enveloped me and its green eyes stared into mine. She cradled me for a while as I cried. Nevertheless, soon enough I only had my shivering as company. I had the angel in my mind now, a comforting presence, but only as still life. It no longer blinked or embraced or anything at all. I simply laid down, its body half ashes and spread in pieces. Each arm, eye, wing, faced my direction, and there was a trail following me. I had strings attached to all of the pieces as I dragged the angel into the workshop, strings which cut into my hands' flesh, letting the blood drip from them. I'm not sure what my goal was, but I knew cutting the strings would kill me if I tried. "Love, save me." "Love, save me." "Love, save me." Then I woke up. I couldn't recognize the voice that spoke, but it didn't matter. I believe it was only a vessel for another's. My initial intent with this entry was to write about Emiliano and Aurelia in the exhibition and only then describe my dream a bit, wasn't it? Well, I think I wrote too long already, and I'm feeling a bit shy even for my diary after such a tale, so I'll just pray to Mary for sleep… if that is worth anything for me. I don't mean to pray for comfort, but it is one to know at least it's to her and not God that I reach for. </div> <div class="choice"> <<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>> </div>