To Love in Full

Chapter 1: Duende

Duende (n.) The mysterious power of art to deeply move a person.

Arabella's P.O.V.

Silence was all I could hear as it grew louder in my head and darkness was all I could see as I kept my eyes shut, dreading what would happen in the next few moments. Silence; it stood as a reminder of my loneliness and seclusion.

The conversations between my parents were no longer present, the sound of footsteps scurrying across the floors as they rushed to get ready for work did not exist anymore, and the enticing aroma of fresh coffee ceased to linger in the air every morning.

These small memories were slowly slipping away from my recollections as my parents had passed away thirteen years ago. I was ten at the time when the fatal car accident took place and was left to be taken care of by my grandparents, but they inevitably fell ill to old age eight years later.

A loud jolting noise caused adrenaline to rush through my body and my stream of consciousness halted as my eyes shot open.

I turned my head towards the sound and stared at the perpetrator. The dreadful alarm clock.

I sat up against the headboard of my bed and looked towards the window, watching the dust particles float aimlessly around my room in the rays of sunlight. The sound of motorists, in the bustling city of Rome, filled my ears as I dragged myself out of bed to get ready for work.

After the death of my grandparents, I was overcome with despair and agony. The memories that I had of my family became too overbearing and I could no longer live in a house that I used to call a home. I was in pain and felt hopeless, but I was afraid to let the void inside of me grow bigger and darker. I was daunted by the looming fear of falling into a state of despondency.

I wanted to learn how to love and take care of myself again, so I made the decision to move out of The States and start a new part of my life in Italy.

With the money that I inherited and saved, I decided to complete my studies at The American University of Rome and receive a degree in art history. After graduating, I applied for a job at Palazzo Massimo alle Terme and later successfully completed the interview process. Today marks the start of my career as an exhibition curator.

As my footsteps tread lightly across the cold beige tiles I came to a stop when I reached my floor-length mirror. When I looked up at my reflection all I could see was a younger version of my mother. I had her light caramel brown hair that curled at the ends near the back of my waist and her warm olive complexion. My eyes began to brim with tears as memories of her sweet melodic voice and smile that reached the corner of her deep blue eyes came flooding back. This was one feature I did not share with my mother, instead, I had my father's warm and comforting light brown eyes.

I quickly blinked away my tears, refusing to let a drop fall down my cheek, and hurried to the bathroom to freshen up. I slid on a black pencil skirt that hugged my curves and waist then tucked in a white button-up blouse. I let my hair fall down in light curls after I clipped in a necklace around my neck. My grandparents had gifted me a golden necklace with a heart shaped locket that had my initials, A.A., engraved into it and enclosed the pictures of my parents from when they were infants. Very rarely do I forget to wear this necklace, it was all I had left of my family, I wanted to keep it close to my heart.

After giving my reflection one last look of approval I grabbed my belongings and rushed towards the door of my apartment. My heels met the stone covered ground as I found myself walking towards the streets of Rome. Sampietrini; the name of the type of pavement found throughout Italy, the stones, dating back to the fifteenth and sixteenth century, lined the streets, giving people a chance to walk through history.