12.
The convent church was small, with few openings in the thick walls. The air was consumed by the light of a thousand candles that burned with flickering tongues of fire: they were scattered a little everywhere, with their slender and thread-like shapes, waiting for the wax, dripping in large drops, to change their perfect cylindrical shape.
Greta was sitting alone in the side aisle, enveloped in the smoky air filled with incense, which was stunning her. It had been so long since she was in a church. She sat tired on that wooden bench worn by time and faith, tired with the weight of those revelations that had irreparably upset her entire universe, exhausted by everything that had happened. How she wished she could share those revelations with Giacomo, such a wise and patient listener!
