Beyond death

Getting ready

Enzo POV

I waved goodbye to Ale and began the ten-minute walk from his parents' house to mine—a villa temporarily inhabited by Alba and her father during the summer. Despite our five-year age gap, our childhoods were entwined with shared moments, thanks to the close friendship between our families.

As I strolled through the tranquil streets of Bracciano, the evening air seemed thick with the whispers of ancient magic. The village’s cobblestone roads and lush greenery appeared to resonate with the silent history of our coven. I couldn’t help but wonder who among us had truly recognized my father's descent into darkness. Was it willful ignorance, or had the hope of reuniting with departed loved ones blinded us all to the curse's true nature?

This unsettling thought lingered like a shadow in the corners of our quaint town.

I began the ascent up my lengthy driveway, flanked by evergreen trees that stood like silent sentinels, their dark foliage rustling gently in the evening breeze. Our family villa, a timeless structure of stone and stucco with terracotta roofs, emerged as a semi-detached haven—a new chapter in my life since I moved into my own space at eighteen. Gone were the days of sharing space with my father Giuseppe, his partner Aradia, and her daughter Diana. The villa now stood as a testament to a new beginning, a space to call my own.

The memory of my mother lingered like a ghost, shrouded in both mystery and sorrow. She had vanished about a month before the curse was cast—a disappearance that left me with more questions than answers. Was it a tragic coincidence, or had my father's dark dealings sealed her fate? The silence that followed her departure spoke volumes, and my father, ever the enigma, enforced a strict code of silence regarding her. As a child, I learned to avoid the subject, enduring the harsh consequences that came with any mention of her. Yet, amidst the shadows of my childhood, a flicker of hope remained—that one day, we might be reunited.

Aradia and her daughter Diana had arrived in Bracciano a few months before my eighteenth birthday. Aradia took a position at the Castello Orsini-Odescalchi, a majestic 15th-century castle that loomed over the town. Her role involved guiding visitors through the castle’s hallowed halls, regaling them with tales of Bracciano’s local legends, including the story of the tre streghe—the three witches whose dark magic had once seeped into the village’s very soil. Despite the façade of normalcy, an unsettling aura always seemed to surround them, and Diana, her daughter, remained aloof, seldom exchanging more than a polite nod.

Their integration into our household was swift and seamless, with my father declaring Aradia as his true soulmate during one of his clandestine meetings. According to him, he had made a mistake with my mother. The arrival of Aradia and Diana led to renovations that transformed the villa into two distinct units. I was given the key to the newly established semi-detached side—a space that represented both independence and the promise of a fresh start.

As I reached the end of the driveway, the warm glow of the oil lamps lit the porch. The villa stood proudly, its exterior a patchwork of cobblestone bricks in hues of yellow, grey, and orange. The pillars that supported the porch roof contrasted with the terracotta-tiled main roof. The substantial ash wood doors marked the entrance to each living space, with a white stone planter box nestled between them, housing a selection of shared herbs.

The villa’s design was not merely aesthetic but practical. My father’s previous encounters with supernatural beings—vampires, werewolves, and other entities—had led to a fortress-like approach to home security. In a country steeped in myth, where the line between reality and legend was often blurred, our home was fortified against the unknown. Raised with the belief that Italy’s legends held more than just a kernel of truth, I understood the need for such precautions.

I inserted the key into the door and stepped into the foyer, where the entire ground floor was adorned with pale wooden-effect ceramic tiles. The walls were painted in crisp white, with blue and white feature tiles running along the room’s perimeter, just below the ceiling. The open-plan layout seamlessly integrated the entrance, lounge, and dining area, while a spiral staircase in the corner led to the second floor. The kitchen was positioned to the left of the dining space, with a small bathroom conveniently located near the staircase.

The lake, a centerpiece of our village’s mystique, had always fascinated me. Its calm waters concealed a dark underbelly of folklore and curses. Local legends spoke of ancient rituals performed by witches and spirits who once inhabited the lake’s depths. It was said that the lake was a gateway between realms, a place where the veil between the mortal and the supernatural was at its thinnest. My grandfather's dark pact had tainted this sacred space, turning it from a haven into a prison for the souls caught in the curse.

My father, Giuseppe, was not just any practitioner of dark magic but a scion of the Odescalchi lineage—a name steeped in the noble history of Bracciano. The Odescalchi family had long been entwined with the supernatural, their ancestral connections tracing back to ancient rituals and pacts. The curse that plagued our village was but a dark chapter in a legacy marred by ambition and betrayal. As the sole heir to this lineage, I carried the weight of our family’s dark history, a burden I could never fully escape.

As I ascended the stairs to my bedroom, the familiar weight of my lineage pressed upon me. The folklore of Lake Bracciano, intertwined with the Odescalchi name, formed a complex tapestry of sorrow and deceit that spanned generations. The lake’s waters, once a source of life and magic, were now bound by the curse, trapping the spirits of our loved ones in a state of limbo.

I entered my bedroom, a space that reflected both comfort and personal style. The room featured a four-poster bed with carved wooden details, a desk for correspondence, and a cozy seating area for reading. After selecting my outfit—a dark orange and green shirt with a foliage motif paired with simple black trousers—I took a refreshing shower. The ritual of drying my hair and combing it neatly was a small solace amidst the chaos of my life.

With my attire chosen and my appearance meticulously arranged, I felt a mixture of anticipation and nervousness for the evening ahead. Alba’s presence in Bracciano had stirred emotions long buried, and tonight’s outing was both a new beginning and a continuation of old feelings. I settled into a comfortable chair with a book, finding solace in the pages of fantasy as I awaited the time to pick up Alba.

As I read, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the night ahead might hold more than just a simple dinner. The folklore of Bracciano, the legacy of the curse, and the looming journey to Primolo were all threads in a larger tapestry that was slowly revealing itself. Tonight, I hoped, would be a step towards unraveling those threads and finding a way to break the curse that bound our village in darkness.

Alba POV

I couldn’t believe it—Enzo, the guy I’d been secretly admiring for five years, had finally asked me out! Excitement bubbled within me, and the reality of choosing the perfect outfit became my next challenge. My suitcase, packed with an array of modest summer clothes, didn’t offer much variety. However, I suspected Zia Giulia, in her usual fashion, might have left behind some new garments when she revamped my bedroom. She had a knack for surprising me with thoughtful gifts whenever we returned to Bracciano.

I often wished Zia Giulia would visit Rome more frequently, despite the relatively short hour-long drive. Her trusty little cart, drawn by a sprightly mule, was her preferred mode of transport. In Bracciano, with its modest population of about 18,000, such a conveyance was practical and endearing. Meanwhile, Zio Alessandro and Enzo had opted for matching bicycles for town travel. Zio's vibrant yellow bicycle was a bright spot on the roads, while Enzo’s sleek black version suited his style perfectly. They’d stored their bicycles in the back of Enzo’s cart, a vehicle practical for their lifestyle block at the rear of his family villa.

I reminisced about the day they acquired the bicycles a couple of years ago, just before our annual visit. Spending time with Zio and Enzo had always been enjoyable. Now, I wondered if spending time with Enzo alone tonight would feel different. Zio’s infectious cheeriness always made everyone comfortable, whereas Enzo, though more reserved, had been consistently kind and sweet to me as I grew up.

Ascending the staircase to my newly transformed bedroom, I was filled with anticipation. Zia Giulia had truly outdone herself. The room, once adorned in pink and purple hues, now featured a bright white canvas that made it feel airy and open. Positioned against one wall was my piazza e mezza bed, dressed in a pristine white duvet cover that contrasted beautifully with midnight blue sheets and pillowcases. Among the pillows lay my cherished Blue Fairy soft toy, a comforting presence in my newly updated space.

The room’s aesthetic was a harmonious blend of midnight blue, white, and rich stained wood. The wardrobe, with its three doors, had been refinished in a deeper brown stain, providing a sophisticated contrast. One side featured a hanging rail, while the other offered a combination of drawers and shelving. The bedside cabinet mirrored the wardrobe’s rich hue, contributing to the room’s cohesive look.

Adding to the room’s charm, Zia Giulia had introduced a one-seater lounge chair in a free corner, accompanied by a petite side table. This thoughtful addition created a cozy nook for indulging in snacks, reading, or studying. The prospect of having a dedicated space with a comfortable chair and a table for my books or journal was a delightful upgrade.

As I delved into the wardrobe, I discovered two exquisite dresses, each a testament to Zia Giulia’s impeccable taste. The first was a long, silky gown in a deep midnight blue. Its form-fitting design and flowing silhouette exuded sophistication, with delicate straps adding a touch of elegance. While I pondered when I might wear such a gown, I couldn’t deny its sheer beauty and felt a surge of gratitude for Zia Giulia’s thoughtfulness.

The second dress was a lively choice—a flirty deep forest green midi dress with adjustable straps, playful ruffle details, and a modest neckline that gracefully reached just above the knee. Given the rising temperature, I swiftly decided this charming ensemble would be perfect for the night. Paired with bronze sandals, it promised to be the ideal combination of style and comfort.

With time on my side, I carefully unpacked the small suitcase I had brought, neatly placing my belongings into the welcoming embrace of the wardrobe. I laid out the chosen dresses on my bed, admiring their vibrant colors and textures. Satisfied with my selections, I proceeded to indulge in a refreshing wash, taking advantage of the moments when Papà was engrossed downstairs in the old servant's pantry—a room he mysteriously deemed off-limits. The allure of that room had always sparked my curiosity, and as this visit unfolded as my quest for answers, the temptation to push boundaries and uncover its secrets grew stronger. Perhaps during this visit, I would summon the courage to inquire or, if need be, discreetly venture inside when Papà was absent to unravel its mysteries.

Under the soothing cascade of water, I immersed myself in the ritual of washing, using a handmade soap bar I had brought with me, a personal preference over commercial products. As the water enveloped me, cleansing every inch, my mind wandered to the upcoming evening with Enzo. It wasn’t just the excitement of going on a date; it was the realization that I had never ventured into the realm of courtship before, not even during school. While there were young men I found attractive, the connection had always remained elusive. With Enzo, however, it felt different—as if my soul was whispering something profound that I struggled to understand.

Stepping out of the washroom, I used a simple towel to pat my hair dry, securing it with a black ribbon. With a length just above my shoulders, my hair was effortlessly manageable. I applied a light touch of cosmetics: a kohl-lined eye, a subtle tint on my cheeks, and a natural-toned lip stain.

Glancing at the small mantel clock, I realized it was already 8 pm; Enzo would be arriving soon. In a swift move, I wrapped a robe around my torso and rushed to my bedroom. After slipping into my outfit and tying up the sandals, I heard the distinct creak of the garden gate. The moment had arrived—my first-ever evening outing was about to unfold!