- April 15th, 1790 -
Luca’s eyes flicked up to the grandfather clock on the wall before returning to his book. Their apartment in Prague was too quiet; the seconds ticking by was the only sound that filled the opulent living room.
He glanced up at the clock again. Not even sixty seconds had passed since he last checked it.
With a sigh, he set the book down on the side table. He had to find a release for this nervous energy and move; otherwise, he would fall into a spiral of despair.
He roamed slowly around the living room, his fingers brushing along the gold-paneled walls. His eyes fell onto a painted portrait of Antanasia hanging above the fireplace, sitting in a frame of gilded gold. He had commissioned it three years ago for her birthday, much to her delight.
She loved being in
