#isabetta

Oggi vi leggerò la novella “La badessa e le brache”

I heard there was a secret chord. That David used and it pleased the lord.

Her mother's voice reminded her of freshly fallen snow. Perfect pronunciations, smooth inflections, and of course, disguised under that gentle invitation of warmth only held more bitter cold.

"What is your name?" She would ask, over and over again, her favorite question, "Tell me, sweetheart, what is your name?"

The answer never changed.

Head bowed down to the acceptable position, fingers poised at the exact angle; even at age seven, Isabetta was the master of control.

"Isabetta," she would answer. The answer never changed, "Isabetta Marie Roxebury."

"That's right," her mother's voice would become husky with emotion. Jagged edges sharp and stabbing like knives.

"Isabetta Marie Roxebury," she would repeat over and over again, as if nothing in world pleased her more than the simple syllables of her daughter's name, "Isabetta Marie Roxebury. Queen Isabetta, my darling. You shall be Queen."

It was music to her ears.