Thoughts on Rosalind and Paul?
literally 0 thoughts, good for her I guess

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Thoughts on Rosalind and Paul?
literally 0 thoughts, good for her I guess

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The bells announcing Arianna's marriage to Grand Duke Niccolò reached Bellezza before the official messenger did.
Luciano heard them from the balcony outside Rodolfo's library. He did not have to ask what they meant. He already knew.
The treaty had been signed three days before. The ambassadors had spoken in careful, polished phrases. "A necessary sacrifice." "The surest path to lasting peace." "A union of the two greatest houses."
No one had dared say the words to his face. Arianna would belong to another man.
He had not slept the night before the wedding. Instead, he had wandered the canals until dawn, retracing every place they had ever been together.
The bridge where Arianna had laughed at him for nearly falling into the water. The little square where they had escaped their guards just to buy sugared almonds from an old woman who pretended not to recognize the Duchessa.
The gardens where she had once declared that, if she were ever forced into an arranged marriage, she would climb the palace walls and disappear.
"I mean it, Luciano."
"I know."
"You'd help me, wouldn't you?"
He had laughed then.
"Of course."
It had been easy to promise impossible things when they were young and relatively careless.
Now he stood in the same garden, staring at the walls.
They had proved much easier to climb than politics.
Rodolfo found him there at sunrise.
"You've been here all night?"
Luciano nodded in reply.
"You should rest."
"I should have taken her away."
Silence.
"I keep thinking..." Luciano said quietly. "If I'd asked her to leave with me. If we'd vanished before the council met. We could have gone anywhere."
"The city would have burned."
"I know... I still wish I'd asked."
The first letter arrived twelve days later, carrying Giglia's seal. Luciano broke it so quickly he tore the parchment. Her handwriting was unmistakable.
My dearest Luciano,
They insist I call this palace my home. It is not. Everyone is courteous. Everyone is watching.
I spend most mornings attending councils and most evenings attending dinners where no one says what they truly mean.
Please don't worry about me.
He laughed once. A short, bitter sound.
"Please don't worry." As though she had written those words to anyone but him.
He read the letter so many times that the folds began to wear through.
There were things she had not written. She never mentioned Niccolò by name. Not once.
She wrote: "His advisers..." "The court..." "The household..." Never "my husband".
Luciano found himself absurdly grateful, as though refusing to write his name somehow preserved a part of herself.
Jealousy was an ugly emotion. He knew that. It settled quietly, growing larger each day.
He imagined Niccolò sitting beside her at dinner. Listening to her opinions. Walking with her through Giglia's gardens. Hearing the laugh Luciano had once believed belonged only to him.
Did Arianna still tilt her head when she was trying not to smile? Did she still absent-mindedly twist a ring around her finger while thinking? Did Niccolò know she always read the last page of a book first?
The thoughts came without invitation. Each one felt like another theft.
He hated himself most for wondering about their nights. Whenever his mind drifted there, he forced it elsewhere. But imagination was cruel.
Niccolò had everything Luciano had dreamed of. Not because Arianna had chosen him. Because the world had chosen for her. That somehow made it worse.
"You're staring at the map again."
Rodolfo stood in the doorway with her arms folded. Luciano had spread maps of Talia across the council table. Roads into Giglia. River crossings. Old smuggling routes.
"I was thinking."
"No."
"You were planning. There is a difference."
He stepped beside him.
"You can't simply ride into Giglia."
"I could."
"You'd be arrested before sunset."
"I know."
He traced a finger toward the grant city.
"I just..."
His voice faltered.
"I can't bear the thought that she's there and I'm here."
Rodolfo's expression softened.
"I know."
"And he's with her."
That, more than anything, was the truth he could never escape.
Months passed. Luciano became everything Bellezza needed. He attended councils, negotiated trade and settled disputes.
The senators praised his judgment, the merchants praised his patience, and the people praised his kindness.
Only Rodolfo noticed that every report from Giglia disappeared into Luciano's study within minutes of arriving.
He read everything about harvests, military movements, court appointments, festivals. He searched every line for Arianna's name.
Then, one autumn evening, a traveller arrived from Giglia carrying no official seal. Only a small package. Inside lay a pressed white camellia, nothing else.
Luciano stared at it for a long time.
Most people would have seen only a flower. He remembered a conversation years before.
"If I ever send you a white camellia," Arianna had said with a conspiratorial smile, "it means I couldn't write what I wanted."
"So what will it mean?"
"It means..."
She had looked around to make certain no one was listening.
"...come."
His pulse hammered. Perhaps it meant nothing. Perhaps she had forgotten. Perhaps it was only coincidence.
But Luciano knew Arianna. She never did anything by accident. He closed his hand carefully around the dried flower.
For the first time since the wedding, he stopped mourning what had been taken from him. Instead, he began planning how to take it back.
which one of you remembered my birthday 😭🙏🙏❤️
Every once in a while I remember the stravaganza series by Mary Hoffman and become mentally unwell
It's been 20 years since the gateway between Talia and England closed. 20 years since Luciano last had contact with the world he was born in. Talia has become his home, but a part of him always wonders what he is missing. Even Rodolfo's mirrors can't pierce the veil between the worlds, so Luciano has had to accept that the life of 21st century England may forever be left as a mystery to him.
Then a new stravagante shows up in Moresco, surprising the whole order – most of all the old fisherman who finds the teenager in his fishing boat and hasn't used his own mirrors to talk to the other stravaganti in years.
The gate may be open again, but it needs to be tested. It will be dangerous. Luciano volunteers, because of course he does.
It's just very difficult to sleep when a million thoughts are running through your head. Will he even end up in the right place? What if the timelines are not in sync anymore? What if Luciano will find himself centuries in the future and everyone and everything he knew about England will be long gone? What if he gets lost somewhere between the worlds and never makes it back home?
All he can do is focus on what he remembers. His childhood home. The streets of Islington. His old school. With only memories to guide him, he finally falls asleep.
Vicky Mulholland and the tragic allure of using AI to talk to your (kind of) dead son

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The Di Chimici siblings ranked by how married to their cousin they are.
Gaetano. Married to his cousin that he was in love with his entire life.
Fabrizio. Married to his cousin but it was an arranged marriage. Still loves her though.
Carlo. Married to his cousin for 10 seconds, then dies.
Beatrice. Married to a guy with the same name as her cousin.
Falco. Not married to his cousin. Has never considered marrying a cousin. Not even in the same world as any of his cousins.
Me looking at Monty: He's so Falco di Chimici coded