#the-painters-apprentice

Riccardo,

Whether some form of therapy or a confession, I don’t know - but I’ve been seeing these kinds of things all over the place lately. Perhaps for some sort of closure. The world knows what happened - at least those who have picked up a copy of my book anyway. One of - no, my one greatest regret - was that I was unable to save you.

I know that if you were here, you would tell me that it wasn’t my fault. You were the eldest, it was your job to protect me. These are all things you’ve said to me before, as I lie in a bed, poisoned by Lord Harlech. Riccardo, it’s not your fault. It was never, ever your fault. 

I miss you. Of all our brothers, you were the one whom I could turn to. I begged Marius to turn you too. But he thought you would be happier as a mortal man. I know you loved our Bianca dearly. Perhaps if you had survived and she had remained human, you could have wed. That would have been glorious. 

Perhaps if you’d been immortal though, it would have been enough to save the Palazzo. As it was, Marius and I were overwhelmed. But you were always stronger. A better fighter. A better person than I could ever hope to be.

I loved you. As much as I could ever have loved another human being, I loved you. I still love you. Your face graces my mind nearly every night. Something will remind me of you. One of Marius’s paintings, perhaps, or the way that someone else says something. 

I hope you are happy where you are, Riccardo. I hope, for your sake, that heaven is real. If anyone deserves heaven, it is you.

Rest well, my brother. You will never be forgotten.

We got their attention minutes earlier, while I sat on Ricarrdo’s lap seated on the park bench enjoying our public display in a make out session. My show of affection, of course, for my companion which he had become accustomed to in this present night.

It was his idea, Riccardo’s. We are heading further down the way into the desolated park. Two older male mortals followed behind us and have gained chase. I slowed my pace, twirled and jumped onto his back, wrapping my leather clad legs around his waistline. 

“Slacking on your work again, my beloved brother?” 

The mirthful whisper is delivered by the boy’s ear alongside the tickle of russet curls. Deep eyes shining, Amadeo swings playfully, using one hand as an anchor, from one of the intricate poles of scaffolding in the palazzo, eyes fixed on his friend’s progress... or lack thereof. Rather, Riccardo seems to have been stuck on one particular spot of shading for longer than can be considered the norm. 

"I wish you'd take your job more seriously." David complained as Merrick continued to hum the soundtrack of ghostbusters as she organized her suitcase with some clothes and all the witch resources she thought she'd need, nothing but a combination of jars and boxes which content was just entirely known by her. "What do you mean? I take it seriously." She added, adding a dreamcatcher to the top of the suitcase.

Italy was a dreamy destination, even for a witch, different points of appreciation somehow, unlike other occasions, David and Merrick had been sent to do ghost-research in different venues, and Merrick had picked the toughest one; a private palazzo, which owner begged them to evict the spirits that resided in the place, for they turned violent and the owner himself was spending an unrequested vacation in the hospital with a serious contusion. I wonder what he did to deserve that.

She wore her traditional cotton dress, entirely white except from the long lace made of of blue beads and occasional green beads, wrapped across her torso and neck.  Merrick walked into the palazzo with a solemn expression, holding her right hand to the core of her lace and bowing softly. "Okê, arô" She muttered as a small cloud of energy grew, promptly taking the figure of a tall muscled black man. "We have work to do, Oxóssi." She announced, looking up at the serious looking man, whom looked back at her with certain softness, like a father would look after his daughter. 

She turned to close the doors and looked around the luxurious interiors, trying to remember the description of the palace the owner had given, the main attacks had been on the bedrooms, therefore she decided to go there first. 

The palazzo had been built as faithful as possible to the old one, once destroyed by a great fire, or so she had read in the Talamascan files, the home of an ancient they had so eagerly studied; Marius de Romanus, her best bet was that he used the palazzo to feed himself as well, and now his previous victims were trapped in there, confused, irritated, no wonder the attacks had been more inclined towards men than women.