The Firefly

4°

I rose lightly from the majestic four-poster bed, attracted by the call of the first morning light filtering through the curtains.

I approached the window with a slow step and, like an evolving painting, the garden revealed itself under my gaze.

I let myself be enveloped by the stillness and the golden light, a harmony that whispered to me that a new beginning was opening before me, that there was perhaps hope for Uncle Barnaby.

The room I was in revealed an atmosphere of elegance and spaciousness, nothing like my old room.

I let my gaze wander over the surroundings, which presented itself as a sanctuary of order and light.

The imposing bed in the centre looked like a throne of sleep, embraced by the wall parallel to the large sliding door that led to the rest of the house.

On the left wall stood an imposing wardrobe, a companion in this dance of elegance, while the light-coloured parquet floor was largely caressed by a snow-white carpet.

My red suitcase lay at the foot of the bed and was still to be unpacked, but I would deal with it later.

I thought back to Mr Hale's haughty tone, his arrogance cracked only by the cracks of my determination.

I would not be overwhelmed, I would not allow anyone to make me feel less than I was.

I retreated to the small private bathroom of my room where I gathered my hair into a messy bun, my facial features caressed by touches of light make-up.

I adjusted the round glasses on my nose while in the silence I tried to banish the spectres of the previous night, letting them vanish like gloomy shadows in the dawn light.

When the little black device, given to me the night before by Mrs. Holland, made a shrill sound, I jumped in fright, smearing mascara right under my eye.

Mr. Hale had woken up.

The previous evening, before leaving the mansion, Mrs. Holland had given me a tour of the house, sharing with me the details of Mr. Hale's habits.

She had been his guide, his silent accomplice from the moment he lost his sight.

A bond that reflected a mother's love.

Due to her sister's health problems, however, she would have to move to New York within a week, in the meantime she would use those seven days to teach me how best to run the mansion.

Her room was now my temporary home.

Having left room for me, Mrs. Holland was not present at the time, but I knew she would be arriving at the villa in the late afternoon.

I hurried down the stairs, through the corridors, to the closed door of Mr. Hale's room.

Standing at the threshold, I held a long breath, as if to swallow the uncertainty.

I had to stand up to his arrogance, no matter what he would say.

It was what I had chosen, a step that would lead me towards my goal of helping Uncle Barnaby.

With the gentleness of a whisper, I opened the door wide.

Jake was sitting on the mattress, on the threshold of oblivion, his gaze lost in a distance that only he could see.

In his hands rested a familiar object, the same black device that I also guarded, though his was used to call me, unlike mine, a silent keeper that rang only in emergencies.

-Mr Hale, good morning,‖ said my voice like a spring breeze, trying to establish an atmosphere of calm and kindness.

-You took a long time.- He complained and I had to force myself to use the sweetest tone I could fake.