Prologue
Florence 1290
The poet dropped the note to the floor with a shaking hand. He sat silently for several moments, motionless as a statue. Then with a great clenching of teeth he stood to his feet and swept agitatedly through his house, ignoring tables and fragile items, disdaining the other inhabitants of his home.
There was only one person whom he wished to see.
He strode quickly through the city streets, almost breaking into a run on his way to the river. He stood at the end of the bridge, their bridge, his moist eyes eagerly scanning the adjacent riverbank for the barest glimpse of his beloved.
She was nowhere to be found.
She would never return.
His beloved Beatrice was gone.
It was splendid
ReplyDelete