Chapter Text
Pain.
That was the first thing he felt.
‘It hurts.’
‘ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts-’
The words repeated in his mind even when he couldn’t understand what the concept of ‘words’ meant.
Sounds came out from him as he breathed. It was loud. It burned his throat.
But it felt right.
Scream.
Yes. Scream.
Scream to his heart’s content.
So he did.
He screamed until he felt something wrap around him. It felt different… strange but familiar at the same time. As if this was the first time he had ever felt it yet it was so familiar.
This ‘something’ was both old and new.
A first but also not.
There was a lot of this ‘something’ all around him and inside of him. He couldn’t focus.
He didn’t even know what ‘focus’ meant.
It was all too much.
There were things inside him that felt too big.
He was surrounded by so many things he felt like he should understand but he couldn’t.
In the end, the surprise of whatever it was that wrapped around him only lasted for a second.
And then he screamed once more.
No.
He cried.
That was the day he was born.
The sound of his cries heralded his second life.
But he wouldn’t remember that until a bit later into his new life.
He grew up surrounded by beautiful women. Most of them found joy in talking to him or even just poking his chubby cheeks.
Among them, there were three women who took the time to take care of him.
They were as beautiful as the flowers they used as their names. One of them nursed him and sang him lullabies. The other took care of him during the day, singing and waving fabrics and threads above him to keep him occupied. And the last of them talked to him and carried him around when he would wake up in the middle of the night, crying pitifully over dreams that were simply too real to be nightmares.
Domenico.
That was the name he went by.
The name that felt ‘wrong’ but he wasn’t sure why.
“Piantina mia.”
He looked up and pressed his chin against his elbows as he kept sitting quietly inside the cabinet.
The woman in front of him was named Viola and she was one of the three women who regularly took care of him.
Long dark hair like the night sky framed her gentle smile, kept tidy by interlocking hair pieces and ribbons the color of the name she took.
“What are you doing here?” She asked gently as she sat on her heels, her posture being kept straight by her corset.
He stared at her silently and her smile dimmed as she asked, “Did you hear something?”
He nodded.
“Can you tell me who it is?”
He shook his head.
She chuckled softly before explaining, “Oh, it’s for her own sake, I promise. If you heard her, that means she’s not good at keeping her mouth shut.”
She used her left hand to cup her face as she whispered, “They’ll get hurt if they say something and a bad person hears them.”
“Like madama?” He asked quietly, making Viola shake her head.
“Worse than madama,” she whispered back and he stared at her for a moment before he nodded. He waved his hand and she offered her palm to him.
He wrote the name on her palm using his finger and her face remained the same soft kind look she always had for him even as she silently read the letters he was writing on her palm. He stared at Viola after he finished spelling the name and she nodded, “Thank you, piantina mia.”
“I’m a bit bored. Do you want to play something with me?” She offered in the same soft voice she always had for him and he nodded.
“Wonderful, come.” She stood and stepped back, waiting for him to leave the closet. She offered her hand once more and he took it, following her out of the storage room he had hidden in. They used the narrow hallways that the guests never go through to not be seen.
After all, he was not supposed to exist outside the walls of this establishment.
She led him to one of the empty rooms and took a viol and a flute before they returned to his room.
The room he lived in was small. It only had a small bed and an even smaller chest for the few articles of clothing he had.
When he was a baby, he used to sleep with one of them and he stayed with them until a guest almost saw him when he tried to open the door against the women’s pleading.
He only managed to stay away from the man’s gaze because the one he had been staying with that night, another one of the women who took care of him, threw a fit and started throwing pillows and clothes at the rude guest’s direction. While the commotion kept the guest’s attention to her, he hid under the bed.
For that reason, he got his own room and here they were now, sitting close to each other as he waited for her to begin. It was a soft melody, similar to one of the lullabies she used to sing to him late at night after he woke up from another of his ‘nightmares’.
He pressed the flute below his lips and began to blow. His hands were too small to fully control the flute, but she was playing a melody that was easy for him to keep up with.
They played until she had to leave because one of the guests requested her. She kissed his cheek and told him to keep playing if he wanted to.
He tried to play a bit more after she left but it just wasn’t fun without her. With nothing else to do, he cleaned the flute he used and took two trips to return the musical instruments back to the room Viola found them in.
When he closed the secret door, an older looking woman was already waiting for him with her hands behind her hunched back.
“Come with me, boy.” The madama of the establishment, known only as Belladonna, ordered.
The beautiful lady taking care of the many flowers in her home.
… and a single little bud.
She took him to one of the rooms he wasn’t allowed to enter, some kind of office with a lot of items that screamed ‘souvenirs’.
He didn’t even know what souvenirs meant.
Only that it was a scam?
Whatever that meant…
His nose twitched but he tried to ignore the floral scent surrounding the room, standing still as the madama looked at the papers on her table for a moment.
She placed the paper on the table as she said, “Nothing in this world is free. Everyone has to work to receive food, shelter, and money. Do you know why you do not work?”
He stared at her for a moment before he answered, “Because I’m weak.”
Her gaze was steady and her expression did not change but he noticed the way her hand twitched as if she was about to raise it but stopped herself.
Did he give her the wrong answer?
What other answer was there?
“I supposed I should check which of the girls have been making you think such ridiculous things,” the madama mumbled and he guessed he wasn’t supposed to hear or understand what she said so he simply kept quiet.
“Starting tomorrow, you’ll be helping out Girasoli,” she ordered. “Listen to her and do not get in her way.”
“Si, signora.” He answered quietly. There were no other answers to give anyway.
The madama waved her hand as she said, “Go. Stay away from our guests and don’t let them see you.”
“Si, signora.” He repeated before quietly leaving her office.
The scent of flowers clung to his clothes so he took them off once he was back in his room and changed into a simple light brown tunic that was big enough to cover below his knees. He waited in his room quietly for someone to bring him his dinner by closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing.
It was meditation… but what was meditation in the first place?
A few hours later, one of the other women who regularly looked after him knocked on his door before opening it quietly. Her name was Iride, the fairest of them all.
Tonight’s dinner was vegetable soup with small chunks of meat that they couldn’t serve to the guests.
“I heard you’ll start helping out around here tomorrow.” Iride whispered with an accent that he didn’t hear from the other women in this place.
Her blonde hair was so light it looked more like white sometimes. Her skin was also the whitest out of everyone here, and she looked beautiful in any clothes she wore.
Many guests called her fata, a fairy from another world.
Like everyone else, she never used her real name and he only knew her as Iride, the woman who cut fabrics from old clothes and used them to give him something to play with.
She always found ways to make him feel better even if that included stealing food meant for guests like what she was doing right now.
He tilted his head as he took the small plate of roasted chicken that Iride gave him.
“Don’t tell anyone, alright?” She whispered with a smile, “Il nostro piantina needs all the energy and strength he can get for tomorrow.”
He nodded before using his spoon to push half of the chicken in his plate into her own bowl of soup.
She blinked before smiling softly as she kissed his cheek. “Thank you, my sweet boy.”
He smiled back at her, a small little curl of his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.
She didn’t complain about how creepy it was or how unnatural for a child to not smile brightly like the others.
She simply smiled back, a beautiful soft smile that made it clear there was a reason why many guests liked to call her a fata.
They ate their dinner quietly and she left with the dinnerware, all used and placed back on the tray she had with her.
“Good night, piantina mia.” She kissed his forehead as she whispered, “I will pray that tomorrow will be a good day for you.”
He watched her leave his room, her beautiful smile having turned into an apologetic one as she closed the door behind her.
He heard the door click, the only sign that he had been locked in. They started locking his door when he was able to leave the room after just learning how to walk.
Everyone swore they closed the door, but there was no evidence that he was the one opening it. (He was.)
Even now, they lock him in his room at night to be sure he wouldn’t walk during the busiest time of the establishment and accidentally bump into one of the guests.
There was a small window in his room that let the moonlight in. It was too high for him to climb out of.
Or so they thought.
He had already climbed out of the window more than once.
Not to leave the establishment…
Just…
To see the sky at night.
But not right now.
Today, he laid on his small bed and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths and focusing on his beating heart to drown out the noise all around him.
Guests laughing.
Music.
Singing.
Those sounds…
His heartbeat slowly overtook every other sound until it was all he heard.
As it slowed down…
Tomorrow, he would start working to keep staying here.
He felt his consciousness slowly slip…
Tomorrow…
Girasoli was the youngest of the women here. If he was to estimate, she was probably around thirteen years old or so. Trying to ask her her real age would just get him the stink eyes and a lie about being older than she obviously was.
Lanky and small with a nose that reminded him of a mouse.
Not that there were any mice here in the establishment.
He didn’t even know what a mouse was.
Only that Girasoli’s nose reminded him of it.
She was also one of the three ladies that didn’t entertain guests. Those three cleaned, cooked and helped out all over the establishment.
No matter what happened, they never entertained the guests. They might bring out the musical instruments or serve the guests food and drinks, but they never stayed.
The other two were almost as old as the madama and they were usually in charge of cooking.
Girasoli was the one who did everything else.
And now…
He was going to learn from her.
“First rule: remember everything I say. I’ll only say it once,” Girasoli said after unlocking his door and barging in like she owned the place.
He noticed her standing outside when he woke up as the night sky slowly lightened. She stayed outside for a few more minutes before barging in.
He wondered how long she had been waiting outside but he knew she wouldn’t answer him so he just nodded as he said, “Okay.”
He pretended to have just woken up, even yawning just for her sake.
She would just be embarrassed if he told her he had been awake for a while now.
“I don’t know what that word means,” Girasoli said before quickly pointing at him. “Second rule: you will call me ‘signora’ and you will answer ‘si, signora’ whenever I say something. Understand?”
“Si, signora.” He dutifully answered.
“Good.” She nodded as she crossed her arms. “Follow me. We need to clean a lot of rooms today.”
He quietly followed her as he thought…
‘Sounds fun.’
Did it though?
He felt like it didn’t sound like it was fun at all.
But there must be a reason he thought it sounded fun?
It felt like the way he thought about it, the tone of his internal voice (in a way) was the reason why it ‘sounded fun’.
He didn’t get it at all.
His first day of shadowing ‘signora’ Girasoli, he just helped clean the rooms used by the guests the day (and night) before. She was adamant that he stayed away from the bed no matter what and to focus on clearing up the table and sweeping the floor.
He also wiped the windows and placed the curtains in the basket they brought with them. The curtains, the bedding, the table cloth, every piece of fabric in the room was removed and replaced.
He was in charge of bringing the basket to the room where they kept the used fabrics while she brought out all the used cutlery, cups, bowls and bottles.
Once all the rooms were ready to be used once more, she brought him to the back of the establishment, kept hidden by the large walls separating their home from the rest of the world.
There, she taught him how to clean the cutlery, cups, bowls, etcetera.
Whatever the word ‘etcetera’ meant…
He learned how to clean everything they use for their food and drink.
Or maybe it was more accurate to say ‘relearned’?
But where would he have learned them the first time?
Nowhere.
No one taught him anything here.
… Viola taught him to read and write but that was it.
Just another strange thing about him, he supposed.
While he washed those, Girasoli went on ahead and washed every kind of fabric they took out of the rooms.
Once he was done with his tasks, she taught him how to use the rope lines to dry the fabrics. He couldn’t reach them though because he was too short. She didn’t laugh at his predicament but she did sigh when she went inside to grab the chair.
Only when they were done with everything did they eat breakfast. She gave him more food than he usually received. He didn’t question it but she defended herself anyway.
“You’re useless to me if you’re hungry and tired. Eat more and grow up faster.”
“Si, signora.” He dutifully answered.
After breakfast, they went to the kitchen and helped the two older women prepare food for the guests.
Today’s menu was more meat, more vegetables…
Food that he and the others wouldn’t be allowed to have unless the guest offered it.
He helped with cutting the vegetables and Girasoli frowned at him but said nothing. He was sure it was because the other two were whispering about how strange it was that he was able to cut things so easily and precisely when he had only seen them do it just now.
Before he finished cutting the vegetables, Girasoli told him to help her with the drinks.
“Si, signora.” He dutifully answered.
There was a… trick, he supposed would be the correct word to use, in preparing the guests’ drinks.
… not that anyone ever taught him what ‘trick’ meant.
He just knew that was the word he should use.
Like all the things that made others think that he was strange…
He just knew.
“Are you paying attention?” Girasoli’s voice pulled him away from his thoughts.
“Si, signora.” He dutifully answered.
“Fine then. Try it.” She ordered in that voice of hers that tried so hard to be haughty but failed because of the frown she wore.
It was less ‘you are a strange child, get away from me’ and more of a ‘you better be listening or I’ll have to explain it again’ frown.
How did he know that was the expression she was making?
He wasn’t sure.
He just knew.
For now, he repeated the same moves she just showed him.
First, he looked at the cork in the bottle in front of him. He pulled the cork out and filled the bottle with the wine that they were using before putting the cork back. Afterwards, he placed the newly filled bottle on the row below the bottles she had just prepared.
He looked at the cork of the next bottle and did the same before placing it next to his first bottle. He looked at another bottle and, this time, placed it back down.
The fourth bottle he looked at had what he was looking for. The cork had a small scratch on it. It was shaped like two lines crossing two more lines.
He uncorked this one and filled it with wine until its halfway point. Afterwards, he filled the rest with water. He returned the cork before placing it next to the wine. He looked for the same mark and repeated the process for three more bottles.
Once he had all six bottles lined perfectly below Girasoli’s, he turned to face her silently.
She stared at the bottles for a moment before dutifully checking each one, paying close attention to the corks and even making sure every bottle had the same ‘amount’ of liquid inside.
She turned to nod at him as she said, “We’ll refill every bottle. You take these-”
She grabbed a box filled with empty bottles and handed it to him, leaning close as she whispered, “And do it slower this time. You’re too fast.”
He waited for her to step back as she said, “I better not see you slacking off, alright. You better be done when I’m done.”
“Si, signora.” He dutifully answered even though he knew that what they were doing was illegal.
Was it really illegal though?
What did ‘illegal’ even mean anyway?