Bosco Sospiro

Prologue

In a far, remote corner of the Ligurian cost, hidden between the cracks and rocks of a cliff above the sea, a castle arises. It appeares as if it was born from the very rocks that made up the cliffs. Its base clang to the stone wall, hepled here and there by wooden palisades. From there it grew, eating away at the shore like ivy in an old tree, in countless towers, rooms and pointed roofs. If you ran your eye along the curves and pointing corners of its walls, you would always find yourself looking at new, unespected rooms. On the other end, if you tried to find something you were looking at before, with great probability, it would appear to have vanished somewhere in that structure. It seemed like a moving labirinth, when it actually had been still from the very beginning. As a whole it was a very curious complex to say the least. It wasn't made from a single material, as one would expect, but it was made the italian way: a combination of whatever was available – apparently there was not much funding – and the best you could put together. At the end, there were some stones and rocks in the stucture that looked brand new, perfectly rounded and clear from the moss. Others, however, were eroded by the see wind and covered in grass. It was a combination od old and new elements that somehow worked really well together and created a majestic result.

The castle opened up on a deep blue sea. Right outside, there was a large marble terrace with a colorful mosaic figuring a wind rose. Pictures of different magical objects and activites surrounded the rest of the floor. 

At the side, connected by a covered bridge above the water, the most glorious bit of the entire castle: a giant tower, mostly made of a fine tempered glass. The many colors weaved together, they grew on each other, complemented each other all the way to the top creating the most beautiful windows. During the day and at night, as the light of the sun or the moon shined upon the glass, it projected long dancing beams of color on the castle and on the dark waves of the sea. They even reached all the way to the limits of a deep forest al the top of the cliff. It was a place of scary sounds and unespected creatures and it protected the place from unwanted eyes. From this very forest the castle gained it's name: Bosco Sospiro.

Every interested reader will now wonder what ever was the use of this place. The answer is simple: it was a school. A school unlike any other. In there, thousands and thousands of students would learn the art of wizardry and witchcraft and they would descover the many secrets that sinister place held. However, in this precise moment in which our story begins, it is just another empty, funny-looking, forgotten castle. The salty air ran through still, silent corridors and the beams of light reflected on studentless classrooms. There was only one, solitary figure walking those floors. It was a rather young looking man, in his thirties, dressed in an emerald green gown with long sleeves and a fabric on the back that swayed gracefully in the air as he walked. He had perfectly combed black hair, kept in order by a good quantity of hair gel. His eyes, of the same dark color of his hair, were calm yet serious and lost in some kind of thought. 

He paced slowly through the castle, running his fingers along the stone walls. He checked every nook and cranny, every torch that eventualy would light the way for the many students: he would leave nothing to chance. Put in charge of overseeing the restore of the school by the very Minister of Magic, he wanted to do justice to his task. He eventually reached the main entrance. Two giant doors made of solid wood stood in his way, they were as tall as seven grown man. Little scenes figuring scenes of italic, greek and roman magic were carved all over the doors.

The man moved is left hand and they magically opened, freeing the way. He found himself on the large terrace, facing the sea. Looking around, he finally took a deep breath – it tasted of salt – and let his mind linger upon the beautiful sight.

"So, how do you find the school, headmaster Rasalas?" Asked a voice from behind him.

"Oh Professor Sospita, please, call me Magnus. If we are to work as colleages, I'd rather we used our names" The headmaster's voice was calm and gentle. He spelled every word without rushing and he constantly had just the hint of a smile on his face. "The school is perfect, just as it should be, just as it was. Your research team and professor Anneus's reconstruction team have done an astounding work". 

The professor took just a few steps to find herself standing alondside Rasalas. She was quite a tall woman – taller that the headmaster – very thin. She looked older than the man standing with her. Though they were certainly equals when it came to knowledge, she could count on a good number of years of practice in wizardry. She wore a plum-colored dress with a brown shawl on her shoulders. Her hair was of the same brown, but with some gray stripes that were starting to show. She kept them long, tied in a braid that ran trough her back.

"Well then, if I am to call you Magnus, please call me Juno as well" She put her hands on the hips as she gloated proudly. With a satisfied smile she added "After almost a century of this poor castle being shut, i twill serve its purpose again. Before, it looked kind of depressed to me. There will finally be students here, and living in the Citadel!"

"Very well professor, we better be off now. Will you see that all the letter are sent to the students on time? And get the word to professor Nautilus that it is necessary to visit personally all the disenchated familes, they will need a proper explanation and for right now this is the best way. He'll contact the members of the Minister that are willing to help. He certainly is a talented wizard, but memory is not his strong suite." As he finished talking, he gave a last glance at the glass tower and desappeared with a snap.