Whispers of the Pestilence: "A Chronicle of the Plague"

Intro "Whispers of Desolation: Unveiling the Shadows"

"Che c'è di più folle che pensare che la vita, che è finita nella sua attualità, non finisca con la sua essenza? La morte è solo la chiusura di un periodo e l'inizio di un altro."

-"What is more foolish than to think that life, which is finite in its actuality, does not end with its essence? Death is but the close of a term and the beginning of another." -Francesco Petrarch

"I love you," Luca's voice trembled with pain, his words heavy with emotion. He tenderly clasped his mother's arm, now growing colder with each passing moment. The room felt suffocating, the weight of grief hanging in the air, palpable to all.

"Come here, Luca, my dear little Luca," his sister embraced him, her normally vibrant green eyes now swollen and red from endless weeping. She tried to be strong for Luca, but he knew the depth of her shattered heart, broken by the sudden loss of their beloved mother.

"But she can't leave us yet, her story remains unfinished..." Luca's voice cracked as he sobbed, "It's unjust," he added, the words choked by his tears.

A voice, as if from the shadows, broke the silence, saying, "E morte là, dove c'è fine di pena." Luca turned, his gaze falling upon a towering figure. Instinctively, he took a timid step backward. His father, a man of prominence within the walls of Florence, his connections reaching the influential ranks of the city's governance, stood before him.

Reluctantly, his sister released her grip on Luca, understanding the need for space amidst their shared anguish.

"Padre, why couldn't the doctor heal mamma?" Antonio placed his large hand on Luca's shoulder, the glimmer of a ring adorning his finger catching the light filtering through the window.

"Luca, my son, I assure you that the esteemed Florentine physician exerted every effort," his father's voice held a tenderness, an unusual softness.

"But..." Luca's words faltered, his shoulders trembling as he succumbed to another wave of grief. Despite his yearning to be strong, his father's embrace provided a refuge, a solace against the storm of emotions that engulfed him. 

Barely a week ago, everything had been so beautiful. Spring had arrived, casting a vibrant glow upon the world. The trees began to bloom, adorning the landscape with delicate blossoms, and the garden flourished with colourful flowers.

Mother was sitting in the courtyard when the coughing started, something unusual for her. She had developed painful swellings in her neck. She said she felt ill. 

The best doctor in Florence was hastily summoned, his expertise sought to unravel the mysterious ailment. He prescribed a remedy, urging her to take rest. The ensuing days etched themselves deeply into Antonio's mind. The intensity of her coughs intensified, accompanied by alarming haemorrhages from her throat, gum, and nose. Her once clear mind grew clouded, lost in a haze of hallucinations.

When Antonio gently placed his hand upon her feverish brow, he recoiled at the scorching heat radiating from her fragile form. The doctor was summoned once more, but his knowledge faltered in the face of this enigmatic affliction. The poor man, burdened by his professional limitations, could offer no solace. It was a rare occurrence that shattered Antonio's normally composed demeanour, his patience worn thin by the despair that engulfed him.

As his beloved wife weakened, Antonio desperately implored for her to be transported to San-Gimignano, a city 31 miles from Florence, where a renowned physician resided. Though he pleaded for them to bring salvation to his cherished one within the confines of their home, fate conspired against them. The arrival of the eminent physician was delayed due to the weather, and in the depths of night, he was granted entrance into the Bianchi household. Only sorrow and grief awaited him within those walls. The physician was to late.

And there she lay, laid out on the bed near her beloved balcony, the pale sunlight casting its glow on her lifeless form. The balcony overlooked the courtyard, her cherished sanctuary.

Antonio shook his head in despair, contemplating the uncertain fate of his family. His daughter, only 14 years old, would soon bear the weight of household responsibilities, while Luca, trembling in his arms, appeared tall yet still so young, caught between the harsh reality and tender emotions.

"Luca..." he began. Luca looked up, tears staining his father's shoulder.

"..E morte là, dove c'è fine di pena," his father repeated.

"What do you mean, padre?" Luca asked.

"Death is where suffering comes to an end. Mamma has found release from her pain and is now, as papa would say, beside God in heaven," he said, pointing towards the sky and kissing the cross on his ring.

"But mamma was..." Luca started again.

"Luca," his sister gave him a stern look. Luca swallowed his words.

Antonio gently tousled his son's dark curly hair. "Mamma left something for you," he said. Luca looked up, surprise evident in his eyes. "For me?"

Antonio retrieved a small leather-bound book from his pocket, its black cover adorned with the words Luca Bianchi engraved on it. He handed it to Luca, who accepted it with great care, treating it as if it were made of precious metal.

"Mamma told me that, like Zio Alessandro, you have a passion for literature. She believed you would find solace in this," Antonio said, his voice trailing off.

"Thank you, mamma. Thank you, padre," Luca held the book tightly against his chest, feeling the tears welling up once again. His gaze turned to his mother's lifeless body, clad in a black gown, her eyes peacefully closed. However, amidst the serenity, he could only feel the piercing pain within.

After receiving the book, his sister guided him away. Padre desired solitude to mourn the loss of his life partner.

"Luca, go to your room and freshen up. Padre wouldn't want his son to appear so disheveled," his sister said. Luca glanced at his clothes, now wrinkled and stained by the raw emotions he had endured. He nodded.

His sister embraced him tightly. "It will be alright, dear Luca. We will always be together. I will always be here for you."

"And I for you," Luca whispered.