Melina Caruso is an extraordinary human whose red lifeblood and gifted abilities brought unwanted attention to the world of immortality and ultimately sparked a race for blood, power and love.
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The revelation of a shattering truth can prove to be a healing shock.
- Markus Mirwald (*1982)
I barely felt the cold, wet stone of the fountain as soon as the adrenaline wore off and the rest of my remaining energy left my body.
The relief of my vision not taking effect only came slowly over my mind; the lingering fear of what had just happened was too present.
The vampire would have bitten me.
Killed me.
A slight numbness settled over my body as all the blood left my head and disappeared into the lower levels. Dizziness set in immediately, and I blinked several times against the looming black-and-white dotted pattern before my eyes. My pale limbs trembled, and I shakily kept my body upright.
"Melina...?"
"Melina...!"
An excited, almost panicked voice mistily pierced my attention. The black and white dots were abruptly joined by a dark red colour that gradually formed into an enormous lump with each successive blink of my eyes.
Sneakers.
Something shook my shoulder, and the veil around my head lifted, as did the numbness. I looked up and met familiar green eyes looking at me uneasily.
"Martina..." I whispered raspily and swallowed dryly.
"Your face is ashen, Melina. Is everything all right?" the dark-haired woman opposite me asked, her tone resonating with the intensity of an experienced nurse.
My head tilted in the direction of the alley.
My grey-blue eyes were wide open. I feared that one of the figures was hiding in the growing darkness and watching our every step and movement closely.
Nothing.
The alley was empty and deserted.
I let out a relieved sigh and let go of the rest of my inner tension.
"I'm fine." I lied unconvincingly and turned my gaze away from the alley. My eyes met those of the little Italian nurse, struggling to suppress her worried expression in my direction. Her eyebrows drew together, and deep worry lines formed on her forehead.
"I think...you should go home, Melina," she said urgently after a while and helped the older woman next to me to stand up.
"Excuse me...but...I don't think I know you." Cynthia said confusedly to Martina, who only gave her a friendly smile.
"My name is Martina Lorusso, Cynthia. I'm going to walk you home," she told the 96-year-old loudly, pointing to one of the streets leading back from the square towards the nursing home. Cynthia looked absent-mindedly down the street before her brown eyes turned to me.
I tried to stand up, but my legs began to sway under the weight of my body. With a lunge to the side, I regained my balance and smiled reassuringly at Cynthia despite the warning looks from the nurse next to us.
"You've always taken good care of our mother and me, Mary Alice." the older woman said with a broad smile, linking my arm with hers again.
"Come... great-grandmother," I replied quietly.
We dragged ourselves away from the Palazzo dei Priori.
🙨
"Where are we?" asked Cynthia next to me, looking sceptically at the two-storey atrium house.
The peach-cream-coloured, elongated "Dante Alighieri" retirement home was located just a few meters outside the old city walls of Volterra, whose former considerable height had gradually collapsed over the centuries. As nature became increasingly wild, the brownish rock finally sank into the trees, grasses and plants.
Flowers and bushes now covered large areas of the grounds and planted walkways on all sides, providing a beautiful, colourful feast for the eyes. Green lawns surrounded the residence, which were regularly used by the residents and their visiting families. Garden chairs, tables, and private pavilions provided ample seating and entertainment options.
"We are home, great-grandmother.".
I smiled warmly at some seated Italians as we entered the stone terrace.
The cool air of the air conditioning surrounded us as soon as we crossed the threshold.
"Melina," one of the senior geriatric nurses greeted me from behind the counter. Her expression lightened at the sight of Cynthia beside me. She took quick steps around the high table.
"It's good to have you back with us, Cynthia. We were apprehensive about you," she said gently and empathetically to the older woman, who only looked at her with veiled eyes. Her face contorted in surprise.
"Who are you?" my great-grandmother asked, stepping closer to my side as her gaze glided over the nursing home's facilities. I carefully stroked her hand and led her into the corridors of the rooms with an apologetic look at the geriatric nurse.
"I'll let your grandparents know, Melina," I heard Martina call behind me and nodded briefly before steering my great-grandmother into the ceiling-lit corridor.
Large windows with narrow borders stretched along the left-hand side of the corridors, reflecting the last remaining light of dusk. I could see some of the home's staff wiping over the used chairs and tables in the rectangular courtyard to remove the last remaining dirt and grime from dinner. A small fountain, similar to the one at the Palazzo dei Priori, roared in the centre and spewed water fountains.
My great-grandmother's room was in the middle of the corridor.
We stopped before one of the many wooden doors, and I pressed the handle before letting her in.
Light-coloured laminate replaced the stony mosaic floor of the hallway and created a pleasant and comfortable atmosphere with the warm Besch tones of the walls. A wide bed dominated the room, with a dark wooden chest of drawers and a desk opposite. A multitude of black and white and colour photos were spread across the surfaces and told the long-lasting story of the 96-year-old woman's
Birth.
Childhood.
Youth.
Marriage.
Family.
With a walking stick in hand, my great-grandmother turned and marvelled at the room she had unknowingly moved into several months ago.
"Is this my room, Mary?" she asked, furrowing her brows.
"It seems different..." she breathed, and I quickly stepped to her side.
"Our father's work took us to Italy, Cynthia. Don't you remember that?" I evaded, lying. My great-grandmother just shook her head, her brown eyes glancing around the room.
