Violetta's mission that evening was to go to the attic once again and possibly find the reason her father had those things hidden from her.
There has to be a reason, Violetta thought. No one just boxes such important things up and just hides them from their only child like that—or else, Dad might be the first one to do such a thing.
Shaking her thoughts from her head, she went out of her room and walked downstairs. It was dinner time, but since Olga wasn't there still, there was no one to scream at the top of their lungs to say that dinner was ready.
Deciding she wasn't really that hungry, Violetta grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the kitchen table. Walking away with the apple, she caught a glimpse of the outside through the windows in the kitchen. She decided she should stay out there for a while.
Quietly walking out of the house, she got a weird sensation—one that you might feel when you're all alone and the silence of the outside world welcomed you with a cool, calming, whispering breeze. Violetta found it somehow comforting.
She sat down on the steps as she munched on her apple. The sun was making the horizon paint a purple-red-orange painting of a beautiful sunset. But the scenery didn't last that long, for the sun decided to set, causing the moon and the billions of stars to show their light.
Violetta finished eating the apple, then tossed the remnants of it to the side.
I should be going inside now, she thought. But instead, she stayed there for some more minutes, as if paralyzed, watching the twinkling stars shine with all their might.
Suddenly, after about twenty minutes of staring at the wonderful, mysterious, and somewhat comfortable scenery, a low, hushed breeze gently touched Violetta. As if it were a whisper, the breeze said, Time to go now.
Violetta, without any hesitation, got up and quietly entered the house again.
Her father saw her coming in, so he began to ask her what she was doing out there. Violetta kept on walking, as if in a trance, past the living room, up the stairs, and into her room, without hearing her father's voice.
☆☆☆☆☆
Violetta woke up. Instead of being in her room, she found herself in the attic.
"Whoa. How did I get here?" she asked out loud. She covered her mouth with her hand once she realized she had said it a little bit too loud. Her father could be standing close by.
Am I going crazy? Violetta thought. She went down those attic stairs to get out of there, but when she was about to open the door, the doorknob didn't budge. It was locked.
"Then how did I get in here?" she asked in a nervous whisper.
She had to find a way out. Yelling for help was out of the options—her father might discover her secret.
She went up the stairs again. She sat on a couch-like furniture and started to think. Well, I couldn't have just appeared here, right? It's impossible. Well actually, teleportation is possible, it's just that technology and science haven't gone that far yet—Violetta, concentrate! There has to be another way out of here.
She got up and began to shuffle around the little room, discovering some of her mother's objects on the way; a broken watch, some beautiful and shiny bracelets, random sheets of yellowed paper. She kept on searching, removing boxes from the walls to see of there was any secret door somewhere. Then, she moved a small box out of the way, making it fall to the side and releasing what it had held for so long—a book.
Vilu stared at the book with curious eyes. Grabbing it, she realized it wasn't just a book.
"A diary?" she asked herself. "Could this be my mother's?"
Violetta knew her mother had always kept a diary everywhere she went, she just never knew where it was hidden. Opening the diary was something Violetta really did not want to do. What if it rips? I don't think Mother would like it very much.
Slowly, almost too slowly, she managed to open the book.
June 26 was what was written on the very first page.
"That's my birthday," Violetta whispered. "I wonder what year this was."
Dear Diary,
I know you might think this is strange—an adult keeping a diary—but as I always say, you are never too old for the things you love.
I decided to get this diary because I had this strange feeling all day long, like I was supposed to do this, so when I could no longer take it anymore, I got this diary and decided it could be sort of like an autobiography, one that no one would ever read. I just love to write, it's one of my passions, as well as singing.
Now, diary, you might think you're dealing with a nerdy singer. You are wrong. I am no nerd—I just want to let all my feelings go. I also wanted to start this diary so I could write all those little details of my beautiful little Violetta.
She was just born this morning, and you wouldn't believe how pretty she is. Vilu is my little star, the one that illuminated that tiny dark spot in my blue sky, and the one that made my most beautiful dreams even more magical than they were before.
Violetta will forever be my blooming flower.
As she read this, Violetta felt a tear running down her cheek. She wiped it away before it landed on the page of the diary she was reading.
Having known her mother for only the first five years of her life, she wished she could have found this earlier. Violetta concluded that the diary was 16 years old, since her mother had gotten it when Vilu was just a newborn baby. She had to take great care of it.
She carefully turned the page, then began to read. But something stopped her:
June 27, 1901 was the date written on the top right corner of the page.
"What?"
. . . . .
