The Secret Muse (#1)

Chapter 18

Sometimes, I feel as though women are just flowers. We're chosen depending on the person's preference for our appearance. We are cherished so long as we're comely but tossed aside when we start to wither.

The only purpose of a flower is either for decoration or to show beauty and nothing more.

As I lean on the window, looking at the people, I can see a few women inside their houses either trying their best to stay beautiful or simply obeying what the man of the house wishes. A complete disregard for our ability to bring life to this world.

It got me thinking. If I were to stay here at this time, I'd end up like one of them. Stuck to become a homemaker and expected to do nothing else but be subordinate. Am I even prepared to give up all my interest in history to become the woman of this century just for a man?

As I brought the iris to my eyes, still leaning on the window I began to ask myself. If by some miracle, I did find the answers to all of my questions, will I stay or will I go? Suddenly the wind picks up, blowing the flower out of my hand. Before it fell to the ground, I saw Botticelli walking in the street.

For some reason, he looks up and our eyes meet. I smiled and waved at him in instinct. I thought he would simply ignore me like he's been doing for the last few days but he miraculously smiled. The sweet smile I have longed to see. Then I felt relieved.

Walking in the street, I couldn't help but look at the people around me. Perhaps I was hoping to see a familiar face but found none. Not knowing where to go, I decided to stop by the bridge.

The last time I went to Ponte Vecchio, there were jewelers, art dealers, and souvenir sellers occupying the shop. Seeing the spot hundreds of years prior is a different setting.

The place is loud and busy. Filled with farmers, tanners, and butchers. Not wanting to be in a loud and crowded area, I decided to go by the banks instead. Sitting down on the grassy banks of Arno, I found peace despite the distant noise from the bridge.

As the water flowed beautifully, I couldn't help but fish out the key from my pocket and study the bow once again. Despite having no corners, the square shape is evident if you look closely.

Sighing in defeat, I look up and try to clear my head. Hoping that I'd remember something from doing so.

When I looked back down I noticed someone sitting a few meters from me. Judging by his hands alone, I could tell who he was. I stood up, placed the key in my pocket, and walked toward him. "Hello," I said when I reached him. Still sitting, he looks up, his light brown eyes looking into mine. "May I join you?"

"Of course," Botticelli said, giving me room by his side. I sat down as gracefully as I could as I looked at the papers scattered on his lap.

"You're sketching," I said, stating the obvious. "It's the first time I see you sketch something other than a person." I continued as I looked at his sketch of what seemed to be the Ponte Vecchio bridge.

He chuckles. "Yes, well I was not exactly planning on sketching anything other than what I think I'm good at if it weren't for Leonardo's snide comments about my work."

"D-did you say, Leonardo? As in Leonardo Da Vinci?" I said, hiding my surprise the best that I can.

He looked at me with confusion then nodded. "Yes, well I did not realize he's already famous given that he has not been able to finish any of his portraits."

"No, he's not quite as famous as you are at the moment but he will." Just like you. "I didn't know that you two are familiar with each other."

"We met 6 years ago as pupils of Master Verrochio." He said, looking in the distance. "Despite his awful remarks on the chosen subjects of my paintings, we agree on other things. Among them is owning an inn."