The days had been stressful for Priscilla, and Maximus could tell. He had always been attentive to people's mood swings, especially hers. With just one glance, he could tell when something was bothering her.
He wasn't going to sit idly by. He wanted Priscilla to be in the best possible state when she spoke to her grandmother about the trip... and for the trip itself.
So, without announcing himself, he arrived at the palace. Priscilla was surprised to see him, but she didn't hide her joy at his arrival.
—Maximo, to what do I owe the honor of your visit? —
—Easy. I've come to invite you to the opera.
—The opera?
—The opera.
—What a splendid invitation! — exclaimed the queen, appearing out of nowhere on the scene.
Maximus stood up straight immediately and greeted her respectfully.
—Your Majesty.
Priscilla looked at her with narrowed eyes.
—Grandmother, are you spying on us?
—I can spy on anyone I want, I'm the queen, dear.
They both laughed, and the queen spoke again with a hint of amusement in her voice.
—I would like to take your granddaughter to the opera. Will you grant me permission, Your Majesty?
—You know I would trust no one but you, Maximo. Of course you may go. — said the queen happily.
Priscila rolled her eyes at their exaggerated formality, but she did not argue. After all, she did not dislike the idea so much.
—All right, I'll go. But I need to change.
Maximo bowed slightly.
—I'll wait for you.
Priscila went to her room to put on an outfit appropriate for the occasion.
Priscila went to her room and called Coral to help her get dressed. She didn't feel like wearing anything too elaborate, but she knew she had to maintain a certain elegance for the occasion.
After a few minutes of deliberation, she chose a beige dress with pale pink accents. The bodice was fitted, with delicate gold thread embroidery intertwining in subtle patterns, while the sleeves were light and barely grazed her wrists. The skirt fell softly to her ankles, allowing her to move easily without losing her regal bearing.
To complement the outfit, she chose a pair of discreet pieces of jewelry: gold earrings with small pink stones and a thin necklace with a rose quartz pendant. She pulled her hair back into a half-updo, leaving a few loose strands to frame her face naturally.
When she was ready, she looked in the mirror and sighed. It wasn't her plan for the evening, but if Maximo had insisted so much, she would at least try to enjoy it.
As she descended the stairs, she found him waiting for her with a smile.
—I won't say I'm surprised, but you always manage to look good.
Priscila rolled her eyes with a slight smile.
—Only because I don't want you to drag me to the opera looking like a beggar.
Maximo laughed and offered her his arm.
—Then let's go before you change your mind.
The carriage moved through the streets lit by oil lamps, casting long shadows on the marble facades of the buildings.
Inside, Priscila looked out the window, watching the people still walking along the avenues, some heading toward the theater, others simply enjoying the cool night breeze.
To break the silence, Máximo decided to speak.
—How are the preparations for your birthday going?
Priscila made an annoyed sound and let her head fall back against the seat.
—Cumbersome. — she replied with a grimace. — I don't want a party, but everyone insists. They're organizing a huge event with dancing, banquets, and endless meetings with nobles I barely know. It's overwhelming.
Maximo smiled understandingly.
—You still haven't talked to your grandmother about it?
—I see her at meals, but when we talk, we end up discussing other issues and I always forget. — She sighed and looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. — Actually, I think I'm avoiding it.
—You'll be able to do it soon, I know you Will. — he replied in his usual calm tone, giving her an encouraging smile.
—I'm working up the courage because, to be honest, I have no idea how she's going to react. — Priscilla let out a nervous little laugh, as if the mere thought made her feel more tense.
Maximo watched her silently for a few seconds and then, with his usual lightheartedness, changed the subject.
—Let's forget about all those things that make you nervous, okay? Let's enjoy a good opera.
Priscila looked at him and nodded, silently grateful for his attempt to distract her. As if his words had had a magical effect, the carriage stopped right in front of the theater at that moment.
As they stepped out, they were met with a spectacle of lights and opulence. The theater stood majestically before them, an architectural masterpiece with tall marble columns and walls covered in intricate golden reliefs that told stories of ancient heroes and gods. The main entrance was lit by enormous crystal chandeliers, whose reflections flickered on the vaulted ceiling decorated with vibrant frescoes. An air of elegance hung in the air, mixed with the faint scent of wax and the exquisite perfumes of the aristocracy.
As she passed through the main doors, Priscilla felt the conversations fade away, replaced by a murmur that spread like ripples on water. The crowd's eyes fell on her with awe and reverence. Some nobles, dressed in their finest attire, hurried to bow respectfully.
—My princess... — said some, at different times, but with equal deference.
Priscila, accustomed to these gestures, gave them a serene smile and a slight bow of her head.
—Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. — she greeted them in a clear voice, making sure her tone conveyed cordiality.
The sudden silence not only attracted the attention of the audience, but also reached the dressing rooms, where the performers were preparing for the show. Between curtains and mirrors lit by candles, some heads peered out curiously. An elegantly dressed woman hurried out, her dress still half adjusted and her hair pulled back into an elaborate bun.
Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she stopped in front of Priscila and curtsied deeply.
—The princess! — she exclaimed admiringly. —What an honor, Your Highness.
Priscila looked at her with interest and an amused smile. She had heard about her many times.
—Oh, you must be the award-winning Karina from France. — she said naturally. — How has Rome treated you?
The singer seemed to hold her breath for a moment, as if the mere fact of being asked a question by the princess was an unexpected privilege.
—Wonderfully, your country is beautiful. — she replied enthusiastically, her foreign accent lending an air of distinction to her words.
—I'm glad to hear that. Get up, we don't want you to hurt your knees. — she said gently as she offered her hand to help her up. Then she glanced at the rest of the singers, who were watching her with admiration and some nervousness. — I've heard a lot about you. I wish you the best of luck tonight.
The performers looked at each other before responding in unison, sincere gratitude in their voices:
—Thank you very much, Your Highness.
Maximus, who had remained slightly behind her, chuckled before murmuring,
—You would make an excellent queen.
Priscilla shot him a slightly incredulous look, but before she could respond, one of the singers interjected with determination:
—She will be one day, I have no doubt, my lord.
Murmurs of approval spread among those present. Karina, her eyes still shining with the excitement of the encounter, raised her voice with respect and admiration.
—Long live the princess.
—Long live. — repeated Maximo with a hint of pride, before extending his arm toward her. — Shall we go to the box?
Priscila nodded, giving the performers one last smile.
—It was a pleasure to meet you. I wish you a great performance.
She took Maximo's arm and together they made their way to the staircase leading to their private seats. As they ascended, she could hear the excited murmurs of the crowd, which was still in awe.
As they walked, Priscila couldn't help but notice the frescoes on the ceiling, depicting ancient stories of love and tragedy. Somehow, she felt a strange premonition, as if the night would bring her something more than just an opera performance.
The hall glowed with the light of enormous crystal chandeliers, whose reflections danced on the gilded walls and crimson velvet. From above, private balconies offered a privileged view of the stage, and a mixture of floral perfumes and the subtle scent of melted wax floated in the air.
Priscila and Máximo climbed a staircase decorated with golden railings and arrived at the box reserved for royalty. As they settled in, Priscila looked around the theater with admiration. Art and opulence merged in a symphony of minute details: frescoes on the ceilings depicted mythological scenes, and each seat was upholstered with fine embroidery.
—It's impressive.
she murmured, resting her elbows on the edge of the box.
—It is. — Maximus agreed, looking at her instead of admiring the architecture. — But I doubt that anything in this room can steal more glances than you.
Priscila gave him a look of disbelief and laughed softly.
—You've become very flattering lately, Maximus.
—I'm just telling the truth.
She couldn't help but blush, but she didn't respond. Inside, a small part of her enjoyed Maximo's compliments more than she was willing to admit.
A sudden murmur from the crowd brought her back to reality. The performance was about to begin. The conductor appeared in the orchestra pit, bowed slightly to the audience, and raised his baton.
The curtain rose gracefully, revealing a stage illuminated by soft lights that cast elegant shadows on the sets. The music began to fill the theater with a melancholic and enveloping melody.
The lead soprano appeared on stage, dressed in a magnificent period costume, and her voice emerged with such power and emotion that Priscilla felt a shiver run down her spine.
—I didn't expect it to be so moving from the first act. — she whispered to Maximo.
He, his eyes fixed on the stage, nodded.
—They say this opera is based on a true story. A tragedy that happened many years ago.
—Really? What's it about?
—It's the story of a princess who discovered a truth too late... and lost everything because of it.
Priscila felt a strange twinge in her chest. Her thoughts immediately turned to the prophecy she had read days earlier.
“The daughter of the moon and the sun, with eyes like the sky, will search among the shadows for what was taken from her. The truth will be her condemnation, blood her destiny. Only fire can decide her fate.”
She shook her head subtly, forcing herself to concentrate on the performance. It was just a coincidence. Just another old story, like so many others.
With that thought in mind, she settled into her seat, ready to enjoy the show... or at least try to.
When the theater lights dimmed, the murmur of the audience faded into expectant silence. A moment later, the large red velvet curtain rose elegantly, revealing a stage illuminated by a soft golden light.
The set depicted an ancient kingdom, with marble columns worn by time and a sky painted in twilight tones.
In the center of the stage, a young woman with long dark hair and a white linen dress walked slowly, her face bathed in melancholy.
The music began, first with a delicate sound of violins, like a whisper of wind among fallen leaves. The soprano playing the lead role, Helena, opened her lips and let out the first note:
"Oh, night of shadows and doubts,
prison of my wandering soul...
Oh, love that burns and devours,
but is never enough!"
Her voice, pure and heart-rending, filled the hall with an intensity that shook those present. Helena was a princess caught in an impossible dilemma: her heart belonged to a man her people would never accept.
The story progressed with the appearance of the foreign prince, Alexios, dressed in battle-blackened armor. His deep baritone contrasted with Helena's sweetness, creating perfect harmony as they sang a duet filled with longing and despair:
“If fate condemns us,
if the law separates us...
Let me love you in the shadows,
where even Venus will not see us.”
The opera continued, and Priscilla was completely absorbed in the story unfolding before her. The intensity of the emotions conveyed by the singers and the richness of the scenery enveloped her, making the outside world disappear momentarily.
Prince Alexios, who had been condemned by society because of his foreign origins, sang with passion and despair.
His words echoed in the air, filling the room with a sense of loss and forbidden desire.
—And what will become of us, princess? — was heard in the duet, as Helena and Alexios drew closer in an act of mutual desperation, seeking comfort in each other, despite the invisible chains that separated them.
The music continued like a broken whisper, taking the tragedy to new heights. The lead soprano, Helena, conveyed the anguish of a life destined for impossible love, something Priscila couldn't help but consider at that moment. Not just because of the opera, but because of her own struggles she carried in her heart.
Maximo, who had remained silent at her side, seemed to notice the change in Priscila's expression. He had seen her so absorbed in the stage that he didn't hesitate to whisper, barely audibly:
—Is the story affecting you?
Priscila nodded slowly, without taking her eyes off the stage.
Something in Helena's story resonated deeply with her. Like the princess in the opera, she too felt the weight of a destiny she had not chosen. The prophecy, which seemed increasingly close to her reality, consumed her in silence. — It's... hard not to feel a connection. — she replied, her voice lowering just enough not to interrupt the solemn atmosphere.
Prince Alexios knelt before Helena, asking for her love with a final declaration of sacrifice, and the entire room fell silent. Helena, with tears in her eyes, sang the last line of her aria:
—Let me love you in the shadows, where even Venus will not see us!
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
The last note rose and hung in the air as the curtain slowly fell, bringing the audience to the edge of their seats. The hall erupted in thunderous applause, but Priscilla barely noticed. Her mind was still caught up in the words of the princess and the prince, in the tragedy of a forbidden love that touched her in ways she couldn't fully understand.
Maximo looked at her intently, not breaking the silence she had left hanging in the air.
—Are you okay? — he asked gently.
Priscila nodded, though not with the same energy she had shown before. She looked toward the stage, then turned her gaze back to him.
—Yes... I'm just thinking about what the soprano said. How, sometimes, fate drags us along without us being able to do anything about it.
Maximo, knowing that his words might not be enough, moved a little closer and offered her a comforting smile.
—The important thing is that the future isn't written yet, Priscilla. No one has complete control, not even fate.
Priscila looked back at him, grateful for the silent support he was offering her, but still feeling that the shadows looming over her were more than just coincidences.
—Maybe... — she replied, looking at the opulence of the theater, which somehow failed to dispel the feeling of unease that had invaded her during the performance.
The curtain rose again, and the hall fell into expectant silence. The scene had changed, and now the stage represented a vast palace hall, dimly lit by candelabras that twinkled like stars in the darkness of the night. The air was charged with a tense atmosphere, as if the story of the opera were about to reach its climax.
In the center, Helena, the princess, stood alone, dressed in a heavy dark brocade gown, which contrasted with the delicacy of her face illuminated by the moonlight streaming through a window. The scene was imbued with a sense of despair. The young princess held an ancient scroll in her hands, symbolizing the knowledge of a secret truth that had remained hidden for years. Her expression was serious and determined, but also tormented by doubt.
The music, slow and solemn, began to fill the space as the soprano sang in a deep, resonant voice, carrying with it an emotional charge that made everyone present feel the weight of the destiny the princess had unwittingly accepted. The orchestra followed the beat of her voice, with strings vibrating in dark tones, while the brass gave the sensation of an impending internal conflict.
—What I have lost can never be regained, fate has marked me forever, love will not be my salvation, and the truth, my condemnation.
The melody of her aria rose with great intensity as Helena dropped the scroll, symbolizing her acceptance of the fatality that surrounded her. With her gaze fixed on the horizon, she seemed to be losing all hope, as if she already knew that the revelation of the truth had condemned her.
Suddenly, Alexios, the foreign prince, appeared, entering the scene with firm but uncertain steps. His imposing figure, adorned with dark armor, stood out amid the brilliance of the stage. The contrast between Helena's purity and the darkness of his own being further accentuated the tension that hung between the two characters. When they met, a tense silence fell over the audience.
The prince spoke in a low but firm voice, his words filled with the inner struggle he felt over his impossible love.
—What will you do, princess? Will you fight for what your heart desires, or will you give in to the shadows that fate has woven for you?
Helena, her eyes shining with unshed tears, looked deeply into his eyes, as if at that moment her whole being was torn between her love for him and the weight of her duty to her people and her family.
—Love is not for me, prince. Fate has been cruel to me, and neither heaven nor earth can change that.
The duel of voices between the two grew in intensity as they sang a duet charged with opposing emotions: Alexios' desire for love and Helena's resignation. The strings of the orchestra followed the tension of the scene, while the voices of the protagonists intertwined in a complex melody, full of suffering and unrequited passion.
—If love is our sin, then let it be consumed in the fire of desire. — sang Alexios, as he approached Helena, his deep, gravelly voice resonating like a promise of sacrifice.
—But the truth is my condemnation. — replied Helena with a note of despair, her eyes shining with a mixture of fear and acceptance. — Neither fire nor love can save me.
At that moment, the orchestra reached a dramatic crescendo. The wind and string instruments intertwined in a frenzied symphony that heightened the tension of the scene. The music seemed to run parallel to the characters' inner torment, reflecting their broken hearts and irredeemable destinies.
Alexios knelt before Helena, his voice a whisper filled with love and despair: — Then, if I must lose everything for you, so be it.
At that moment, Helena looked at him, her face marked by the internal struggle raging in her heart. The music changed tone, becoming softer and more melancholic, as she began to sing her final aria, a farewell, an acceptance of the sacrifice they both had to make.
—Oh, if love is but a dream, if destiny is but an illusion, let me lose myself in your arms before the shadow consumes me.
The soprano let out one last long, pain-filled note as the stage lights slowly dimmed, plunging the characters into total darkness. The music ended on a low, resonant chord, and the curtain fell slowly, as if it too had surrendered to the inevitability of tragedy.
The hall remained in absolute silence for a few seconds before the audience burst into applause, the sound of recognition filling the air. The tension, emotion, and tragedy lingered in the air, leaving a feeling of emptiness and reflection that lasted long after the last note faded away.
Priscila, still immersed in the story, couldn't help but think about what the opera was telling her: truth, sacrifice, the destiny that sometimes seemed inescapable. As the audience celebrated the end of the performance, she found herself trapped in the shadows of reality, reflecting on the forces that surrounded her, far beyond what the opera had portrayed.
The curtain rose one last time, and the hall was filled with light. The protagonists, Helena and Alexios, stood in the center of the stage, entwined in a final gesture of sacrifice. The orchestra played the final notes, soft as a sigh fading into the air. The music slowly faded away, and the actors bowed deeply, their faces marked by the emotion of the play's end.
The audience erupted in a torrent of applause, the sound echoing off the theater walls, a unanimous acknowledgment of the brilliance of the staging and the intensity of the performance. The lights began to shine more brightly, illuminating the happy faces, smiles, and murmurs of admiration.
But amid the ovation, Priscila remained motionless, her mind caught up in the emotions that the opera had unleashed. Her heart was pounding, anxiety taking hold of her as she felt that the applause could not calm the internal turmoil that was overwhelming her. There was something about the story of Princess Helena, about her sacrifice, that touched her deeply, but she couldn't find any comfort. The idea of an inevitable fate, the internal struggle between love and duty, the truth that could not be revealed... it all resonated in her chest like an echo that couldn't be silenced.
Maximo, noticing her silence, approached her with a kind smile, but his eyes were full of understanding. —Are you all right? — he asked, his tone soft, as if he understood the storm surrounding her without the need for words.
Priscila nodded, though her mind was still caught up in the echoes of the opera. — I just... need a momento. — she murmured, her voice empty of emotion. — All of that... was so real. I don't know if I can let it go. — she murmured, her voice empty of emotion. — All of that... was so real. I don't know if I can let it go.
—I know. — he replied, placing a hand gently on her shoulder, trying to convey some calm. — Sometimes art leaves a mark on us that doesn't fade easily.
They waited until the theater began to empty, the lights slowly dimmed, and the murmur of the audience faded away. The crowd gradually dispersed, leaving the stage in a heavy, deep silence. In the end, only the two of them remained, surrounded by the stillness that followed the emotional storm.
They walked across the deserted stage, their footsteps echoing in the vast empty space, while the shadows of the theater lengthened around them. The set, still intact, seemed frozen in time, a reminder of the story that had just unfolded there.
Priscila looked at the curtains and the sets with a distant expression, but soon turned to Máximo. — Have you ever felt that fate is playing with you, pushing you towards something you don't want?
Máximo, thoughtful, looked at her intently. — Sometimes I think we're all tied to something we didn't choose. But that doesn't mean we can't find our own way to live with it.
—I know... but what if what defines us isn't what we choose, but what is imposed on us? What if everything we do is just a response to what we've been told we should be?
The question hung in the air between them as they walked across the empty stage, the lights flickering faintly above them. Maximo was silent for a moment, reflecting on Priscilla's words. Then, softly, he said. — We don't always have control over what happens to us, but we can always decide how we react. That, at least, is what we have left.
Priscila looked at him, a small smile curving her lips. — Yes, I suppose you're right. Sometimes I forget that I still have some power over my life.
They walked in silence for a few more moments, the echo of their footsteps reverberating in the empty theater. The anxiety Priscila felt didn't completely dissipate, but at least, in the company of her friend, the burden seemed a little lighter. The empty stage, once full of life and excitement, now seemed like a space where everything that had happened could finally be left behind, like a story fading from memory.
As they walked across the empty stage, Priscila couldn't help but feel a little calmer, as if Máximo's words had disconnected her, if only for a moment, from the internal storm she had been dealing with. She watched the shadows in the theater, but something in her awoke in that silence. Without warning, her lips murmured, almost in a whisper:
— I always wanted to sing in here. Ever since I was little, I always dreamed of doing it. But I never had the chance.
Maximo, walking beside her, looked at her curiously. — Really? — he asked, his eyes sparkling with interest. — Would you like to sing sometime in this place?
Priscila hesitated for a moment, feeling a mixture of insecurity and a slight spark of courage.
— I would love to.
Maximo watched her silently, his eyes calm, as if he could see something beyond her insecurities. — What if you sang now? Just a little, for me. — he said with a sincere smile, inviting her to let go of her doubts.
Priscila looked at him, feeling the air between them seem to become lighter. After a second, she nodded, though with a slight fear deep inside her. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then, in a soft, slightly trembling voice, began to sing.
It was a simple song, a melody she had sung in her room when no one was listening. Her voice, though not perfect, was filled with a melancholy that seemed to trap the silence of the theater, echoing off its empty walls. The music flowed through the air, a mixture of hope and vulnerability, as if each note was setting her free, if only for a moment.
When she finished, silence enveloped her once again, but something strange happened. Suddenly, applause rose from the shadows of the stage, soft at first, but growing in intensity. Priscila turned in surprise and saw the opera singers who had apparently stayed to listen to her. She also saw Máximo, standing next to her, applauding with a smile full of admiration.
Maximo, without taking his eyes off her, continued to applaud enthusiastically. His expression was one of genuine admiration, and in his eyes there was something else: a mixture of pride and joy, as if his support had allowed Priscilla to allow herself to be vulnerable.
Priscila, still in disbelief, didn't know whether to laugh or be serious. She was so surprised that the words didn't come out naturally. — I... I wasn't expecting this. — she murmured, looking at her hands, as if trying to find the answer her mind couldn't find.
One of the singers, a woman with long dark hair, approached her with a warm smile and gently took her by the shoulders. — You don't have to be perfect to have an amazing voice. You have something special. — she said, her tone sincere, full of the warmth of a professional who knows how to recognize beauty in art.
Another singer, a tall man with a gentle face, stepped forward and applauded as well.
— Never underestimate your talent, princess. What we just heard wasn't just a simple song, it was a whole feeling. Music doesn't always need to be polished, it just needs to be sincere.
Priscila smiled shyly, still not quite sure if she felt more flattered or embarrassed. But their words made her feel somehow lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. For a moment, she forgot her insecurities and the uncertain future that awaited her. She was there, with them, enjoying a moment she never thought she would experience.
Maximo approached her with a reassuring smile, as if he knew she needed someone to anchor her to reality. — See, I told you. — he said, his voice soft but firm. — It's not about being perfect, it's about what you convey. And you conveyed something beautiful, something real. The only one who can stop you is you.
Priscila felt a little calmer under his gaze, and for the first time in a long time, something in her chest lightened. — Thank you.. — she said with a shy smile, looking at the singers and then at Máximo.
—What you just did wasn't just singing, it was setting yourself free. — Máximo said, his tone full of the understanding that only a close friend could offer. — Sometimes we impose limits on ourselves because we think we can't do something, but the truth is that many times we just need to take the first step. Not everything has to be perfect. Sometimes it's the imperfect that shines the brightest.
Priscila looked at him for a long moment, surprised by his wisdom, although it didn't really surprise her. Máximo had always had that ability to see beyond what others saw, to find something good where others only saw doubts and flaws.
She felt embarrassed but also grateful. — I don't know what to say... — she muttered, not sure whether to laugh or continue with the seriousness of the moment. The applause had died down, but the echo of her own voice still lingered in the air, mingling with the words of the singers around her.
—Come on, princess! You don't have to say anything else. — said one of the musicians, a burly man with a beard, who winked at her in a friendly manner. — Next time you dare to sing, don't hesitate. Next time, we'll be the ones applauding you.
Priscila felt a wave of heat wash over her face. — Maybe. — she said with a slight smile. — If I ever have the courage to sing in public again.
With a slight laugh, Máximo took a step toward her. — Just do it for yourself, not for others. That's what's important.
The conductor, who had remained silent until then, stepped forward and spoke in a deep voice, but with obvious kindness. — Sometimes the best voices don't need to be trained or perfected. It's the ones that come out without asking permission, without being demanded, that touch the souls of others. Your voice has that, Priscilla.
The young princess couldn't help but blush even more. — Thank you, sir. — she said, her voice a little broken. She looked up at the group of artists surrounding her, and something she hadn't felt in a long time grew in her heart: gratitude.
Maximus watched the moment with a smile, and with an elegant gesture, offered her his arm. — How about we let all this settle down? We can enjoy the evening, just the two of us.
Priscila looked at him, feeling her nerves calm down. Although her emotions were still swirling inside her, something in her heart had changed. — I'd like that. — she replied, taking his arm.
As they walked together toward the hallway leading to the lobby, the murmurs of the theater continued to fill the air. The night, with its deep silence and the moon shining over Rome, offered a respite to all who had been part of that experience. The theater was empty now, and the stage where Priscila's little internal revolution had unfolded was behind them.
Maximus and Priscilla walked across the stage in silence, side by side, the soft lights illuminating their faces. There was no need to say anything more. The connection between them was there, stronger than before, and she understood, perhaps for the first time in a long time, that it wasn't always about being the best or the most perfect, but about being true to who you really are. And that night, on that empty stage, she had discovered something very important about herself.
An uncertain future lay ahead of her, but in that moment, surrounded by the stillness of the theater and the applause of those who really mattered, Priscila knew she could face whatever came with more confidence.
As the night wore on, Maximus and Priscila said goodbye at the palace entrance. The cool air of Rome had changed temperature, and silence enveloped the city as they walked away in different directions. Priscila, still with the echoes of the opera and the applause in her mind, went up to her room without haste, letting herself be carried away by the calm that surrounded her. Her body, exhausted by the emotions of the day, soon asked her for rest.
She sank into the sheets and closed her eyes, but it wasn't long before sleep enveloped her. However, the rest she had hoped for was not to be.
Priscila fell into a deep sleep, unaware that it would take her to a place where reality and prophecy intertwined, dragging her into a dark and disconcerting landscape.
At first, she couldn't tell if she was dreaming or if something much more sinister had overtaken her. Shadows stretched out around her, creating a thick fog that surrounded her like an invisible cloak. A feeling of disorientation washed over her; the air was thick, almost as if the entire world were suspended in limbo.
As she walked, her footsteps echoed strangely hollow, as if she were floating over ground that didn't really exist. On the horizon, a huge castle rose before her, dark and mysterious. She couldn't see the details clearly, but she felt a growing pressure, as if an invisible force were driving her toward that place. A chill ran down her spine, but she couldn't stop. The sound of the wind grew louder and louder, like a whisper repeating a warning over and over again: “The kingdom will fall under the shadow of the traitor, and the princess will lose her life before fulfilling her destiny.”
When she reached the castle, the doors opened by themselves, and unable to stop herself, Priscila crossed the threshold. The interior of the palace was vaster than she had ever imagined. Endless corridors stretched out before her, each with doors that closed softly as she advanced, as if the palace were trapping her within its stone walls.
The light was dim, obscured by heavy curtains that blocked out any rays of sunlight. The atmosphere was charged with a strange stillness, but also with an air of anticipation. She made her way through the corridors, the sound of her own footsteps her only companion. Every corner seemed to be watched by an invisible presence that stalked her. However, something compelled her to continue.
Finally, she came to a spiral staircase that led up to what appeared to be a tower. Her heart began to beat faster, an echo reverberating in the silent darkness. Without thinking, she began to climb, step by step, feeling the pressure in her chest increase with each step.
When she reached the top of the tower, she stopped. The view was breathtaking, but terrifying. Before her lay a desolate landscape, where shadows seemed to dance around her. However, what terrified her most was not the landscape, but the feeling of being trapped. Looking down, she saw the void: the ground was so far away that she couldn't make it out, but the feeling of falling was inevitable.
It was as if the air itself was suspended in time, waiting for her to take the step that would lead to her doom. Priscila stepped back, panic beginning to take hold of her, but an invisible force pushed her forward, as if something or someone wanted her to throw herself into the void.
The edge of the tower was getting closer and closer, and with every step backward she took, she felt the fall was imminent. The echoes of the prophecy rang louder in her mind, like a mantra pushing her toward the fate she did not want: “The princess will lose her life before fulfilling her destiny.”
With her heart racing, she tried to take one more step back, but something inside her gave way. At that moment, when she thought the fall was inevitable, she felt a firm hand grab her arm. It wasn't a sound or a scream, but a presence that appeared out of nowhere. Coral, her face pale but determined, had reached her just in time.
—Miss Priscilla! — she exclaimed in a grave voice, pulling her back, away from the edge with force. — What are you doing here? What were you thinking?
Priscilla breathed heavily, unable to speak. Fear had paralyzed her, and the images from the dream seemed to merge with reality. — I'm... I'm sorry, I don't know how I got here.
She murmured, trembling. — It was just a dream... or a prophecy... I don't know...
Coral stared at her, a look of concern in her eyes. — A prophecy is nothing more than a shadow of the future, miss. You don't have to fall into it. What matters is what you decide to do now. What really matters is that you don't let fear control you.
But before she could respond, the landscape around her began to fade, as if it had never existed, and the tower disappeared in a breath. The fog slowly lifted, and the feeling of being in a dangerous place vanished.
The tower, the void, the whisper of the prophecy... everything began to crumble, dissolving into nothingness. The dream, or vision, had come to an end. Priscilla woke up with a start, sweating and breathing heavily, as if she could still feel Coral's hand holding her. She looked around, finding herself back in her room in the palace.
The sun was beginning to peek timidly through the window, bathing the room in soft light. Despite the calm outside, her mind was still trapped in the dream, trembling with the intensity of the prophecy that had been revealed once again.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but the feeling of unease remained, like a shadow that would not leave her. She knew that the prophecy still haunted her, and that somehow, her fate was sealed. But Coral's words echoed in her mind: “What matters is what you decide to do now.”
The future was not written; she still had power over what was to come. But the burden she carried, the pressure of being the heir, the princess of a kingdom that was perhaps doomed... that was what terrified her. Priscilla settled into her bed, still trembling from the intensity of the dream. The feeling of fear lingered, but exhaustion began to take hold of her.
She covered herself up to her head, closed her eyes, and tried to calm down, repeating to herself that it had all been just a dream, just a vision. But deep down she knew there was something more, something she couldn't ignore. Even so, exhaustion overcame her, and she soon fell into a deep, though restless, sleep, where the shadows of the prophecy continued to lurk in every corner.
The next day, when she awoke, the sun was already high in the sky. The light streaming through the window seemed so warm and comforting, but the weight on her chest did not lift. She needed to talk to someone, someone who understood what she had experienced, someone she could trust. But above all, she needed to protect the others, especially her family, and she couldn't let anyone know what she had seen.
The threat was real, and although Coral's words echoed in her mind, she still felt unprepared to face it. Coral, her faithful maid, was there at the foot of the bed, just as she always was, tidying up the room. Seeing her, Priscilla remembered the pact they had made the night before, when Coral had come to her rescue in her dream.
Without saying a word, they looked into each other's eyes, and both knew that moment had sealed an unspoken commitment. There would be no words about what had happened in the tower, about the disturbing vision of the prophecy, or about what Coral had done to save her. It was a secret they had to keep between them, without anyone else knowing.
—Coral. — Priscilla began in a low, firm voice. — What happened last night... don't tell anyone. No one. What I saw... what I felt, must remain between us.
Coral nodded without hesitation, her expression serious. — I promise, my princess. I won't say a word to anyone. You know I'll always be here for you.
Priscila felt relieved, although part of her still wondered if what she had experienced in her dream was just a warning or if it was something that could happen in the future. Still, she was determined not to let it control her. For now, all she could do was keep quiet and wait for the right moment to face what was to come.
The two looked at each other in understanding silence, committed to not talking about what had happened, but knowing that no matter what happened, they would have to face it together. And as Priscila got up to start her day, a feeling of uncertainty accompanied her, but also a feeling of determination.
She knew that her destiny was intertwined with the future of her kingdom, but she would not let fear defeat her. Coral, with her usual discretion, left the room, leaving Priscilla with her thoughts. The princess took a deep breath and looked out the window at the vast horizon. A new day was beginning, but the shadows of the past would not leave her alone so easily.
@estrellaswrite follow on ig!!
