He didn’t know how he ended up in his bed. Alessandro barely even realized he was there. Because when his eyes were closed, there was a dark and menacing man, clapping his hands with the leather gloves and seeming entertained at the prospect of taking advantage of an innocent man. Alessandro’s heart beat faster and he felt the world was spinning and he was sweating. He cried. And then his eyes opened and he realized that he was indeed crying and his long nightshirt was wet and his heart was pounding as if it would leave his chest.

But Umberto was not there. He was in his own bed in his own room in his own home. Alone in the dark. Alessandro pulled the blanket over his head, but that just made it darker and it didn’t make him feel safe. He was hyperventilating. He was not well. He felt sick.

“Maestro?” Someone knocked on the door. Emilio. Alessandro’s eyes widened as he stared at the door and shook his head. No one could see him like this! This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t happening. He didn’t do it. He didn’t do anything!

“No… go away, Emilio. Go away.” Alessandro ordered through his hitched breath and after a few moments, footsteps were moving away from his door. He was alone again. He didn’t want to be alone but he also didn’t want anyone to see him. He was a disgrace! No matter what Vittoria had told him, about how it was a violation and it wasn’t his fault. It still happened. It still happened…

“… you will be tried and sentenced…” The words rung in his head… he never stole anything, he’d been set up and he didn’t want to be tried and sentence for a crime he’d never commit! He would be tortured in order to admit the crime he didn't do. And he didn't do it! He didn’t do it!

“… you will agree to be my slave…” The harsh and dark voice said and Alessandro trembled and shuddered in his bed. He didn’t want to be an unwilling slave. He didn’t want it. Alessio felt tears running down his cheeks and he lay down on the bed again, staring at the soft ceiling of his four-poster.

He must have fallen asleep, for a slim ray of sunshine tickled his nose and he opened his eyes. It was daytime now. Alessandro left the bed to look himself in the mirror. There were dark lines around his eyes and it wasn’t the kohl. He hadn’t shaved in days… he had short stubs on his cheeks and on his chin. His hair was a mess. He was a mess. A pathetic mess. And he was ugly, wasn’t he? He wasn’t pretty or beautiful. He was ugly.

Alessandro saw a razor there, in front of the mirror. He picked it up, turning it in his hand. Wouldn’t everyone be happier if he was gone? Vittoria had said that his kindness and love was a strength, but he felt no strength right now. She was too good for him. But then he put the blade down and rushed back to the bed and buried himself under the blankets, trying to keep it light but at the same time block out the sun. Even the sun was too good for him! How could the sun shine upon a useless man like Alessandro. He was barely even a man, was he?

It went on like that for days after he returned home after his most recent encounter with Umberto Orazio. Emilio would come and knock on his door and Alessandro would tell him to not come inside and just leave. He didn’t want to eat or drink anything, he just wanted to pretend he was barely even existing. And despite Emilio being more and more worried, he wouldn’t speak up against his master’s words, because Alessandro had always been good to him too. So when his master for once actually gave an order, should he not follow it?

But the head servant was worried. And he would soon approach one or more of the female residents in the house, asking them to please ask if they could go and see Alessandro and try to get through to him.

Inside the room, it was dark and by now, there had not been any fresh air let into the room since he came home. The curtains were drawn and he didn’t open the window. The air was warm and stale. Alessandro had no idea how many days or nights went on like this. He didn’t leave his room. He didn’t send for anyone to come and see him; he didn’t want anyone to see him. He just wanted to hide, forever.

<a href='index.php?showuser=161' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Laura</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=83' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-6'>@Morrighan</a>

Christine’s blood ran cold at the strange request from Emilio. Alessandro’s servant came to her to see if one of his female friends could rouse him out of a very dark place. Of course, she would go to him at once, she told the servant, clapping her hand over his. Christine felt guilty that she hadn’t noticed anything was wrong with him in the first place. Come to think of it, Alessandro had been rather scarce for the last few days. Or maybe she’d been too busy with Charli Elamaine’s head up her skirts to notice. Either way, she figured that he was just out having a good time. Poor Alessio. He was such a kind soul, and so generous to let Lucien and her stay with him while they were in exile. Really, he was the kind of man who couldn’t hurt a fly. Christine would do everything she could for him.

Emilio pushed the door open a few feet, letting out the stale air. It was as dim as catacombs inside Alessandro’s bedroom chambers. Once she opened the curtains a crack, Christine moved silently into the room so that she could study him, there, buried underneath the covers. What had happened to him? Emilio pulled up a chair for her, to sit by his bedside, but Christine shook her head, and sat right next to him on the bed.

Like she did with her boy when he had a nightmare, she placed a hand lightly on his head, letting her fingers softly stroke his hair.

“Alessandro, what’s the matter, Dove? What happened to you?”

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“Alessandro locked himself into his room? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Michela’s crystal clear voice sounded sharper than normal, concern for her adopted brother clear in her eyes. “Emilio, you should have called on me the moment he started behaving strange, don’t you see? He may try to hurt himself!”

Without further discussions, Michela left the bedroom she shared with Lucien, hurrying towards Alessandro’s bedroom as she lifted her long skirts to avoid tripping in them as she ran through the corridor.

Without knocking the door she made her way into Alessandro’s room, and was met with the intensely dense air there, and the darkness.

“Good God!” she exclaimed. “It smells like someone has died in here…. Emilio, let in some light and open the windows - for heavens sake - we need fresh air!”

Her stern orders made the manservant pull the curtains aside and open the windows. Fresh air and sunlight came in through the open windows, and Michela drew a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Emilio… The lack of air and light in here can suck the life force out of anyone! Surely you remember that your Master hates the darkness!”

Now that a more reliable source of light and fresh air had been established, Michela finally turned toward the bed. It looked like Alessandro was not alone. A young beautiful woman was sitting by his side.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

Coming closer she offered the woman a friendly smile. “But I think perhaps you may be here in the same errand as me… My name is Michela Cellini. I have kind of adopted Alessandro as my brother since I came here to stay with Lucien and him.”

She was shocked to see Alessandro’s face like this. He was nothing like the smiling and fun-loving young man she remembered from earlier conversations. Now it looked like he was possessed by some dark and creepy creature of the night - who had locked the real Alessandro inside some dark and gloomy cage she knew he hated.

“Good God, Alessandro, what has happened?” she asked.”How did you come to be in a state like this?”

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Alessandro didn’t know what day it was. He also didn’t care. He’d been hungry at some point, but the hunger had been replaced by a strange emptiness in his stomach and he was beginning to wonder if he might just starve until there was nothing left of him. He wasn’t hungry anymore anyway. Who needed food, when they didn’t feel they deserved the sun shining upon them? Instead he lay in his bed, covered by the blanket, sleeping and resting for a moment.

He registered someone opening the door and pulled the blanket further over his head. He didn’t want to see anyone! He just wanted to be left alone. Had Emilio come inside now? Why? Alessandro had told him so many times to go away! He squeezed his eyes shot, as if that would help him, but then someone sat down on the bed by his side and began stroking his hair. He winced by the feeling and moved away from her touch. Alessandro, who usually enjoyed people touching him and being close to him, was moving away from her gentle touch. It was Christine, asking what had happened.

“Please… just go.” Alessandro said and felt he was on the verge of tears again. Christine had just escaped France with her son, she’d been through enough! She needed light and beauty in her world. She did not need him. No one needed a weak man like him. He had not yet left the safety of the blanket to look at her and hoped she’d do as he told and just leave. But then a whirlwind entered the room, or it felt like it.

Michela strolled in, speaking loudly about death and then light and heaven and fresh air. Alessandro peeked out, but blinked when the sunlight burst inside. It didn’t feel right. This was not what he wanted. This was not happening. It was not happening!

“I don’t want the sunlight!” Alessandro then said, “I don’t want it. Close the windows. And go. Please. Just… go…” Alessandro begged with a hitched breath, looking at both the shocked women in his room, feeling so disgusting next to their beautiful dresses and the scent of oils and perfumes. Alessandro had not shaven in days or bathed for that matter. He wore no make-up. He wore nothing but the same nightshirt he woke up in, days ago. He felt so ugly and so… misplaced. He didn’t belong with them. He didn’t belong with anyone.

“I don’t want to talk. Just go. I want you to go.” And then he buried his face in the pillows again, in an attempt to hide himself, hoping they’d do as he said and leave. When he asked them to, why wouldn’t they? He hadn’t done anything. He never did anything. He didn’t want to do anything. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do it! That very thought made his heart beat faster again and again he thought it might leave his chest... and then he whispered, “I didn’t do it!”

<a href='index.php?showuser=180' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Christine Bourdillon</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=84' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Michela Cellini</a>

It was a bit strange that Christine had not formally met Michela Cellini, her brother’s lover, but Christine had her own wing in the villa, and simply hadn’t crossed paths with her yet. Michela spent quite a bit of time in Lucien’s bedroom, after all. Perhaps Christine had been unconsciously avoiding Michela in some ways. Lucien’s sister hadn’t quite made peace with the fact that Lucien was going to marry the Marquise, but keep Michela, their cousin, as a mistress on the side. Perhaps, finally meeting the other woman would assuage any concerns that Michela was after the Viscomte’s money. It was just a shame that they were meeting under these circumstances.

When Michela swept into the room she took charge, opening the windows and announcing that the room smelled like death. She didn’t see Christine at first, but when she did, she apologized. Christine gave Michela a wan smile, and the courtesan returned it, introducing herself. She said that she had adopted Alessandro as a brother after coming to stay here with Lucien. So this was Michela, Lucien's love. She certainly was a gorgeous thing and could see why Lucien fell hard. However, Christine was wary. Lucien was after all her only brother, and only close family left alive.

“Alessandro is lucky,” nodded Christine a bit crisply. “Every man should have a loving sister in his life. Christine Bourdillon. I’m pleased to finally meet you, cousin.”

The comment was a gentle reminder that Christine was Lucien’s protective sister, and she would be watching like a hawk. Of course, now was not really the time to get too catty, since Alessandro was in need.

The two women might have continued, but poor Alessandro had begun to stir, and he wasn’t having any of it. He didn’t want the sunlight and didn’t want people present. Burying his face in his pillow his words became more erratic, almost cryptic. He told them to go, then whispered, “I didn’t do it!”

Christine continued to stroke his hair glossy black hair. It was clear that despite Alessandro's protests, the ladies weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“Didn’t do what, Alessio? You’re among friends, sweet boy. What didn’t you do?”

<a href='index.php?showuser=23' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Alessandro da Verona</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=84' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Michela Cellini</a>

Michela was shocked to see the room so dark and gloomy when she arrived. This was not like Alessandro at all, and now she started worrying greatly about him. She wanted to know what had happened, why it had happened and who was responsible. She was stubborn and determined, and silently swore to not leave the room before her questions had been answered.

She caught a glimpse of Alessandro in the bed, hiding under his covers, and she could barely believe her own eyes. Dear God, what had happened to him? She was not used to see her playful and merry host like this… She had to do something - fast!

Strolling into the room as if she owned the place and ordering the curtains withdrawn and the windows opened was a part of her strategy to lure Alessandro out from the covers under which he was hiding. She beamed towards him when he peeked out - her talents as an actress helping her to hide the feelings of shock and horror over seeing him like this.

She forced her voice to sound cheerful, even teasing, in order to provoke him to rise from his bed. If not for anything else - then at least because of being annoyed at her. It would be better than to see him like this - so ready to surrender to despair. She was mentally strong - she could handle him.

“Ah, there you are!” she chirped, hoping that her feelings of shock and sadness could not be heard in the cheeky voice she deliberately put up. “Why are you still in bed? The sun is high on the sky already! What? You don’t want the sunlight? Tell it to go away then!”

She had never seen Alessandro like this. Unshaved. Unwashed. Uncombed. But that was not the worst. What scared her to no end was the total lack of joy and life in his eyes. It was as if a creature of darkness had absorbed Alessandro’s soul and kept him prisoner somewhere.

She saw Christine’s vain smile when the two women finally met, and she knew already when Christine spoke who she was. “So you are Lucien’s sister!” she beamed, leaning in and kissing Christine on both cheeks. After all this was how people greeted each other in the Mediterranean countries. “I am thrilled to finally have the honor of meeting you. I had rather hoped that you would come to greet me after you settled down, but I think you have had other things to think of….”

There was a tiny bit of crisp in her own voice as well because she noticed the crisp in Christine’s voice. The crisp in her own voice came from the fact that she had overheard Christine in a very intimate situation with a man in Alessandro’s home when the couple thought themselves alone. And she had of course heard from Lucien that Christine’s husband was still in France.

Judge not, that ye be not judged…..

“Alessandro is also lucky to have a good and loyal friend in his life,” she replied. “He will need us both to get over whatever is troubling him so, don’t you think?”

Her gaze shifted over to Alessandro when he said he didn’t want to talk, and that he wanted them to go. “We can’t,” Michela said. “I am your sister. It is a sister’s duty to see to her brother when he can’t look after himself. Everyone in the household are worried sick about you, my brother...”

She arched an eyebrow when she heard him whisper that he didn’t do it, her gaze seeking Christine’s. “And who accuses you of doing things?” she asked. “You have been with us all the time - of course you didn’t do it.”

<a href='index.php?showuser=23' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Alessandro da Verona</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=180' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Christine Bourdillon</a>

Alessandro heard the women talk and he wished they’d just go. Leave and stay away. Michela told Christine that she had adopted Alessandro as her brother, but right now, he didn’t feel like much of a brother. He didn’t feel like much of anything. He just wanted to be left alone in his misery. Left alone to die. He remembered the razor on the dresser. He’d held it in his hand several times, hadn’t he? But when he knew how much it would hurt to use it to cut, he had thrown it away again and stared at it from his bed. The mere thought of pain made him tremble and shiver and then he remembered that Umberto wanted him tried and sentenced and that would be painful too. And all for a crime he didn’t commit!

He hadn’t done anything. He didn’t do anything. Why did he have to suffer for not doing anything? And Umberto never told him why. He just wanted it to happen. And what had happened after he passed out anyway? Had Umberto touched him? Had he… what had he done? Alessandro didn’t know. It felt like his stomach was twisting and it hurt by the thought of that. And he felt disgusting. He was disgusting. Why would anyone want him?

He had buried his face in his pillow now, but Christine didn’t move away. And when he told Michela he didn’t want the sunlight, she sounded cheerful and teasing, but today, such kind of behavior didn’t work on him. He didn’t want to be cheerful. There was nothing to be cheerful about. The two women talked and he thought there was a bite of bitterness in Michela’s voice, but he didn’t understand why. Christine was so kind and sweet and warm. Just like Michela. They should be friends, he thought. But why would they want to be his friends too though? He held no meaning in the world. He did nothing useful. He was just a disgrace to everyone. The world might be better off without a man like him in it.

Meanwhile Christine kept stroking his hair and then she softly asked what it was he didn’t do. Michela wanted to know who accused him of things he didn’t do, and she said he couldn’t do anything, because he’d been here the whole time. But he hadn't. He'd thought things were better again and then he went out. And look what happened! Alessandro didn't want to go out ever again.

“N… n… nothing. I didn’t do it!” Alessandro said through his hitched breath, “I… I don’t understand. I didn’t steal anything. I’d never. Why? Why me?” He continued, probably only confusing the ladies even more, and his breaths became faster – he felt as if he couldn’t breathe and he hoped he’d not pass out again. Like he did with Umberto. And he had no idea how he got home or who had touched him. Or how. He shuddered by the thought, “You shouldn’t be here. None of you should. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Just… leave me be…” He was trembling and moved his head away from Christine’s hand.

<a href='index.php?showuser=83' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-6'>@Morrighan</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=161' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-4'>@Laura</a>

Christine wasn’t sure what to make of Michela’s posturing. She had no doubt that Michela cared for Alessandro as well as her brother, but there seemed to be an element of show to her bustling around the room, like the busiest of bees, and gushing about the sun. It was almost as if the woman was staking her claim on the pair of men, a silent warning for Christine to back off. Or perhaps, Christine was simply dreaming it all up. There was a whiff of sweet perfume, as Michela bent forward to warmly kiss each of Christine’s cheeks. Michela was so very pretty, and complimented Lucien, quite handsomely, even though she was not his wife. Michela told Christine that she was thrilled to finally have the honor of meeting her, adding that she had hoped Christine would have greeted her first, but she’d had other things to think of.

Christine’s eyes widened a bit, a rosy blush blooming. Michela’s obvious reference to her dalliance with Charli Elamaine stung. She wanted to protest to Michela that hadn’t meant to sleep with the young man. He was a charity case! How Christine hated for her good intentions to be misunderstood. If Michela only knew how horrible Antoine was. She let out a morose sigh, and turned back to Alessandro, as he was the reason the two women had come together in the first place. There would be time to confront Michela later, and hopefully clear her good name.

Alessandro refused to answer their questions. He was nearly hysterical with anguish, rambling about not stealing something, and asking “why me?” He shrugged away from Christine’s touch, and she lay her hands helplessly in her lap. Someone did something to him, that left him a broken heap. The way that Allessandro eyed the razor on his dresser bothered her, and while he was turned, she rose to confiscate it, returning to his side.

“Alessandro, who did this to you? You’re surrounded by people who love and cherish you. How can we help you if you won’t tell anyone what’s going on?”

<a href='index.php?showuser=23' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Alessandro da Verona</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=84' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Michela Cellini</a>

Michela watched Alessandro with worry as she spoke to him and Christine. She was a keen observer of body language. Now she noticed how he eyed the razor on the dresser. Then he withdrew his gaze and he trembled and shivered. What could have happened to him to make him react in such a way? Alessandro who loved life, sunlight, laughter and joy - and now he looked like he wished to put an end to himself!

What could have happened for him to stop smiling, and becoming a mere shadow of himself like this? Michela was deeply worried now, more than she was willing to admit.

Some of her patrons had seen tears as a sign of weakness. From them she had learned to pretend - to put up a mask of happiness and smile - no matter what happened behind the facade. Four years as a Courtesan had taught her to hide her real emotions well when she had to. She was a brilliant actress - and for this many men underestimated her intelligence.

Perhaps she could use this to her advantage if she managed to find out who was behind this cruel attack towards Alessandro. She had once been known to get anything she wanted out of a man - money, knowledge, information. She could do this again - and for Alessandro she would. Although she was no longer a Courtesan she still had powerful connections. She could pull a few strings - and then all doors of Venice would be closed for the one responsible for hurting Alessandro.

After kissing Christine’s cheeks, Michela noticed the woman’s eyes widening, a rosy blush blooming in her cheeks when Michela assumed Christine had been too busy to meet with the only other woman in the household that did not belong to the staff. Her brown eyes gleamed with a gentle glimpse of humor. She did not say this to be mean - she had only wanted to remove the frost from Christine’s attitude before it turned into animosity - as this could really make their future relationship hard - both for them and for Lucien. By showing the woman early on that she could defend herself when she was attacked she hoped to prevent further attacks for being who she was.

She did not know Christine’s husband, as she had been lucky enough to never have met the man. But if she once in the future should happen to find out who he was she might feel tempted to take her cousin’s side in an eventual fight. Perhaps the two cousins just needed time to get to know each other better.

When the two women turned towards Alessandro again he had buried his face in his pillow. Michela didn’t move away when Alessandro told them to leave, and neither did Christine. Michela was glad for that. They needed to work together if they were to get the truth out of Alessandro.

Michela arched an eyebrow in mild surprise when Alessandro said through his hitched breath that he didn’t steal anything. “Of course you didn’t do it, Alessio,” she said in the most big-sisterly tone she could muster. “We know that you don’t steal! You are the most honest person I have ever met! And trust me, Alessio - I have met many….”

She sat down on the bed in a strategic manner, so no matter how Alessandro moved, he would always be within reach of one of the women. The only alternative he had now if he wanted to avoid the women was to get out of bed.

Michela had learned how to play chess from the former Chess champion of Venezia, and she had advanced her strategy to also make moves away from the chess board. Thus, when Alessandro moved his head away from Christine’s hand, Michela was close enough to start caressing his hair - and she did with all the sisterly love she felt for him.

“Why shouldn’t we be here, little brother?” Michela asked gently, using the most soothing voice she possibly could. “Besides, if it doesn’t matter, we can stay, can’t we? What will happen if we refuse to leave?”

She saw Christine’s glance at the razor at the dresser, and she made sure to distract Alessandro with her touch and with her questions while Christine confiscated the razor. She threw her cousin a warm glance of appreciation, glad that the dangerous razor was no longer a problem.

<a href='index.php?showuser=23' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Alessandro da Verona</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=180' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Christine Bourdillon</a>

What could Alessandro say to any of them? He’d said he didn’t do it and Christine asked him wht he didn’t do, but he didn’t do anything, didn’t she understand that? He did nothing and still he was dragged away from the sun and on a ride with a gondola and then into that dark and scary palazzo, where things only got worse. He remembered his heart pounding and how he had barely been able to think clearly, and how he’d almost felt like it wasn’t his own hands that undressed him, but he knew he did it himself. He had undressed completely, and then Umberto had talked about tongue training. And shown him that… thing… and it sounded and looked so painful and… no… his breath was already hitched again, while he rambled on about what he didn’t do… and he didn’t understand why he had to go through that…

Christine wanted to know who did this to him. She spoke of how people loved and cherished him and they could not help him if he didn’t tell them what was going on. And Michela spoke about him being the most honest person of them all, so she knew he wouldn’t steal. But he’d been accused of it and because of what she said – that he was so honest – that was even half the reason why this had him upset so much. Because he would never do that! But he’d been accused and he had been given a choice that entailed being trialed and sentenced for a crime he did not commit. And since he didn’t commit it, he knew what they’d do to make him confess… no… he would never! And he would never want to experience torture just to admit something he’d not do. He’d die anyway in the process, wouldn’t he? And now he would anyway, because life held so little meaning now, suddenly…

Michela had sat down on the bed on the other side now and Alessandro was trapped between the women. Had his mind been different at the moment, he’d have enjoyed that, but he literally felt trapped and that wasn’t a very nice feeling. They both stroked his hair when he tried to shy away from them and tears trailed down over his cheeks now.

“Please don’t touch me!” He begged, “Touching is… reminds me… I can’t. I can’t.” Alessandro repeated through the tears. But it would seem they weren’t going to leave him and they were going to make him confess. Were they that much better then, if they wouldn’t leave him alone? What did he do to deserve this treatment from everyone?

“I… I was…” He began trying to tell the tale finally, “… he accused me… he planted it on me, the chain. I didn’t steal it! But they thought I did… and then he… he… he dragged me away…” His breath became faster as his heart was pounding too and he felt he could barely speak, “… I kept asking why, I wanted to know w-why, because I didn’t do it. And he w-wouldn’t t-t-tell me! He just la-laughed. It amused h-him. And then… t-then we were there…” He was almost hyperventilating now between the words and he flung his arms around Michela’s waist, burying his face in her dress while he sobbed hard, unable to say more right now.

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