Where There Is Nothing

I

The night was long and still, and when the ghastly moon awoke amidst the residence, down followed the beacons of the night, shining brightly a deep canary.

Unknown to what caused the stillness, only that it was as though not a human soul dare to stir the calmness. Out in the darkness, a willow branch stirred, as the cold winter blew in from the distant hill. While the fog that had crept out of its slumber, entangling the many fountains that populated the terrace, seemed to make the silence of the night more unbearable.

The San Giuseppe Orphanage stood in somber grandeur atop the stony cliff overlooking the medieval town of Pitigliano, seemingly in defiance of the enveloping night. And there, a lone window, high upon the tallest tower, emitted a gentle, inviting light—that cut through the impenetrable darkness, a beacon to beckon the curious creatures of the night.

Deep in the heart of the San Giuseppe lay a small sanctuary steeped in centuries of refinement and culture. The orphanages treasure, a library-room, filled with antiquarian books of varying sizes and shapes, all there, from the works of Carlo Collodi to the greater works of Alighieri, Machiavellian, and Manzoni. Left behind and forgotten by a dead man on a long list of patrons to the institution. A small altar of warmth and comfort bathe the room and seeped through the wafer-thin curtains and out the solitary window. As the hands of the grandfather clock crept inexorably toward midnight, its steady ticking echoed through the chamber like the heartbeat of the night itself. Holding dominion over the silence, until, that is, the absolute came to an abrupt end, as it was morbidly wounded by the interruption of an unassuming visitor.

A full-throated voice pierced the room. "Forgive my intrusion, Father, but there is urgent matter at hand."

The Reverent Father turned and nodded— "Speak, dear sister, what has happened?" his finely combed eyebrows arched in question.

Sister Olivia clasped her hands tightly, unease playing across her unremarkable face as she shifted her weight underneath her wrinkled nightgown. "Nay, Father," she hesitated, catching her breath, "A maiden hath appeared, cloaked in darkness and desperation. She has refused to leave till she has spoken word with thee, Father."

With the quickest of motion, the Reverent Father rose from behind his cluttered desk, and adjusted his silver rimmed glasses sitting on the tip of his nose with a flick of his pinkie finger. His gaze, a mixture of curiosity and concern, settling upon the nun, still stationed at the door—wide-eyed, mouth wide open, grappling to maintain her composure beneath his unwavering scrutiny.

"And hath she divulged her name, dear sister?" The Reverent Father asked, his tone smooth but tinged with a hint of urgency.

Sister Olivia shook her head. What would he say to her? Lost amidst the rigid protocols of hospitality, she had neglected the fundamental task of inquiry. As she ushered the guest into the sanctuary of the drawing-room, her senses were ensnared by the labyrinth of propriety, and in her diligent fervor, the simple act of soliciting a name had slipped into oblivion.

Sister Olivia shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. "Alas, Father," she confessed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "No name hath passed her lips."

A moment of silence hung between them as the Reverent Father pondered her words, "But Sister, has she stated her business?"

"Nay, Father, she hath uttered not a word of her intent.

A moment of silence lingered between them as the Reverent Father pondered her words, sifting through a roster of partitioners, merchants, and patrons. Whose daughter, burdened with such despair, could now seek solace within the sanctuary of their monastery? And what dire circumstances could have driven her to their doorstep on this fateful night? He felt unease at the disruption of his well-ordered evening. And yet, his shrewd intellect recognized the gravity a woman driven by intent, particularly one of potential significance could have, and decided she was not to be taken lightly or left unattended. "You need not worry more, Sister. It seems that we are in for an eventful evening," he proclaimed, his voice a soothing reassurance. "Kindly inform our unexpected guest that I shall shortly join her company in the drawing-room."