Fragments of the Apocalypse

An Italian woman knows. A true Italian woman always knows.

She had known from the very beginning what Erin had done, the harsh decision that she had taken. And she also knew the crude consequences that would bring on everyone. She knew about the challenges that would come ahead.

And, worst of all, she knew that they needed to go through it all alone.

So she took a vacation. That’s what she had told them, that she was going to go on a holiday. Then, as she walked out of town, she cut all means of communication and headed towards Napoli. That was what she had to do.

She had been tempted to go back, but she knew she couldn’t.

Italy, her home. The city that had been her home during her childhood and youth. The city where she had met the one and only love of her life, and the city where she had had her son. The city that had turned into what she was.

She remembered the ashes. The mistakes of old.

She walked to the excavations of Pompeii. She had been just a child at the time, barely in control of her power, and she had not understood the consequences of such power. She walked into a house she had once called home, and remembered her parents.

She left a rose in the middle of the room. She wept a tear.

Perspective and strength to do what she had to do, that was what she had coming looking, and that was what she had found. The strength to not do what she could do, because she must let things happen.

She walked out of the building and walked back to Naples. Her sister was waiting.

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