The Sleeper Awakening

In June, Tuscany doesn't warm up gradually.

Cicadas sang from dawn until late into the night. Heat waves distorted the olive groves and vineyards on the horizon, and the air carried the sweet scent of sun-baked grapes mingled with pine and hay.

Those black clouds were a sure sign of rain.

——

In the evening, it was raining.

Elena Rossi stepped out of the taxi, the rain soaking her white linen dress.

The driver, Marco, an elderly man with wrinkled, slightly trembling hands, helped her with her luggage.

"Why not wait for a moment, Signora? The rain is too heavy," he asked, worried.

Ignoring him, Elena paid and turned toward the Valerio Estate.

She stood in front of the iron gate, which entwined thorns and white lilies. Rainwater slid down the metal's grain like tears.

Three years ago, she had been carried away from there.

It was a gloomy November day.

Before the ambulance door closed, she caught Nicola Valerio standing in the doorway like a statue, utterly expressionless.

Now, she was back. It is doomed to be a new chapter.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door.

The butler, Giovanni, came from the kitchen carrying a silver tray.

Seeing her, he was startled, and the tray nearly fell.

"Mrs. Valerio, you...you're awake?" His voice trembled.

Elena was dripping wet from head to toe. Her white dress clung to her gaunt figure. Her collarbone stuck out, and her ribs were faintly visible beneath her skin.

"I heard voices," she said hoarsely.

"From the banquet hall?" she asked, eyes glittering with intensity.

"Yes, Mrs. Valerio. The master is entertaining guests—the Count of Calabrese and several family elders."

Elena smiled faintly, walking to the banquet hall.

The heavy oak door stood ajar, and warm yellow light spilled through the crack.

Her hand paused on the doorknob.

"That ceremony was far too conservative," Nicola said coldly, as if he were discussing the weather.

Through the crack in the door, Elena could see the scene in the banquet hall—seven or eight people seated around a long table.

In a dark gray shirt, Nicola was seated at the head of the table.

Opposite him sat his father, Theodore Valerio, the man she had feared ever since the day she married Nicola.

"She has slept for three years," Nicola continued, "and the curse remains unbroken. Now she is unable to have children.

Just leave her to the elders."

Theodore paused, then said coldly, "It would be better to replace her with Bianca, and you two can have another child."

Outside the door, Elena's hands clenched into fists.

So that was it.

It wasn't an accident after all.

The "Sleeping Maiden" curse afflicted every member of the Valerio family.

Desire to have grandchildren, Theodore had forced Nicola to bring her to an ancient "curse-breaking ritual" three years ago.

They claimed the ritual would break the curse and allow her to bear a healthy heir.

That night. She was taken to the crypt beneath the family chapel, where seven candles burned, each representing a metal.

Dr. Conti, dressed in a black robe, chanted in Latin.

Then a searing pain struck, her vision blurred, and darkness engulfed her.

When she awoke, she opened her eyes and saw everything in white.

"You actually woke up, oh my God, it's a miracle," Dr. Conti exclaimed.

She learned that she was the first in the family's history to be awakened prematurely by the "Sleeping Saint."

——

Elena leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she chuckled softly.

*Well, it was Nicola who had been tampering with the ritual. *

The memory of their first encounter came to mind.

It was a hot summer eight years ago.

She was going camping in the Tuscan hills with her friends.

A sudden downpour caught them, and she fell in the mud and tumbled down the slope, nearly losing consciousness.

Fortunately, a man appeared at this time.

Holding a black umbrella, Nicola approached and lifted her.

Resting her head against his chest, she could hear his steady and strong heartbeat. A strange mix of cologne and something savory filled the air.

It smelled like spring.

Yes, she fell in love with him in that moment.

Later, she learned that he was the heir to the Valerio family—the man her father had always wanted her to marry.

She had thought it was a gift from fate.

But now, she realized she was wrong.

It was nothing but a deal — a business alliance.

——

Elena took a deep breath and pushed open the doors to the banquet hall.

The whole group fell silent.

All eyes turned toward the doorway, where a soaking-wet woman stood with an unsettling smile on her pale face. Her hair clung to her cheeks, and droplets of water trickled down her chin.

"Elena?" Someone broke the silence.

It was the Earl of Calabrese. He was an elegant elderly gentleman with snow-white hair, dressed in a tailored suit.

He was shocked, and the wine glass in his hand tilted slightly, spilling a few drops onto the tablecloth.

Ignoring him, Elena stared at Nicola.

Frowning, Nicola set down his glass and rose.

"How did you get here?" he asked.

There were no caring words.

Elena scanned the room.

The banquet hall remained as it had three years ago, yet something had changed. The thick carpet was pale beige, and the oil paintings on the walls depicted 16^(th)-century religious themes. It was clearly Bianca's taste.

Has Bianca Calabrese become the mistress of this house?

When I, the true Mrs. Valerio, lay in the hospital like a vegetable?

"Elena," Theodore said, his voice tinged with disbelief. "You're awake. It's so--"

"Unexpected?" Elena laughed, cutting him off. "Yes, truly unexpected. I thought I'd sleep forever and let you smoothly bring Bianca in."

"What are you talking about?" Nicola chimed in.

"Well." Elena turned away. "I'm just here to collect my things."

"You have nothing to collect," Nicola said coldly. "Your residence remains intact."

"My home is not here," she declared, leaving the banquet hall at a pace bordering on a run.

"Nicola, go see to her." Theodore's voice echoed behind her.

"She needs to calm down," Nicola said flatly.

Elena sprinted down the corridor, tears blurring her vision.

Portraits of generations of family members hung on either side of the corridor.

Under their gazes, she ran faster.