Chapter 1
## A Gentle Girl
In a small countryside town, lived Florencia. At 25 years old, she carried on her face the softness of her brown skin and the strength of a gaze that, although gentle, held unknown depths. Her long black hair used to sway to the rhythm of the night breeze while she sat in her blue string chair to admire the moon.
By her side, little Farah, only 5 years old, was her opposite in colors, but her mirror in soul. With fair skin and tight black curls, the girl yawned under the starry sky.
— It's late, little one. Let's go to sleep — Florencia murmured, leading her daughter inside.
The day dawned bright. After the morning routine of coffee and preparation, the two went their separate ways. Florencia worked as a classroom assistant, a role she performed with the punctuality of a clock. Before they said goodbye, Farah grabbed her hand:
— Don't forget about my presentation, mommy!
— I will be there, my daughter. I promise.
At work, while Florencia organized the room for the young students, time seemed to fly. During recess, a coworker, tall and exuberant, approached with an insistent smile.
— Do you know what day it is today, Florencia? Friday! Shall we go out?
— No — Florencia answered, short and direct.
— Oh, why are you like this? I promised a friend I would bring a pretty coworker.
— Ask someone else.
— Who? There is no one prettier than you here.
Florencia did not like Fridays, and her voice carried an authority that ended any discussion. The school, respecting her rare dedication, allowed her to leave 35 minutes early for her commitment with Farah.
She drove her old black car along the winding road. As she passed near an imposing mountain, the radio seemed to lose its static and a voice, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, whispered: *"Climb the mountain"*.
Her foot hit the brake abruptly. Florencia's heart raced in a mix of panic and a strange comfort, as if that voice had known her for centuries.
— I need a vacation... — she said to herself, letting out a nervous laugh to shake off the fear before accelerating again.
At Farah's school, the presentation had already begun. The girl searched for her mother in the audience with tearful eyes, the brightness fading with every second. But when Florencia walked through the door, their eyes met. Farah smiled, and her performance was flawless.
Later at home, while skipping around with a snack in her hand, the girl asked:
— Did I do well, mom?
— You were the brightest star, my little one.
That night, however, the silence was different. Sitting again in the blue string chair, Florencia reflected on her friend's invitation and on the image she saw in the mirror: a young, beautiful woman, but one who had chosen to be the unshakeable pillar of a lonely home.
The moon, which before felt like company, now seemed to watch her. Florencia's gentle gaze gave way to a dark and cold depth. Something in her past, or perhaps the isolation of that remote town, was pulling her back to the mystery of the mountain.
Florencia, a gentle girl.
