Chapter 1 - Prologue Part 1
PROLOGUE - Part 1
Tuscany, Italy – 1603
The storm had begun before sunset.
Black clouds rolled over the Tuscan countryside like an invading army, swallowing the golden hills and vineyards beneath a curtain of rain. Thunder rattled the windows of the small stone cottage perched on the edge of a wooded thicket.
Rain battered the terracotta roof like a relentless drumbeat, the storm outside echoing the chaos inside the small stone house.
Inside, fear and worry reigned. "Push, Madonna, push!" The midwife's voice trembled despite her years of experience.
Seraphina screamed. Not the scream of an angel. Not the cry of a celestial being forged from starlight and heaven's song. But the agonized scream of a mortal woman whose body was breaking apart.
Sweat drenched her dark tresses. Blood stained the linen sheets beneath her. Every breath felt like knives being driven through her chest.
Her husband, Lorenzo De Luca knelt beside the narrow wooden bed, his large paint-stained hands trembling as he clutched the delicate fingers of his wife.
Seraphina. His Serephina, who had come to him when he had lost all hope, all will to live.
Her skin—once luminous like moonlight—had grown pale, beads of sweat glistening along her brow as dark curls clung to her damp temples. Every breath she took seemed to cost her something precious.
The old midwife, Caterina Bianchi, wrung yet another blood-soaked cloth in a basin. The water had long since turned crimson. Lorenzo’s heart pounded violently in his chest.
Fear consumed him. The same fear. The same nightmare. Five years earlier he had sat beside this very bed. Watched another woman struggle. Prayed for another life to be spared. And buried both wife and child when heaven ignored him.
He couldn't do it again. "Stay with me," he begged. His voice cracked. "Don’t leave me, Sera. Please."
He turned his tear stricken eyes to the midwife. “Please,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “She is bleeding out…getting weaker. You must do something.”
Caterina looked at him with the tired, knowing eyes of a woman who had witnessed too many tragedies. “I am doing everything I can, Signore De Luca.”
Seraphina squeezed Lorenzo’s hand weakly.
Her lilac eyes—so otherworldly that he had once sworn they held the colour of twilight itself—lifted to meet his. “Lorenzo…” she whispered.
He leaned closer instantly. “I am here, amore mio. I will always be here.” Tears streamed down his face freely now. The sight of the bloodstained sheets made his face blanch. His helplessness and horror plain to see.
Seraphina saw the fear in his eyes and her heart shattered. She had watched him for so long before ever coming to him. One of her most gifted wards, shattered when he lost his young wife.
From the heavens above she had seen his soul break the day his world died. She had watched him wander his studio like a ghost, staring at unfinished canvases, grief swallowing the brilliant light of his artistry.
She had loved him before he had ever known she existed. And when she descended from Heaven, taking the form of a mortal to comfort him, she had known the cost.
Still… she would choose him again. Every time. Her breath shuddered painfully. “Lorenzo…” she murmured again.
He kissed her trembling fingers. “Do not speak,” he pleaded. “Save your strength Tesoro.”
But Seraphina’s eyes glazed over as she turned her gaze upward. Beyond the ceiling. Beyond the storm. Beyond the mortal world.
Her voice trembled as she whispered into the unseen sky. “Father…”
Thunder cracked violently across the heavens. But no answer came.
Tears slipped down her temples. “You know I loved you,” she whispered hoarsely. “But I love him too… and this child created from that love.”
The wind outside roared harder. But the voice she implored remained silent. Still nothing.
Lorenzo looked at her in confusion. “Who are you speaking to?”
She smiled sadly, more tears sliding down her cheeks. “My family.” Before she could say more, another violent contraction ripped through her body and she cried out in pain.
Caterina hurried forward. “The child is coming!” Blood pooled across the sheets faster now. Too fast. The midwife’s expression darkened.
Seraphina saw it. She knew. She had known this moment would come from the instant she chose to forsake Heaven. She just hadn’t known it would be so soon.
Her voice trembled as she whispered again into the void. “Father… please. Please I beg you. The child is blameless” she implored.
The storm outside intensified, lightning flashing across the sky like cracks through Heaven itself.
But God remained silent.
Pain surged through her again and she screamed. Caterina’s voice shook. “She is losing too much blood.”
Lorenzo’s grip tightened around Seraphina’s hand. “No,” he choked. “No, no, no…”
Seraphina turned her face toward the heavens once more, desperation breaking through her voice. “Brother…” her body was wracked with another contraction, more blood seeping on the sheets…her pained scream was shrill…”My brothers please heed me…”
Her cry transcended the storm raging outside, echoing in the small cottage. The midwife looked uneasily at Lorenzo. Had the pain and blood loss driven the young woman mad???
Sweat beaded her brow, face pale and lips cracked and bloodless. She writhed on the sheets, clutching Lorenzo’s hand with a white knuckled grip that felt like a vice. Her voice was weaker now, her eyes almost milky. “Michael… Gabriel… Raphael…please your sister beckons you.”
Still nothing…No response came. For the first time in centuries, Seraphina felt abandoned. Then panic overtook her. Not for herself. For her child. For Lorenzo.
She breathed through the pain and closed her eyes tightly. She summoned the last fading remnants of her Angel and from somewhere deep within her dying soul, she screamed. Not aloud. But across creation itself. "Michael!"
Thunder exploded. "Gabriel!" The cottage windows shattered. "Raphael!" The world went white. A blinding pillar of golden light erupted in the center of the room.
The midwife shrieked. Lorenzo stumbled backward, shielding his eyes. The air became charged with power. Ancient. Terrifying. Holy.
Three figures emerged from the light. Towering. Radiant. Magnificent beyond mortal comprehension. Golden wings unfurled, stretching nearly wall to wall. The small cottage groaned beneath their presence.
