Twinkle Read online

  Twinkle

  ⁂Winter Solstice's⁂

  Dark fairy tales vol 1

  Skyler Steele

  Editor: Jordan Tsolakides, Sofi Arambatzi

  Cover design by Savvas Triantafillidis/

  Pigi publishing atelier

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  To my beloved Theodoros and Giovanna

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Introduction

  Oxford

  Day one

  A week without ending

  Revelation

  Experiences with Angels

  Nightfall

  Copyright © 2019 Skyler Steele

  All rights reserved

  Unauthorized reproduction of this ebook is prohibited under the copyright law of the European Union and the international intellectual property law schemes.

  Thank you for downloading this ebook and for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ...it must be remembered that we have heard one side of the case. God has written all the books.

  Samuel Butler

  Introduction

  I have always dreamt of love like something magical which will lift me from my mundane reality.

  However, I couldn’t imagine the love I would

  experience: no one can give you affirmations for something so passionate and magnificent, almost breathtaking. Not even my deep belief to god would be enough to bear the ferocity of the feelings which I would live…

  When your heart is opposed to any logic, to any safety system, and beguiles you into a love story, where you must destroy someone to have the opportunity to love him… When you fight with all your might against your own self, when you surrender to your passion breaching the Law of God…

  Until you comprehend that become adrift, no matter what happens.

  Oxford

  I packed my last things in my suitcase and I closed it with a hasty move. I glanced at the area; I closed my eyes by taking a deep breath, and dashed out pushing my luggage to the staircase.

  “Adrian?” my father’s loud voice was heard. “Hurry up, you’re going to miss the flight”. “Coming, coming” I shouted firmly.

  It was really difficult to leave my home; I needed a couple more minutes, a last glimpse of my room.

  “Come already, Adrian!”

  My mum came near me and pulled the suitcase. She was tall, with tawny hair and pearl grey eyes. Her characteristics were fine, her skin clear, white with a few wrinkles around the eyes that added nothing but appeal to her beauty. She was British and one summer she came to Italy on holidays, where she became acquainted with my dad: dusky, dark-haired, black eyes. Love was predictable and at first sight: Summer, sun, sea, the blond tourist who falls into the arms of the Latin lover. But it was not transitory. Their marriage went through nineteen years and they were in love as much as the first day they met. As for me, I never understood that “love at first sight”. Is it ever possible to happen so quickly, to knock on your door so unexpectedly, to make you his adrift so implicitly?

  And yet, it happened to my parents with duration and I am the proof and the capstone of this love, Adriana Liliana Primi. I was not especially tall, with ebony hair falling in loose curled locks all the way to my waist, with wheaten, kind of pale complexion. I suppose, I looked like my father but I had the big pearl grey eyes of my mother. Nobody could tell for sure I was Italian, and certainly not British. I spoke Italian as well as English, my mother took care of it since my birth. I grew up in Florence, Italy, leading a quiet life, doing whatever children at my age do. We were not visiting England very often. My mother did not like her home county. Frequently, she was giving the impression she loved Italy even more that the Italians themselves. I have a few memories from Edinburgh which we visited some summers.

  On the contrary, I loved the English countryside and the wet climate of the Atlantic Ocean. I loved the never ending green that was stopping only at the horizon of the semi-dark English sky.

  “Adrian, do you hear me?” my mother asked me.

  “I am sorry, I was absent-minded”, I answered hastily.

  We went down to the entrance of the house where my father was waiting for us and was arranging my stuff in the car. The drive to the airport was short but my mother was droning on, giving me her last advice.

  “Be careful, eat well and dress warmly, especially this”. She turned around and looked at me.

  “Are you paying attention to me Adriana?”

  “Yes, mum, I do”. I said idly. I looked thoughtfully out of the car.

  The trees were disappearing fast, the sky was somewhat dull and I was immersed in my thoughts. “How things will be there”, I was wondering. I glanced at my parents… I would miss them so much.

  “What are you thinking of, Adriana?” my mother turned to look at me once again, wondering.

  “Well, my courses, the college”, I replied falsely.

  “Surely, you will not only like the school but also the town of Oxford. Regarding the classes, I imagine they will be interesting”, she reassured me quickly.

  “Yes, I am sure for that”, I answered shaking my head. But that was not what concerned me.

  “And I am sure you are going to do very well. Do not forget they gave you a scholarship which means that they want you very much”, she added full of pride.

  “Yes, yes, sure”, I answered.

  I had no doubt that the classes would be interesting and that an English town would be beautiful. What troubled me was whether I could impose upon myself, being a dreamer, to be able to adapt to an ordinary routine of “studying, studying and studying”. This was not my strong point. I preferred to do research and to write. Besides, in my final year at school, a project of mine titled “The loneliness of God”, which required a lot of research and writing, secured for me a place in the Philosophy Department at Oxford University. My teacher, Carlo De Angelo, was so enthusiastic that he proposed to my parents that we apply, as he was sure that with this project not only they would accept me but also they would beg for me.

  This way, I got a scholarship for the duration of all my studies and a letter indicating that the academic year would begin in October. The first period known as “Michaelmas” would last until December followed by “Hilary” until March and “Trinity” until June. Only by thinking of the brevity of the three periods in an academic year, my stomach knotted. For one more time, I thought of how I could manage so much studying. Perhaps Oxford may not have been the best choice; I admitted my fears to myself.

  “We arrived”, my father said and he took me out of the thoughts that were occupying me during the whole trip.

  He pulled my large suitcase in which I had placed all my belongings or at least my favourite ones. It included jeans, shirts, sportswear, CDs, mostly of Fleetwood Mac, and some books.

  “It is impossible to lift it, Adriana, what did you put inside?” he complained as he was trying to lift it.

  “I will be absent for three months, did you forget?” I teased him as I was taking the suitcase from his hands.

  My mother came next to me and touched my face very gently. She looked at me a few times with tearful eyes. I was sure that no sooner will I enter the airplane than she would burst out crying inside my father’s arms.

  “Take care, Adrian. We will miss you very much”.

  I felt a knot in my throat and tried to clear it coughing. I didn’t want to cry because I knew I would upset them. Normally, I should have been happy for my new beginning, for the opportunity which was given to me.

  “Christmas is not far, mother, a little while longer”, I said tensely, mainly to con
sole myself.

  The announcements from the loudspeakers drew our attention.

  “Perhaps, it is time to go, Adrian”, my father realized.

  I hugged my mother tightly; I kissed my father and pulled my suitcase.

  “Have a good trip, Adrian”, they both said.

  I turned to look at them for the last time. They stood hugging each other waving

  their hands. Abruptly, I turned around and headed to the ticket counter. I went through the passport control and boarded the plane to London. Before takeoff I had the chance to take a quick look at Florence. After a while we were high above and everything looked tiny just as I felt, tiny in comparison to the great name of Oxford University.

  On the whole, the trip was good. I tried to take a nap but I could not manage to. When we landed in London, it was sunny. What luck, I thought ironically. I came to the mistiest city in the world to find it bathed in sunlight. This surely is luck, my luck.

  I took the bus and after a picturesque drive, I arrived in Oxford, a wonderful city, just like my mother had described, at the beginning of October with my only belongings my suitcase and my dreams. The bus terminal was very well organized -typical for England- therefore it was very easy to find the bus which went to the university campus through the old city.

  “Here we are”, I said to myself “my suitcase and me…”

  I had I hard time pulling my luggage on the paved path leading to the buildings. I was stunned by the view of the huge complex. This could not be a university- definitely no resemblance to what I had in my mind.

  It looked like an entire village, not to say a town. It was not only the size that startled me but also the view of the buildings. They were eminent and stony, with elaborate roofs that seemed to have jumped out of a tale. There were arched windows and patios, lanterns hanging from the stony walls. Ivy was touching the walls and big branches of trees were stretching high up to the cone-shape roofs. There was greenery everywhere. The sun was giving a shine to the wet from the moisture landscape that seemed radiant. It was an ideal place apart from the studying, the daily seminars and the homework which would burden all its residents.

  I was wondering, how many love affairs were sheltered under the heavy name of a university that was already counting nine hundred years of life…

  I was thinking about everything I had read about its history. It is the oldest of the English speaking world and together with Cambridge; they constitute the top universities of Great Britain. Furthermore, they are two of the best universities worldwide. Twenty four Prime Ministers from all over the world graduated from Oxford, among the countless significant scientist, authors and even today’s famous actors and directors.

  A widely known legend has it that the two universities have a competition with each other from 1209, when clashes began between students and residents. As a result some university people moved northwest to the small town of Cambridge where they established the titular university.

  Oxford became a significant learning centre from the end of the 12th century because the intellectuals of the whole Europe were coming for lectures already from 1096. During the 13th century members of several religious dogmas such as Franciscans, Augustinians, Dominicans and Carmelites settled here. They gained influence and they were financing the maintenance of student housing. In fact, as I was looking at the buildings with their heavy wooden doors I realized that they were a reminder of Cathedrals since in the past they were monasteries sheltering these Christian brotherhoods.

  Scenery from previous centuries was giving Oxford a different aspect, a different perspective. The magic of the old tales was jumping from each building, from each paved path, alive, giving you the feeling that you are a hero of a Gothic story that would take place under the heavy English sky.

  I moved slowly, holding a map of the university campus on which there was a red spot. After whirling around and going back and forth, while pulling my suitcase, I made it. It was not as difficult as I thought. Everything had a certain arrangement. I crossed a large area full of trees, plants and flowers, a complex of the English plant life, which the students were enjoying either on the scattered benches or lying on the grass. An imposing door of solid iron, half hidden by the ivy which was climbing and entangling at the railing, greeted me at the tiled yard in front of the famous college of Trinity. With slow and determined steps I headed towards the building, stopping here and there for a few moments before entering. I wanted to admire the architectural design and also to take a deep breath before crossing the threshold that would change my life once and for all.

  The interior was wonderful too. A warm place with walls painted in earthly colours- it reminded me of Italy and I became wistful- which contrasted the green flower pots on either side of the corridor.

  I moved on and stopped in front of the reception desk. Finally, I had found my destination. An elderly lady clerk, wearing her hair in a bun, was bending over a desk. I gave her my contact information and after she entered it into the computer in front of her, she printed a bunch of papers and gave them to me. Most of them were about my registration to the college. After I filled these forms I politely thanked her and got out in the fresh air.

  Some clouds were gathering in sky, which was not as clear as it was at noon. As soon as I opened my map to find the address of the English lady that had converted the upper floor of her house into a small boarding house, where I would be staying with another female student, a large drop of rain fell on my face. This was more likely the English weather my mother was telling me about. A little while later I found the house, before a sudden storm started. Luckily, the house was at a small distance from the college, literally in the heart of the town. It was a two storey house with red bricks and tall wooden windows in cypress colour. Tiny white curtains embroidered by flowers, were decorating the front windows. They were overlooking a wide road full of tall trees. The ivy was not absent from here too and after a quick look at the neighbourhood I was convinced that it was their national plant.

  I always had the option to stay at the halls of residence, but I preferred a place of my own with the perspective of greater independence.

  My parents had some objections. I am sure they would feel more secure if I had agreed to live in the college campus, but I set the inviolable term to have my own place. The only compromise I agreed on was to let my mum’s friends find a house for me which I would share with a roommate. I know now that I would not regret my choice because the house is close to college and it radiated a warm atmosphere. I had the feeling that my mother will appear at the door!

  I went through the small garden and stood for a couple of minutes at the entrance before I rang the bell. A plump lady of medium height with chestnut brown hair and pink cheeks appeared at the porch. She was wearing a long, frilled and colourful apron. I couldn’t help but smiling when I remembered my mother’s similar aprons, it was as if they both bought them from the same store.

  “Good evening. I am Adriana”, I said and extended my hand towards her.

  A big smile brightened her face as she was warmly shaking my hand.

  “Good evening. I am Janet. How was your trip?” she asked me as she was taking my suitcase and pushing it to the landing of a wooden internal stairway with white railings and a walnut colour banister.

  “Nice. Thank you for asking”.

  “Are you hungry? There is vegetable soup”, she suggested.

  In fact, I have not eaten anything the whole day. I accepted her offer and followed her into a small, attractive kitchen with wooden shelves, attached to the redbrick wall. My attention was drawn by some shelves full of spice containers. As soon as I tasted the first spoonful I realized what they were there for. The soup was delicious!

  She seemed eager to talk but I was so tired that soon I left her and went upstairs where my room was located. Music was coming from a semi closed door and I moved towards there. A redhead appeared at the opening. Curly hair was framing her clear face. She looked at me with j
oyful blue eyes and before I had the chance to talk she graded my suitcase and pulled me inside by my hand. I followed her looking the room with curiosity.

  “Come, I was looking forward to your arrival” she said.

  I looked at her wondering. Did she know I was coming? My questioning look made her explain.

  “Oh, sorry, I meant I was waiting for my roommate, in other words, you. I have been here for days and I do not know anyone. I was almost eager for the classes to begin”.

  She smiled as she was saying those last words.

  “Why did you come earlier?” I asked her with curiosity. I thought that tomorrow was the start of the first period.

  “Firstly, let me introduce myself. I am Christine Dupon and I come from France. I came earlier to practice the language”, she explained extending her hand to a handshake. I did the same.