What Remains of the Fair Simonetta Read Free

what Mariano had said to me: I hadn’t moved on from the Ognissanti because there was still something I needed to do. I couldn’t imagine what unfinished business I could have in an era that occurred centuries before I even lived. It was possible that this was all just a fleeting moment that would end as soon as it began. As far as I knew, there were no established rules in a situation such as this. No precedence to which I could relate. So my mission, as I knew it, was to figure out why I’d been given the privilege of being here, and worry about the length of my visit later.
    Antonella returned with a wooden tray, and stared at me curiously once again. “You have never been one to gaze into the looking glass, and now it seems you cannot get enough of your own face.” She smirked at the cleverness of her statement.
    I had to think of a witty reply as this seemed to be the banter to which Antonella was accustomed. I felt connected to her already, comforted even by her jab. It meant Simonetta had a familiar relationship with Antonella. A kinship I should have feared, since it made it more likely for me to be discovered. But their casual relationship appealed to me, since I had no experience with master and servant.
    “I thought I’d make use of the looking glass while I can. I’ve heard Savonarola is trying to get rid of them,” I said, priding myself on my meager knowledge of Florentine Renaissance history.
    “Savonarola? Who is Savonarola?” Antonella queried.
    Oh, crap.
    Girolamo Savonarola was a Renaissance-era Dominican Monk who was responsible for The Bonfires of the Vanities , in which the masses were convinced to burn many items during the Martidi Grasso festival . The incinerated items included: jewelry, books, cosmetics, gaming tables, and mirrors. History would report that the Dominican zealot had even influenced Botticelli—either out of piety or fear—to burn one of his own mythological paintings that Savonarola considered a sinful vanity. A painting of his most beautiful, important genre doused in flames and lost for all time. But Savonarola clearly wasn’t an issue quite yet.
    I could change history. I could save Botticelli’s lost painting.
    Then I had a sudden flashback to the Back to the Future movies, where Doc Brown warns Marty McFly, when he lands in 1955, that he mustn’t interact with anyone because anything he did could have serious repercussions on future events. But it was too late for Marty. Since there was no apparent way for me to become invisible, and I’d already spoken to Antonella, it was too late for me as well. Marty inadvertently changed a number of moments occurring in the past, and in his case, the outcome was a better future. What else might I be doing in the Renaissance if not to change something—for better or worse? I refused to believe the cosmic universe put me here simply because of some silly fantasy I once had. Certainly, there was some bigger purpose.
    “Are you going to tell me or not?” Antonella demanded. “Who is this Savonarola who would threaten your looking glass?”
    “He’s a Christian zealot from Ferrara,” I replied, because that was the extent of what I knew that would likely not cause more damage. I then decided to divert Antonella with a more mundane topic. “I’m starving! What’s for breakfast?”
    “You are delicate, but hardly starving, my lady,” Antonella corrected. “Ask the peasants at the tavern what starving feels like.”
    “I suppose that was insensitive,” I muttered.
    I had to curb the colloquialisms, or possibly just shut-up entirely.
    Antonella set down the tray of cheese, bread, and a single goblet. No utensils in sight. I eagerly tore apart the aromatic cheese and crammed it into my mouth, insisting Antonella join me. To my surprise, she indulged without question, and we ate together in silence.
    The lukewarm cheese was good, but the bread, dry and unsalted. It tasted like a delicacy, though, since I hadn’t eaten in