THE STONE

Matilda, after completing her usual facial gymnastics exercises, noticed some surprising changes in the mirror: her face less pallid, her lips fuller, and a rejuvenated expression giving her an air of fresh vitality. 

"Who are you really?" she wondered. 

Her brown eyes sparkled as if the sun were shining within them. 

Her voice, usually tinged with a subtle tremor, now resonated warm and alive. 

She embraced her shoulders with her hands, giving herself a gesture of comfort. 

She couldn't ignore the causes of that transformation. 

"No war was ever won in a day," she reflected. 

Even though she wasn't accustomed to nurturing desperate pride or excessive arrogance, she felt that the words spoken during Alice's birthday party had become hers: "woman is power, woman is culture, woman is love."

Patience if some men had repeated them to please or excite themselves.

"Look up! The clouds are breaking! They're spreading, revealing the stars!" Lea had shouted. 

Returning to the living room, Matilda picked up the book by Jules Michelet that had been given to her for the occasion and opened it to the first page.

"Nature made them witches... It is the genius proper to woman, and to her temperament. Fairy is born. For the regular recourse to exaltation, she is Sybil. For love, she is Maga. For acumen, malice (often capricious and beneficial) she is Witch, and gives fate, at least placates, deceives evils." 

Matilda didn't deceive herself; she knew that someone was waiting for the alms of her gaze. There behind that window with the shutters raised, prey to feelings of revolt, anger, inflamed by desire and loneliness.

She wrapped herself in a robe and stepped out onto the terrace, breathing deeply. 

She smelled a scent of flowers coming from who knows where, a blend of roses and lilies of the valley, innocent and sensual at the same time. The smell intensified, almost tangible, as if the air were impregnated with pollen and nectar. 

She saw a sparkle on the floor. 

She picked up a galactite stone. It burned. 

She instinctively threw it away.

Despite the dim light of the street lamps, she saw it slide into the garden below, leaving behind a soft, gelatinous trail of rusty red, like a rivulet of lava. 

Disparate voices, vibrating with curiosity, rose from the surrounding windows, intoning a chorus. 

“What was that? What was that dull noise? Where did it come from?”

Someone knocked on the door. Matilda reached the entrance and looked at herself in the mirror again before opening it. 

“How strange!” she exclaimed. Her face bore a different, more serious expression. 

She opened it, it was Peter. Melancholy like an angel in exile. 

“I need to talk to you…” he said tremblingly. 

"It all happened so suddenly: my heart exploded! Oh, tell me you'll come to me before I die!.."

"But what happened? You're so pale..." 

"A chasm, a very deep hole, opened in my garden."

"When did it happen?" 

"A few minutes ago, come see!" "How is that possible?" she asked hesitantly. 

He covered his face with his hands. 

"I was terrified it would turn into a chasm, and I imagined myself inside, lost, parched with thirst, suffocated in my own blood." 

She looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and understanding. Matilda felt a strange connection with Peter's words because she too had fought against demons in the past. She realized that, although she wasn't attached to that man, she could become the center of his universe from that exact moment on.

Matilda smiled sweetly, running her hand back through her long black hair. 

"Let's see then..."

The small garden was undeniably beautiful, adorned with a variety of plants and flowers. The light from the spotlights, filtering through the branches, drew intricate silhouettes on the walls, resembling moving paintings. 

Matilda sensed another scent, this time never before experienced. She understood that it wasn't just another night, one of the countless nights of this world. 

The fresh, pungent smell of basil mixed with the sweet aroma of petunias and geraniums was enriched by strong metallic and earthy notes. 

Peter lit an oil torch in bamboo and turned it towards a specific point.

"There, do you see the hole!" 

"But it's so small, almost invisible."

"You know nothing! Do you know what this is? No, you can't know. You see, this is the entrance to a space-time tunnel."

Matilda was surprised by his brashness. She looked at him worriedly. 

"Peter, will you continue to be as good as you have been so far?"

He nodded, feeling the blood buzzing in his head. 

Despite the unspeakable yearning that had engulfed him, he could still, looking around, distinguish the varied shades of the night: the sparkling gravel of the grand avenue, the dark green stripes of the flower beds, the boxwood hedges cut into balls. 

"The mist smells of dead leaves," he said, observing the effect of that digression on the girl's face. 

Matilda realized that emotions could be uncontrollable at that point. She just had to be careful not to let any compassion emerge. 

"You have to close it as soon as possible!" 

"Is that all you have to say?" Peter asked. 

His bubble of pain was constantly growing, and the need to resist the despair that threatened to overwhelm him was becoming more acute.

Steam began to emerge from the hole. 

"Please do something, take some rocks or try to fill it with soil," she insisted. 

Peter rubbed his eyelids several times trying to find a solution. 

Before his motionless gaze passed a vision of those that disturb the heart: a sky with threatening clouds that shook frenetically and twisted. 

He began to converse with the fissure, uttering disjointed and slow phrases that fell like ash from a coal:

"I want to cast a glance into your divine workshops, where you create new worlds, and where nothing is immutable, and nothing is lost.

Tonight, I will not let sleep overcome me. Your pain is my pain, we have a common destiny. 

Encourage me, give me a sign. If you don't feel like talking, let the noise speak for you."

"I've had enough, I'm leaving!"

Matilda replied, her lips stiff as if supported by braces. The decision was tough, but she had no alternatives. 

"Are you kidding me?! You can't leave right now!" the boy replied.

"Stop it, Peter!" 

"I'll stop, but on one condition."

"Are you blackmailing me?"

"I love blackmail," he replied cunningly. 

"I could tell everyone that you buried a husband when you were very young... A mystery never solved."

"You're a coward." 

"I love cowards; as a child, I wanted to hide in my mother's hair." 

Matilda's tension had become a burning, poisonous anger. 

"Okay," she said grimly. 

"Flattered," Peter retorted, "but you have to promise me one thing: a walk together in Laurette's forest. I've been wanting to ask you for so long."

Matilda swallowed hard. That place brought back painful memories; it was where she had lost Fred, her beloved Jack Russell.

"I promise you. Now, how do you plan to handle this situation? Can't you feel the smoke becoming increasingly acrid?"

Without warning, it began to rain. At first, a fine, fertilizing drizzle, followed by heavy drops that fell, almost exhausted, like bird droppings.

He pondered for a moment, looked around as if searching for something to delay his decision. 

"Will this thought of yours last long? I'm getting all wet."

He felt pleasantly excited, in top form. He put on a blank expression and asked, "Is this type of face okay with you?"

Matilda now knew. He had nothing to lose. He had, within himself, neither pride, nor fear, nor desperate humility.

Impatient, she began to whisper strange words. Her hands moved in precise circles, and the smoke began to respond to her command, thickening.

"What are you doing?" 

She continued to chant.

Then she bent down and picked up a handful of grass. With one final gesture, she threw the grass into the hole, and the ground began to shake and split.

The raindrops grew even larger and heavier, crashing to the ground like disoriented flying mice. 

"If this is what you wanted, now you've found it!"

Matilda's words echoed like a final verdict.

Peter felt a sharp blade pierce his brain. 

His consciousness wandered in a dark vortex of pleasure. Without saying another word, he approached Matilda and grabbed her arms, pulling her towards him.

Matilda tried to free herself. That unexpected and irresistible grip seemed horrible to her. She wanted to push him away, but her movements didn't match the speed of her thoughts.

Like a compliant domestic cat, she relaxed all the muscles of her young body.

The promises of the day before had vanished into thin air.

She felt him above her like a huge boulder and quickly plummeted with him into the abyss.