Chapter 1: The Midnight Carousel
The abandoned amusement park was supposed to be torn down years ago, but it still stood at the edge of town like a forgotten memory. No one went there anymore, at least no one I knew. But that night, something pulled me towards it, like a magnet I couldn’t resist. Maybe it was the moon, hanging full and bright over the rusted ferris wheel, or the whispering wind that seemed to call my name.
I stood at the entrance, staring at the faded sign that read “Wonderland Park.” The paint was chipped, and the letters were barely visible, but I remembered coming here as a child. It had been magical once, a place of laughter and light. Now it was just a shell, abandoned and overgrown.
A shiver ran down my spine as I stepped through the gate. The gravel crunched under my boots, and I glanced around nervously. Broken rides loomed like skeletal giants, their shadows long and eerie in the moonlight. The silence was heavy, almost suffocating, but something kept me moving forward.
And then I saw it.
Tucked away near the carousel was an old photo booth, its wooden frame warped and weathered. I remembered taking pictures there with my parents. I hadn’t thought about those photos in years. They were tucked away somewhere, buried deep in a drawer, along with memories I tried not to dwell on.
The booth looked different now, more… alive. A faint, golden light glowed from inside, flickering like a candle flame. My heart quickened. I knew it was crazy, but I felt as if the booth was waiting for me.
Without thinking, I walked over and pushed aside the faded curtain. The interior was surprisingly clean, the seat covered in red velvet, the mirror polished to a shine. I hesitated, then sat down, my hands trembling slightly as I glanced at the row of buttons.
There were no instructions, just four symbols: a sun, a moon, a star, and an hourglass. My finger hovered over the hourglass, a strange sense of urgency filling me. I pressed it, and the booth shuddered.
The light brightened, becoming almost blinding. I shut my eyes, and then there was a flash, a sound like a distant thunderclap, and everything went dark.
When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the photo booth.
I blinked, trying to make sense of my surroundings. I was standing in the middle of a bustling market square, the air thick with the scent of spices and freshly baked bread. The buildings around me were tall and narrow, their stone facades adorned with colorful banners. People milled about, their clothes strange and unfamiliar.
I turned slowly, taking it all in. My heart pounded wildly. This wasn’t possible. I must have hit my head, or maybe I was dreaming. But everything felt so real—the uneven cobblestones under my feet, the chatter of voices, the warmth of the sun on my face.
A man bumped into me, muttering something in Italian. I stepped back, my mind reeling. I’d never been to Italy, but I recognized the language. It was like stepping into a painting, a scene from the past brought vividly to life.
I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Panicking wouldn’t help. I needed to figure out where I was—and when. My hands shook as I reached into my pocket for my phone, but it was gone. No phone, no wallet, nothing. Just the clothes on my back and the lingering taste of fear.
I looked around, my gaze falling on a narrow alleyway to my left. I needed to get off the main street, away from the curious stares. I ducked into the shadows, my pulse racing. What had I gotten myself into?
As I stumbled through the winding alley, I heard a commotion behind me. I glanced back to see a group of guards chasing after a young boy. He darted around a corner, clutching a loaf of bread to his chest, and one of the guards shouted angrily.
I stepped aside as they rushed past, my heart aching for the boy. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old. Before I could think better of it, I followed them, my footsteps echoing in the narrow passage.
The alley opened into a small courtyard, and I saw the boy trapped in a corner, his eyes wide with fear. The guards advanced slowly, their expressions grim.
“Please,” the boy whimpered in Italian, “I was hungry.”
The guard at the front raised his hand as if to strike the boy, and something snapped inside me. Without hesitating, I stepped forward.
“Stop!” I shouted, my voice ringing out in the still air. The guards turned to look at me, surprise flashing across their faces.
“What are you doing here?” one of them demanded, his eyes narrowing. “This is none of your concern.”
I swallowed hard, adrenaline surging through me. “He’s just a child. Leave him alone.”
The guard sneered, taking a step closer. “And who are you to tell us what to do?”
I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, a strong hand gripped my arm and pulled me back. I turned to see a man standing beside me, his dark eyes intense and commanding.
“She is with me,” he said calmly, his voice deep and assured. The guards hesitated, glancing at each other uncertainly.
“Signore, we didn’t realize—”
“That much is obvious,” the man interrupted. “Leave the boy. I’ll take responsibility for him.”
The guard’s eyes flicked between us, then he nodded reluctantly. “As you wish.” He turned sharply and gestured for the others to follow. They left without another word, the tension dissipating like smoke.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The man released my arm, and I turned to thank him, my words catching in my throat as I looked up into his face.
He was handsome in a way that felt almost unreal, his features sharp and refined. His hair was dark, falling just below his shoulders, and his eyes were a striking shade of green. There was something both familiar and utterly strange about him, as if I’d seen him before in a dream.
“You shouldn’t interfere with the guards,” he said quietly, his gaze searching mine. “It’s dangerous.”
“I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing,” I replied, my voice trembling slightly. “He’s just a kid.”
The man’s expression softened, and he smiled faintly. “You have a brave heart.” He glanced at the boy, who was still huddled against the wall, watching us with wide eyes. “Come, piccolo. You’re safe now.”
The boy hesitated, then slowly stood and walked over, clutching the loaf of bread like a lifeline. The man placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, then looked back at me.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
“For what?” I asked, bewildered. “You’re the one who saved him.”
He shook his head. “You acted when others would have turned away. That kind of courage is rare.”
A flush of warmth spread through me at his words. “I’m Emma,” I said, holding out my hand.
He took it, his touch firm and steady. “Leonardo.”
We stood there for a moment, our hands clasped, and I felt a strange pull between us, something deep and inexplicable. His eyes held mine, and it was like time itself had stopped.
I was acutely aware of everything—his warmth, the way his thumb brushed lightly against my skin, the soft murmur of voices in the distance. It was as if the world around us had faded away, leaving just the two of us in a bubble of stillness.
Leonardo released my hand, and the spell was broken. He turned to the boy and knelt down, speaking softly to him in Italian. I watched as the boy’s fearful expression eased, replaced by a tentative smile.
“You should go,” Leonardo said, standing up and looking back at me. “This city is not always kind to strangers.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” I admitted, the reality of my situation crashing down on me. “I don’t even know how I got here.”
Leonardo frowned slightly, studying me. “You’re not from here, are you?”
I shook my head, feeling a lump form in my throat. “No, I—I’m not.”
His gaze softened, and he nodded. “Come with me, then. I know a place where you’ll be safe.”
I hesitated, but what choice did I have? I was alone, lost in a time that wasn’t my own, with no idea how to get back. And something about Leonardo made me trust him, made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as alone as I thought.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Thank you.”
He smiled, a real smile this time, and it lit up his entire face. “It’s my pleasure, Emma.”
We walked side by side through the winding streets, the boy trailing behind us. The city was beautiful, the buildings towering and majestic, the canals glistening in the moonlight. I tried to take it all in, but my mind was spinning with questions.
“What is this place?” I asked finally, glancing at Leonardo.
“Florence,” he replied. “Have you heard of it?”
I nodded slowly. Florence, the cradle of the Renaissance, a city of art and culture. But how was I here? And why? My head ached just thinking about it.
Leonardo glanced at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “You’re not just lost, are you?”
I shook my head, unable to find the words to explain. “It’s complicated.”
He nodded, as if he understood more than I was saying. “Then let’s take it one step at a time.”
We reached a small house at the edge of the city, and Leonardo unlocked the door. Inside, it was cozy and warm, the walls lined with books and paintings. He led me to a room at the back, where a small bed stood by the window.
“You can stay here,” he said, his voice gentle. “Rest. We’ll figure things out in the morning.”
I nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. “Thank you, Leonardo. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“There’s no need,” he said, his eyes soft. “I’m glad I could help.”
He turned to leave, then hesitated, looking back at me. “You’re not alone, Emma. Whatever brought you here, you don’t have to face it by yourself.”
His words, simple and sincere, brought tears to my eyes. I nodded, unable to speak. He smiled again, then quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.
I sank down onto the bed, my mind racing. So much had happened in such a short time, and I had no idea what tomorrow would bring. But one thing was certain: I wasn’t in this alone anymore.
And as I lay there, staring up at the wooden ceiling, I felt a strange sense of hope, mingled with fear. Because I knew, deep down, that meeting Leonardo was only the beginning.
But of what, I had no idea.