Chapter 1: The Tapestry’s Secret
I never expected a simple visit to the museum to change my life forever.
It was one of those lazy Sunday afternoons, the kind where time feels like it’s standing still. My best friend Clara had dragged me out of the house, insisting we needed a “cultural escape.” I didn’t argue—I rarely did these days. I’d been adrift, floating between regret and uncertainty, wondering if any of my choices had mattered. So, the Florence Art Museum seemed as good a place as any to disappear for a while.
We wandered through room after room, admiring the gilded frames of Renaissance paintings and the marble sculptures frozen in time. Clara chattered on, mostly about her latest romance, but my mind was elsewhere, caught in the web of my own tangled thoughts.
And then I saw it. The tapestry.
It hung at the far end of the hall, larger than any of the other pieces on display. The intricate details of the weaving pulled me closer—the swirls of deep burgundy and gold threads forming a landscape of rolling hills and rivers, dotted with tiny figures, their faces forever lost to history. But there was something odd about it, something I couldn’t quite place.
“Isabella? Are you even listening?” Clara’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Yeah,” I mumbled, not taking my eyes off the tapestry. “Just… give me a minute.”
There was a strange warmth coming from the fabric, almost as if the threads were alive. I stepped closer, and that’s when I saw it. Hidden in the corner of the tapestry, barely visible, was a small compass. It glowed faintly, the needle spinning in a slow, deliberate circle. I leaned in, drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
“Isabella?” Clara’s voice came from behind me, more distant now, as if she were fading away.
I reached out without thinking, my fingers brushing the edge of the compass. The moment I touched it, the room around me vanished. There was a rush of wind, a blur of colors, and then— nothing.
***
I opened my eyes to sunlight.
For a moment, I thought I was still dreaming. The air smelled different, fresher, laced with the scent of lavender and something else—baking bread, maybe? I blinked, sitting up slowly. I was no longer in the museum. Around me were cobblestone streets and the sound of horse-drawn carts clattering in the distance. People bustled past, dressed in tunics and flowing gowns, their voices ringing out in a language I could only just understand.
Italian.
I staggered to my feet, my heart pounding. “What…?” I murmured, glancing around. It looked like Florence, but not the Florence I knew. This was a Florence from centuries ago.
Panic rose in my chest. What had happened? Where was Clara? I spun around, trying to find something familiar, but nothing made sense. My breath quickened as the world tilted slightly, my head swimming.
That’s when I felt a hand on my arm, firm but gentle. “Careful,” a deep voice said, steadying me.
I turned and found myself staring into the eyes of a man—tall, handsome, with dark hair and a sharp jawline. His eyes were a deep, stormy gray, filled with both curiosity and concern.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and rich, laced with an accent I couldn’t place.
“I… I don’t know.” My voice wavered as I looked at him, my mind still racing to make sense of what had just happened.
His grip on my arm softened, and he smiled faintly. “You seemed a bit… lost.”
“That’s an understatement,” I muttered, pulling away slightly but still feeling the warmth of his touch lingering on my skin.
He studied me for a moment, as if trying to figure out what I was doing here, dressed in clothes that didn’t belong to this time. “What’s your name?”
“Isabella,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Isabella.” The way he said my name sent a strange flutter through my chest. “I’m Leonardo.”
Leonardo. The name sounded so familiar, but my mind was too muddled to make the connection. He gave me a slow, easy smile, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Why don’t I help you find your way?” he offered, his voice gentle.
There was something comforting about him, something that made the panic inside me settle, just a little. I nodded, unsure of what else to do. “I… I think that would be good.”
Leonardo gestured toward the narrow street leading away from the marketplace. As we walked, the world around me seemed to blur, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. All I could focus on was him—his presence, the way he moved with a quiet confidence, the way his hand would occasionally brush against mine as we navigated the crowded streets.
“Florence is beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, glancing at me.
“Yes,” I replied, my voice distant. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t my Florence. And yet, somehow, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the city—or from him.
As we passed under an archway, the street opened into a small courtyard, tucked away from the bustling market. It was quieter here, more intimate, with ivy climbing the stone walls and flowers blooming in terracotta pots. I felt a strange sense of calm wash over me as we stepped into the space, the sounds of the city muffled by the surrounding buildings.
Leonardo stopped and turned to face me, his expression serious now. “You’re not from here, are you?”
I swallowed hard, my heart racing again. How could he know?
“I…” I started, but the words wouldn’t come. What could I possibly say? That I had touched a tapestry and somehow ended up hundreds of years in the past?
Leonardo stepped closer, his eyes searching mine. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said softly. “I’ve seen things that most people wouldn’t believe. I know when someone doesn’t belong.”
His words sent a chill down my spine, but not out of fear—out of something else. Something deeper. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him, but at that moment, I didn’t care. All I knew was that he understood me in a way no one else had.
“You…” I hesitated. “You seem different too.” He smiled, a small, secretive smile. “Perhaps.”
For a long moment, we stood there in the courtyard, the air between us thick with unspoken words. The sun cast a warm glow over the scene, but I could feel the weight of time pressing down on me, like the world was holding its breath.
Then, without warning, Leonardo reached out and took my hand. His touch was electric, sending a shock of warmth through my entire body. Our eyes locked, and for a brief moment, I felt as if I had known him forever—as if we were connected by something far greater than time.
But before I could say anything, a figure appeared in the shadows of the courtyard. A woman, watching us.
I pulled my hand away from Leonardo, my heart pounding. The woman stepped forward, her eyes locked on mine, her expression unreadable. She was tall, elegant, with dark hair and a cold, calculating look in her eyes. There was something about her that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.
Leonardo tensed beside me, his hand hovering protectively near mine. The warmth and safety I had felt moments ago evaporated, replaced by a creeping sense of dread.
The woman took another step closer, her eyes never leaving mine. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Who are you?” I demanded, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
She smiled—a cold, sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s just say, I’m someone who knows how dangerous it can be to meddle with time.”