#Quante miglia alla mia redenzione ora?

[dearestwoods]

13.

Buona festa di Santa Lucia.

There was always a paradoxical sort of quality to Saint Lucia for me—one part life, one part death. For Father, she was a promise of brighter days to come; for Mother, a warning of infinite darkness. And yet this man of winter and this woman of summer somehow found love in their contradictions.

On December 13th, 1872, a match was struck. Someone, perhaps, should have snuffed it out.