Ciro slowly came back to consciousness in a fashion that can only be described as much more difficult than his usual waking. There was a raging pain in the back of his head and he was unfathomably dizzy. Food. He needed blood. He determined this desperate desire for sustenance in his state of lethargy and tried to stand. Only, he already was standing.

Suddenly, his hunger was subsided to make room for confusion. He was not lying on the tiled foyer ground where he fell asleep in a puddle of his own tears, but rather standing involuntarily. He could sense the closeness of all walls around him and determined that he was in a very small space, tied and leaning against one of the walls.

“Wha-…” he whispered to himself, incapable in his state of forming proper thoughts on the matter. He shifted his weight forward, and fell with a thud on the wall opposite of the one his back was leaning on.It was the door. The force of the blow caused the old wooden exit to budge slightly forward with a loud CRACK. He noticed dully that the sudden pain in his face was effectively evening out the still throbbing pain in the back of his head. He ignored his injuries and leaped his tied feet forward. He headbutted the door once again, and it barged open, freeing him from the confined space.

Ciro toppled forward and landed on the ground, still tied to look like a humanoid caterpillar. He inched forward, lifting his hips then descending, slowly moving into what he perceived as a hallway. With a sinking panic, he suddenly understood that his wooden chest of necessities was nowhere around him, and he processed the growing fear that he was not alone in his new home. “Hello?” he cried out, looking around as much as his poor range of vision would allow.

The halls were quiescent, void of any sign of life. Ciro called again, trying to determine who his captor was. “HEY! Is anyone here?!” He called again, but with the exception of a dull echo ricocheting his voice from the old walls, the house was silent. He found a nail sticking out from the hallway ground and he inched towards it. The twine caught on the protruding metal and prevented him from moving further without a great deal of force. He backed up then thrusted forward, forcing the rope against the nail and enough of it snapped. He ripped off the binding that forced his hands together, then freed himself of the other binds.

Ciro stood up hesitantly and searched his surroundings. The hallway was poorly lit, though he could make out the general scenery. There was a lavish red rug with golden trimming covering the wooden floor and several doors on all sides. The closet he came from was at the end of the hall, and descending stairs were on the other end.

“Helloooo??” Ciro hollered as he walked across the ornate carpet. “Is someone here?” He briefly put his ears against each of the doors, confirming that there was no sound, before he made his way to the spiral staircase. He carefully stepped down the stone bricks and found himself on the far side of the foyer where he entered the building.

Relief filled Ciro’s body as he noticed his wooden chest was where he left it, sitting carelessly by the beaten door. He ran to it, temporarily forgetting about his confusion and examined it. It had been tampered with, though whoever tried getting inside could not get past the iron chains and locks. Ciro wrapped his arms around the wood with a sincere love that was far to embarrassingly intimate to be shared with an inanimate object.”I’ll never leave you again,” he whispered to the box. He was suddenly thankful that whoever had captured him was not making themselves obvious.

Ciro stood up and collected himself after his public display of affection and lifted the box. He carried it back to the closet where he found himself only moments ago and set it down. “You’ll be safe there.” he reassured it, before closing the door with it inside. Now, it was time for him to explore.

On the top floor, he found several bed chambers, all as extravagantly and elegantly decorated as the hallways. The rooms were in such good condition for their age that despite the layer of dust and cobwebs lining each furnishing, the beds were still made. Ciro took note of some of the nicer bedrooms, keeping in mind which he would make his once he figured out what was happening and could begin truly living here.

Ciro’s fingers brushed one of the more extravagant doorknobs of an entry he had yet to pass to. Based on the fine craftsmanship of the bronze doorknob, he was certain that the room lying beyond would be the most opulent yet. He twisted the knob with no hesitation, and to his surprise, found not a bedroom, but instead an upstairs foyer. It was large and had the intentional feeling of openness, with high ceilings and windows lining the walls. Embroidered, draping curtains casted shadows on the whole room, though two glass patio doors could be seen on the other side. Ciro stepped onto the tile flooring and felt a chill run through his body as the cold, stillness of the white room rushed over him.

There were little decorations in the room, save for a few portraits hung on the wall and flowers on small, round tables. The centerpiece of the room, however, was what caught Ciro’s attention. The most elegant piano stood with such charm and grace that he felt crude simply being in its presence. Unlike most other things in the home, there was no dust covering its painted exterior. It was just as, if not more, extraordinary than it would have been nearly four centuries ago.

Ciro was drawn to it. Though he was never much for music, its beauty moved his feet without his knowledge. Soon, he was sitting on its bench, getting a closer look at the each key and the sparkling interior which could be seen through its lifted roof. His interest in the instrument was so overpowering, he didn’t even notice he was in the presence of someone, until they spoke.

“Who are you?” a voice inquired in English. The words were at first foreign to Ciro, though he processed them momentarily. He had learned a total of twelve languages besides Italian in his lifetime, and he was proud to say English was one of the better. It was clear that the voice was trying to seem intimidating, though the high pitch removed some of its threat. Ciro whipped his head around and found a girl standing behind him. She looked to be young, and he found himself comparing her to Cecilia. She seemed to be roughly the same age, though her appearance was… different. She had thick, shoulder length blonde hair in ringlets and a scowl on her face. She was wearing what Ciro presumed to be a costume (likely found from one of the many untouched closets in the house) of a very old dress, and she was holding a ladle towards him as a weapon. He noticed immediately that there was a large dent in the ladle, and the pain in the back of his head began to throb once again. He cocked his head to the side, processing her, and she spoke again. “I said ‘Who are you?!’, trespasser?”

Ciro let out a small laugh and answered in Italian. “I’m Ciro.”

The girl’s eyes widened at the surprise of a different language and she momentarily lost her scowl. She brought the ladle closer to his head. She spoke a conglomerate of garbled Italian words, none having any association with each other or making any sense collectively. Ciro let out a hearty laugh and the girl’s intimidating scowl turned to anger as she frustratedly stomped her right boot. She spoke slowly in Italian and her word seemed more like a pleading request than an order as she said, “English...”

Ciro’s mouth turned into a playful smirk. He looked up at her and with a smile announced in very quick Italian a harmless mistruth. “I don’t speak English,”. The girl was very frustrated by not only his words, but his attitude and very, very suddenly the ladle disappeared from his vision. He had a short time to process this before there was another throbbing pain in his head and all of his vision went away. He felt gravity suddenly become much stronger as his body fell backwards off the piano stool and onto the cold, tile floor.