La Gioconda e Da Vinci

Two figures stand at the foot of the grand marble steps, staring up at the elaborate entrance. Almost hidden by the vast pillars, the exquisite wooden door, a testament to the passage of time and craftsmanship, weathered by the years, its rich oak surface deep and steadfast. Delicate gilded hinges swirl, entwining with burnished vines: intricately curling into flowing tendrils, before encasing the door’s edges. The knocker, a traditional lion’s head, stares out wisely; simultaneously warning them off and enticing them in. The rounded golden door knob glows softly in synchronicity with the waning moon.

Both stand upright, proud. She smiles at him delicately. bringing the hood of her cape further over her head, leaving whispers of dark hair caressing her alabaster cheekbones. She nods almost imperceptibly before ascending the glistening white steps. He pauses, his long white beard streaked with the shadows of the moon. He straightens his beret and follows her trail. His steps light and untroubled. He almost waltzes to his destination.

She glances back at him, furtively before disappearing through the soild wooden door.

He arrives on the top step. Taking a moment to memorise the details

Next to the door, embedded in the enveloping wall. A gold leaf plaque, engraved in the black lettering of eras past, reads, ‘The Great and Auspicious Library of Living Tales’.

He too filters through the door.

Inside, the books swirl upwards towards the painted ceiling. Adorned with an intricate mural or branches and twigs, woven and intertwining, revealing in the empty spaces, the freedom of skies. Salla delle Asse. Complete, he smiles to himself. Nodding with satisfaction.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of the disappearing fabric of her cloak and follows her quickly into the reading room. Carefully locking the door behind them.

Turning to meet her gaze, she has removed her cloak and her hair falls into a charcoal frame around her face. Her half smile tentative but open, she holds out an ancient tome, leather bound and featuring filigree lettering. He nods. Understanding setting into his eyes. He breathes heavily. Simultaneously mesmerised and disconcerted under her gaze.

He pirouettes towards the statuesque shelves and reaches upwards, selecting the book he wishes to present her.

She takes it carefully. It is a treasure. Her eyes never waver from his.

He sits at the long table first. Tracing the burnished symbols on the cover of the book with his delicate fingers, ‘La Gioconda’. She takes his lead and settles into her own high backed chair ‘Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci’ she stokes the cover with her fragile hand. Their eyes meet, before they glance away - shy, awkward in each others hearts. They focus downwards and begin to read.

He reads of her Florentine life. He had always felt an allure to Florence, the symmetrical design of the city streets calmed his capricious soul. He found peace in its order. It was partly why he had become so enamoured with town planning and the organisation of architecture. She on the other hand had found freedom in the cobblestoned pathways, drawn to the exquisite allure of the Santa Maria del Fiore. She had visited as a child, listening to the lyricism of Latin, lost in her own make believe. It was a magpie’s childhood. Her wings uninhibited and her mind flowing with the riches of art and song.

He smiles gently at the thought of the younger Lisa. A beauty long before she had sat across from him, her smile speaking of self-containment and a contentment that had made him curious. They had barely spoken. She an object to be created. He a craftsman, paid for a service. But he had often wondered about her. And she, in the back of her mind, him. His creative sensibilities reminded her of her childhood fantasies.

She scrutinises him across the table, drinking in his reactions. Curious about his thoughts. She returns her gaze to his book and begins to read.

His life had been much as she had imagined in her late night wakefulness, satiated with creation and curiosity. Filled with the scientific and prolific. The stars and the earth. She reads of The Baptism of Christ, a faint glimmer of recognistion crosses her brow. She remembers it from her visits as a young woman to the San Salvi Church, she remembers she had mused about the blackbird in the background. Thinking it rather odd and wondering what it could mean against all of the other iconography.

Turning the page, she pauses, gasping audibly. He looks up. Their eyes lock as they simultaneously encounter themselves.

Engrossed, he reads of her enduring acclaim. The painting of a faint smile that captured the world. Tears of validation pool in his eyes. She reads of her own visage, the enigmatic mouth that speak beyond the mundanity of her life. Fondly, she remembers the day she had sat before him, thinking how very frivolous of Francesco to commission the artist but at the same the gesture of love had brought a faint smile of gratitude to her lips.

They walk together through the door of the reading room, each nurturing what they had come to find.

She turns to him, a recognisable, indistict smile illuninating her visage as she disappears amongst the forest of books. He watches her slender form vanish into fiction.

He glances up at the domed ceiling, one last time, gazing in wonderment at the realisation of his own creation.

For more Tales from The Great and Auspicious Library:

Not a challenge but a call to arms if you will! The library is feeling a little empty, so why not grab a collab partner or just yourself and help fill it up-Post your awesome creations below. A Vocal collection of living tales!