Chapter Text
Ospedale della Pietà welcomed them on a drizzly, foggy afternoon, its beautiful and vast walls bewitching with their artistic splendour. Various frescoes, originating from the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance, stirred Marius’s awe as he ambled forth, accompanied by Sister Beatrice—a fair-looking maiden in her twenties—and his dearest wife, Pandora.
To describe Pandora with words was impossible; Marius had never thought a woman could have been equally as resplendent and superb. Long, sleek hair that shimmered brown, an oval countenance so pale, she bore a resemblance to a porcelain doll. Such arresting, wide green eyes, he always drowned in them miserably and helplessly. Tender-voiced, gentle, endearing and benevolent, and yet with her own demons and emotional baggage, sometimes prey to outbursts of fiendish, boundless anger. A mysterious, sensual creature, now wondrously wedded to him—as charming and alluring in her prime at the age of thirty, as she was during the times of her delightsome adolescence, when they had both crossed their paths for the very first time.
But now, as she walked right next to him, glancing around the orphanage’s marble walls, her eyes were lusterless. Once so effulgent, now she seemed appallingly vacant. Despite looking gracious and dignified in her pale coat, she was merely a phantom of her old self. Wan, chapped lips and a sallow face said it all—her soul was emptied, taken by grief that clung to her air like a silk veil that couldn’t possibly vanish.
Marius, by contrast, was most pristine—controlled, impeccably dressed, his pale golden hair slicked back as he traipsed forth in an opulent, crimson suit. Elegant and flawless, endowed with a forbidding air of someone who would always be respected, no matter where he went.
‘We house thirty-seven souls,’ Sister Beatrice said to them, as she beckoned them forth. ‘Boys from all types of environments. All children of the benevolent God. Do you have any offsprings of your own already?’
‘Yes, we have two beautiful boys, Riccardo and Albinus,’ Pandora responded with a suave smile, though sadness in her eyes only grew. ‘We were meant to welcome our third child into this world, but alas…’
At that, she halted in her speech and swallowed with hardship, her pale, winsome face caught in an obvious perturbation and sorrow.
‘My dear wife suffered a miscarriage,’ Marius spoke calmly, gently meandering with his gloved hand over Pandora’s tense shoulder.
‘My condolences,’ Sister Beatrice said sadly. ‘But it is not uncommon for couples to come to us after such misfortunes.’
‘Yes, we thought so,’ Pandora nodded wistfully, granting the woman a soft, downcast smile. ‘We tried again, but in vain. Doctors believe I will never be able to bear a child again. At first, we were distraught, of course, but… then we thought to ourselves that perhaps it was God’s will. And he destined us for different things.’
‘You are so very right,’ Sister Beatrice said sympathetically. ‘God tests us many times, but it’s always a part of his great design.’
‘And so, we are here,’ Pandora smiled gloomily, glancing to her right to meet Marius’s blue, detached eyes. ‘My husband and I agreed that we would channel this misfortune into something good. Perhaps this wound in our hearts will grow less tiresome when we take some agreeable angel under our wings, and give him warmth and love that we are so desperate to give.’
‘You’ve come to the right place,’ Sister Beatrice replied and led them forth towards the main hall. ‘Please, do follow me. Our boys are well-behaved, polite… and pious, of course. We take utmost care when it comes to their education. I am sure we will be able to find someone who fits best the kindness of your home.’
As they followed the woman, they passed a narrow corridor where children ran and played most jovially, giggling innocently to themselves. Pandora gazed at them with instant warmth in her wide eyes, and back at Marius, reaching to clutch at his right hand.
Marius granted her a reassuring, tender smile, though to say that he shared her enthusiasm would be a callous lie. He was ensnared in ennui and felt absolutely nothing. He did not care who they would bring home, if anyone—it seemed to him a tedious task, as though there wasn’t any difference between that and obtaining a new dog from the shelter. But he had enough of Pandora’s melancholic state, her endless weeping and slumberlessness, and if picking up a broken child under his roof would turn her gloom sweet—he was most merry to allow it. Everything it would take to placate her somehow and tranquilise her well enough for their blissful, harmonious household to return.
‘You mentioned on the phone you are not opposed to an older child?’ Sister Beatrice enquired, granting them both a polite smile. ‘What age are your boys?’
‘Riccardo is twelve, and Albinus is nine,’ Marius murmured absent-mindedly.
‘And what is it that you both do, if I may ask?’ Sister Beatrice asked curiously.
It was obvious, amusingly apparent, the way the woman scrutinised them both and their fine clothes, reaching conclusions that they were surely affluent. She wondered what their professions were, what wealth they possessed. Marius smirked at that.
‘I am a scholar,’ he said suavely, burying both hands in his pockets. ‘A historian. I lecture at Ca' Foscari sometimes, and conduct my research on Ancient Rome.’
‘Ah, splendid,’ the woman said with avid interest, and peered amicably at Pandora. ‘And yourself?’
‘I’m a psychiatrist,’ Pandora replied with a calm smile. ‘I specialise in neuropsychiatry, mostly.’
‘You two make quite a pair.’
Pandora simpered at that and glanced at Marius lovingly, tightening the hold of his gloved hand. Marius summoned up another one of his feigned smiles and kissed her tenderly on the pale, cold cheek.
They were led forth, as Sister Beatrice showed them a few of her favourite boys, but they did not capture Marius’s cold heart. Neither did they charm Pandora—she kept her pretty face poised and calm, though it was clear she wasn’t too sure about any of them. She was merely polite enough not to outwardly show her hesitancy.
Marius glanced at his watch, hoping they would soon return home. How dreary and tiresome it was. How benevolent of a husband he was, allowing such a charade to happen! He kept nodding his head politely, giving Sister Beatrice the impression he was indeed listening to her rant, despite being almost completely zoned out. Absent-mindedly, he cast then a nonchalant glance over the main room where some boys were sitting, when—
He froze, his mouth slightly parting in awe. He frowned. No, he couldn’t be this fortunate. A quiet gasp forsook his lips, and for a moment, the entire, pitiable world around him seemed to cease to exist.
He blinked a few times, unsure whether he was merely losing his sanity, as shivers coursed through his paralysed flesh. He stared at a child sitting in the corner of the room, tranquilly reading a book. And he couldn’t possibly look away.
The boy was beautiful—so devastatingly, exquisitely well-formed, that Marius could not believe his stupefied, stunned eyes. Round, angelic face, pale and glistening skin, and such mesmerising russet locks, the child seemed a divine semblance of Caravaggio’s Cupids. Enticingly thin, and yet beautifully proportional, as though God himself carved his likeness with a chisel upon marble.
And how still he was! Like a listless canvas, he exuded an air of flawless nonchalance and effortless beauty. The boy remained a paragon of quietude, as he was engulfed in the contents of some book that he clutched with his perfectly nimble, bony fingers.
Marius swallowed with difficulty and gave voice to his frenzy before he returned to his senses.
‘Him. Who is that boy?’
Sister Beatrice halted abruptly in her speech and sent Marius a baffled glance. And then, she wandered with her gaze towards the boy.
‘Ah.’
Pandora frowned, imparting her husband a confused look.
‘Marius?’
‘His name is Armand,’ Sister Beatrice said kindly, pointing gently at the boy’s graceful form from afar.
‘How old?’ Marius enquired flatly, though he already knew.
‘No more than fifteen,’ Sister Beatrice retorted, her voice equally cordial, and yet, for some unknown reason, slightly morose. ‘His documents were inconsistent. But… I’m not sure if he would be the right fit for you.’
‘Why?’ Pandora asked, suddenly her curiosity piqued.
‘Dear God,’ Sister Beatrice sighed and gently led them both outside the room. ‘Where am I even meant to commence? We… don’t usually get children like Armand.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘He… he’s had a difficult past.’
‘Haven’t we all?’ Marius asked softly.
Sister Beatrice glanced at the boy from afar, from the threshold. Her face was suddenly claimed by dismay and sadness.
‘We have plenty of boys that would surely benefit your household,’ she said warily, then peering back at Marius and Pandora. ‘No one wants him. Any time I share this poor boy’s story, I see the same look. Horror. Fear. No one wants to put a claim on him. And it’s sad, so terribly sad, but… it’s not really surprising, is it? Couples that come here want an innocent child, a blank canvas, not someone with a baggage so gravely harrowing.’
For a moment, no one spoke, as Pandora stood there stunned, her pale lips slightly parted, gently seizing Marius’s palm into her own.
‘What happened to him?’ she asked quietly, though there was some firmness in her frail voice that gave the impression that she already had some gruesome premonitions.
Sister Beatrice exhaled heavily and glanced at the crucifix hanging on the nearby wall. As though pleading for mercy.
‘Bartered for coin,’ she said dolefully, striving for a gentle whisper. ‘He was trafficked. Taken from a brothel last year during a sting. Wealthy clients. Prey to godless, evil men, forcing him to do despicable, abhorrent things. No parents on record, no substantial memory of them either, just a forged birth certificate and a boy who barely spoke a word. He didn’t even know his own name. We called him Armand.’
‘God,’ Pandora rasped with dread, as she quivered in distress.
‘He’s the sweetest boy I know,’ Sister Beatrice went on sadly, peering back at the child from behind the glass wall. ‘He doesn’t cry. He never causes any scenes. He does what he’s told, always, and he spends the majority of his free time reading. Other children here adore him. We gave him all the possible support we had. Weekly chats with a therapist, supplemental medication, and spiritual guidance. He’s deeply religious. When he doesn’t read, he paints. He paints Saint figures and makes beautiful ikons.’
Marius listened to her words as though enchanted, not blinking and fully focused on her speech. Swallowing hard, he glanced back at the boy’s beauteous form from afar, a sudden ache in his chest so mighty he wanted to holler.
How ardently he wanted to speak to him! How he desired to take him into his sinewy arms, crushing his thin, comely limbs into a strong, amorous embrace. It scared him, terrified him even—no one ever took possession of his mind so aptly and cruelly without even trying, and it was merely a fractured, frail child. A boy he hadn’t even known.
‘Now you know,’ Sister Beatrice sighed sadly and shook her head. ‘Every time I get the same reaction. No one wants to deal with such baggage. No one wants to take under their care someone so profoundly marred and bruised. I pray for him. Every day and night, I pray for him… But what can we do, eh? Let’s proceed, anyway, shall we? I have another wing to show you.’
Pandora rushed to follow her, when Marius hastily seized her arm and forbade her to walk away. They gazed at each other in silence, as mute understanding occurred between them—his firm, austere glare tearing through her feeble flesh.
‘He’s too old, Marius,’ Pandora whispered softly, though visibly perturbed from hearing the child’s tale.
‘Not that old,’ Marius said quietly, his voice slightly condescending.
‘I want a child, Marius. A real child… the one I could hold in my arms.’
‘A doll to soothe your misery?’ Marius asked with a mocking chuckle.
‘Marius—’
‘That’s not love, Pandora. That’s opium for your pained senses.’
Pandora opened her mouth and closed it back again, too stunned and dumbfounded.
‘I don’t want to fix anyone,’ she said quietly, her mien frowning. ‘I want someone whole. We’ve already had too much brokenness. We wallow in nothing but darkness. Grief and misery swallow us and our home within.’
‘Everyone is broken, Pandora,’ Marius smiled, patronisingly calm. ‘We are. And I assure you that all children here certainly are as well.’
‘Marius,’ she stressed firmly, making sure no one else could hear her. ‘He was sexually abused.’
‘And who will take care of him better than a wise mother who is a respectable psychiatrist,’ Marius murmured softly, tightening the grip around her arm, ‘and a father who is wealthy enough to fund anything he would require to heal?’
Pandora frowned, rendered speechless, and for a while merely gawked at the man.
‘You didn’t even hear him speak—’
‘I don’t need to.’
Pandora was confounded, blinking a few times as she couldn’t understand Marius’s erratic behaviour.
‘You’ve suffered, my love,’ Marius continued, his voice mellow and sweet, despite it being a callous manipulation. ‘You’ve bled for a child that never came. I watched you die in that hospital room. I want your light to return. Think it through, Pandora. Do not be emotional. Sleepless nights, a wailing infant, is that truly what you want? Is that what you need, when you are so vulnerable? He, still a boy and yet not a man, could be a companion to Riccardo and Albinus. And a soothing balm for our wounds. A meaning to our suffering.’
Marius’s words seemed to reach the depths of the woman’s soul, gently plucking at her most sensitive heartstrings, as she fought with all her willpower not to burst out weeping. Her sallow lips trembled as she pondered her answer.
‘Is it not the right thing to do,’ Marius added, a tranquil whisper endowed with an alleviating power, ‘to offer a home and love to one whom have been so disastrously failed by everyone else he’s ever met in his short-lived, frail life?’
‘Are you sure?’ Pandora asked him, hesitation writ large on her face. ‘Marius, truly… are you certain?’
Marius, for a while, said nothing, and then trudged with his gaze towards the form of Sister Beatrice, now visibly confounded over their entire interaction.
‘May we speak with the boy?’ he asked in a well-mannered tone.
‘Of… of course,’ Sister Beatrice said, overtaken by shock and mirth in equal measure. ‘Please, follow me.’
They entered the common room again, as Marius vehemently trembled all over, the jovial children around him turning to nothing but a blur, as he had his cold eyes fixed solely on the cherubic beauty sitting in the very corner. Almost as if he were praying, slightly curled up, resting his chin on his bony knees as he submerged himself in the book’s contents.
But then, rapidly, the boy tensed. Sensing them trudging near, he tightened his grip around the book and slowly, warily, tilted his winsome face upwards.
Meeting instantly Marius’s azure eyes, the boy remained motionless, as though his lithe limbs froze over utterly.
Marius’s heart skipped a beat as he plummeted into the abyss of the boy’s brown, drowsy eyes.
The child glanced quickly at Pandora, scrutinising her from head to toe, and wandered with his listless gaze back to Marius.
For some reason, his large eyes stayed on him.
‘Would you say hello to your guests, sweetheart,’ Sister Beatrice said softly to the boy, pointing at Marius and Pandora. ‘They would like to talk to you a bit, if that’s okay.’
Armand simply nodded his head, all this time, peculiarly silent.
Marius dropped to his one knee in front of the beauteous child, disregarding all the mob around him and whether his actions seemed appropriate. He wrestled with a violent urge to enfold the boy in his arms right there, tightening his wrinkled palms around his nubile, youthful flesh to the point of bruising him.
Clearing his throat, he wandered with his covetous gaze towards the boy’s supple mouth, dark red as though painted with crimson blood, enticing like dewy rosebuds. He imagined parting those bewitching lips with his fingers and pushing past them ripe strawberries and grapes. As he raked over the boy’s pale throat, slightly unveiled behind the alabaster-white sweater, he wished he could pour scarlet wine on that sleek, milky skin and draw his tongue over its surface, drinking the ambrosia of the boy’s sweat and helpless, shaky moans.
He meandered with his dreamy eyes back to the boy’s wide, imploring irises, and smiled in raw anguish.
‘Are you Christ?’ Armand asked quietly, not taking his gleaming eyes from Marius.
Marius gazed at the cross that the boy wore on his neck, making him seem almost chaste and virginal, despite the sordid reality, as though he was a divine offering put right on Marius’s altar for him to claim.
‘No,’ he replied softly, giving him a warm smile, as he reached to close the book that Armand clutched in his small hands. ‘But I come with my own salvation. My wife and I do. If you allow us. If you will grant us your trust.’
Armand said nothing, peering hastily at Pandora and then back at Marius.
Marius swallowed with hardship and drew closer, unable to stop himself. Weak with his desire, he gathered the boy close to himself, social norms be damned. He crushed the boy into a firm embrace and did his utmost for that little, frail angel to feel safe in the haven of his arms, and not the misery and fear he had been subjected to prior. Sheathing him from the entire world and all sorrow and doom, giving him solace and stability no man ever offered.
Pandora smiled, her lips trembling as she was moved to lambent tears, a few glistening drops marring her pale cheek. Thinking to herself that it was a miracle, a divine calling, the way the boy accepted docilely Marius’s embrace and melted into the sanctuary of his wide arms.
‘Let us take you home,’ Marius whispered, lovingly caressing the boy’s red locks as he pulled him upwards, not letting him flee his embrace even for a moment. ‘You are safe now, little one. You are safe.’
Armand only clutched his palms around Marius’s neck, hiding his face in the groove of his throat. So beautifully meek and acquiescent. Giving himself to Marius utterly, and without any fight.
Pandora quietly wept to herself, overtaken by joy and elation, as she gazed at them both and felt boundless warmth in her trembling chest. Knowing instantly it was a good decision and that her husband was right.
Completely unaware of what ghastly massacre was about to come.