The decision to accompany Agnes to her village, to immerse herself in a different reality, had brought Lysandra a strange and welcome sense of calm, an anchor amidst the turbulent sea of her emotions. But Thorne Mansion, with its walls imbued with secrets, wasn't finished with her that Friday night.
Before retiring to her own room to pack a small bag for the trip to the village, an irresistible impulse guided her back to her parents' suite, towards the arcane chest that remained the epicenter of her revelations. The silver key turned in the lock with an almost complicit familiarity. The jaguar energy, that subtle but persistent vibration she now felt as a latent yet active part of her being, seemed to sharpen her senses, her intuition.
This time she didn't look for letters or photographs. Her hands, moving with a confidence that surprised her, explored a deeper compartment of the chest, one she had overlooked in her previous searches, hidden beneath a false bottom of faded velvet. And there, nestled like forgotten treasures, she found two personal diaries.
One was voluminous, bound in dark, worn leather, its paper thick and yellowed with age; undoubtedly her father, Julian's, diary. The other was smaller, more delicate, covered in a pale blue silk, similar to that of the ribbons tying some of his letters: Elara's, her mother's. The echoes emanating from them were incredibly potent, a cacophony of intimate thoughts, hopes, fears, joys, and pains that made her shudder.
Lysandra held them in her hands, the weight of those concentrated lives pulsing against her palms. For an instant, she hesitated. Opening them felt like an even greater transgression than reading their letters, an intrusion into the most sacred and private corners of their souls. But curiosity, that insatiable thirst to understand the truth of her parents, to decipher the enigma of their lives and their disappearance, was stronger. She didn't open them right then; her parents' room didn't feel like the right place for such a revelation. With sudden resolve, she carefully slipped them into the carry-on bag she planned to take to the village. There, in the quiet of the jungle, perhaps she would find the moment and the fortitude to face their contents.
She retired to her room, her heart pounding with a mixture of apprehension and an almost feverish excitement. She took a hot shower, the water washing away the day's fatigue, and slipped into bed. Surprisingly, despite the whirlwind of thoughts and the impending journey, sleep welcomed her with an unusual placidity, as if the decision to accompany Agnes and the possession of those diaries had granted her a kind of internal truce, a sense of being, finally, on the right path, however uncertain and full of mysteries it might be. She fell deeply asleep, lost in a sea of formless thoughts, cradled by the silence of the mansion.
A few hours later, at four o'clock on Saturday morning, her phone's alarm vibrated softly on the bedside table. Lysandra awoke instantly, the placidity of sleep still clinging to her eyelashes, but with a clear awareness of the purpose of that ungodly hour. Fernando and Ruby were leaving for the airport shortly.
She dressed quickly in the pre-dawn gloom, choosing comfortable clothes for the trip to the village she would undertake later with Agnes. As she descended the stairs, she found Fernando already in the foyer, checking his phone, while Ruby, with her natural elegance even at that hour, watched the sunrise that was just beginning to hint at itself through the large windows.
The goodbyes were brief but filled with affection. Fernando hugged her tightly. "Take good care of yourself, hermanita (little sister). And take care of Nana. I'll be back before you know it, and then you can tell me all about your adventures in that village lost in the jungle."
"You take care too, Fer," Lysandra replied, feeling the familiar pang of sadness at his departure. "Safe travels."
Ruby approached and, to Lysandra's surprise, hugged her as well, a warm, spontaneous gesture. "It's been an immense pleasure meeting you, Lysandra," she whispered, her green eyes shining with a sincerity that moved Lysandra. "I hope our paths cross again very soon. I feel like we've barely begun to discover interesting things."
As the car that would take Fernando and Ruby to the airport disappeared into the darkness preceding dawn, Lysandra stood for a moment on the mansion's threshold. The cool early morning air caressed her face. And suddenly, with overwhelming force, curiosity invaded her again, more intense, more pressing than ever.
The diaries. Her parents' diaries were right there, in the bag she had left packed in the living room. The story of their lives, their most intimate thoughts, their best-kept secrets, were within her reach. The promise of answers, or perhaps more questions, called to her with an almost painful urgency. What truths did those yellowed pages hold? What revelations about the passionate love she had discovered, about the tragedies they had faced, about the mysterious "island that calls"?
Suspense enveloped her like a thick fog. The adventure in Agnes's village would have to wait a few more hours. But the real exploration, the one that would lead her to the heart of Julian and Elara Thorne's enigma, was about to begin, and Lysandra felt a shiver of anticipation run down her spine. The night had not yet surrendered all its secrets.