The return of Samuele, the Griffin, had left an echo of electricity in the house that refused to fade. It wasn't just the memory of that sudden storm on the beach or the taste of the rediscovered complicity with Belinda; it was something subtler—a seed planted in the heart of the new generation. Although Samuele had brought a designer perfume, a worldly gesture to celebrate Azzurra's blossoming femininity, the true focal point of his visit was enclosed in a small object that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
The second gift for his goddaughter was an amulet of singular and ancient beauty. It was a hand-blown glass pendant, crafted with artisanal precision in the shape of a waning crescent moon. Within the transparent cavity, sealed as if in a time bubble, rested a tiny leaf of wild chamomile, still vivid in its pale green, and a single grain of shining topaz—a golden spark that captured every ray of sun only to return it multiplied. The pendant hung from a soft leather cord, darkened by time, which Samuele himself had knotted with care.
"Chamomile for serenity, topaz for will," Samuele had explained as he handed it to her, his voice dropping an octave. "And the moon to remind you that every phase of life, even the darkest, is necessary to shine once more. Wear it always, Azzurra. It is a shield against the shadows you cannot see, but which might feel your warmth."
Azzurra was enchanted. From that moment on, the amulet became a part of her body. She wore it beneath her shirt, feeling the cool glass against her skin, which warmed as she moved. She would touch it in moments of uncertainty, squeezing the little moon between her fingers during school lessons or while studying in her room. However, there was one place where that protection had to be temporarily interrupted: the theater.
Her ballet mistress, a Russian woman of steel-like bearing and iron discipline, allowed no exceptions. To her, a dancer was an absolute work of art, a pure line that could not be broken by any earthly ornament. "No bracelets, no earrings, no necklaces," she would repeat in her sharp voice before every performance. "On stage, you are spirits of light, not Christmas trees. The body must be naked in its perfection."
This rule created a sort of silent anxiety in Azzurra. Separating herself from the amulet, even for the two hours of a show or a dress rehearsal, made her feel exposed, as if a part of her invisible armor were being removed at the very moment of maximum effort. But it was precisely within this tension that Samuele had glimpsed the transformation of his goddaughter.
On the final evening before his departure, Samuele called Azzurra to him in the villa's garden, as the shadows of the olive trees stretched long across the ground. Belinda watched them from the window, a cup of herbal tea in her hands, feeling her kidneys grant her a moment of respite, grateful for the domestic peace that Tiziana was protecting with her energetic presence in the kitchen.
"I feel your strength growing, little dancer," Samuele began, looking at Azzurra with a solemnity she had never seen in him before. "It is not just the strength of your muscles or the precision of your steps on pointe. It is something flowing through your veins—the same fire that burns in your mother and the same wisdom that dwells in the silence of your grandmother Anna."
Azzurra lowered her eyes, brushing the glass pendant through the fabric of her dress. "I only want to dance, Godfather. I'm afraid of that strength... I saw what it did to Mama."
Samuele shook his head, his sharp griffin-like profile etched against the violet sunset sky. "Your mother tried to bend the world to her will, and the world responded by striking her in her blood. But you are different. You are the bridge. Tomorrow, you will be the guardian of the magic that unites this family. It will not be a magic of demands, but of balance. That amulet is not a lucky charm; it is a reminder: the strength you carry within is greater than any piece of glass or leather. Even when you must remove it to dance, remember that the crescent moon will remain engraved in your spirit."
Those words resonated in Azzurra's heart like a vow. She felt a shiver run down her spine, a sensation of warmth starting from the pendant and spreading throughout her chest. She understood that her destiny was not tied only to the stage, but to a much older responsibility—an invisible thread that connected Belinda's embroidery to Anna's prayers, and which was now passing into her young hands.
In the days that followed, the presence of the amulet became a source of constant meditation for Azzurra. Even when, in the darkness of the wings, she had to slide off the leather cord and place it carefully inside a small velvet-lined box before taking the stage, Azzurra would close her eyes and visualize the chamomile leaf and the grain of topaz within her. She danced with a new awareness; her arabesques seemed to draw symbols of protection in the air, and every leap was an act of defiance against an adverse fate.
Belinda watched her daughter and saw the transformation. She saw how Azzurra was becoming the pillar of the house, the light that distracted everyone from the illness and the "lead." She knew Samuele was right: the torch had been passed. Magic was no longer a dark secret to be hidden between the pages of an old grimoire, but a vital, clean force manifesting in dedication to work, the rigor of dance, and the unconditional love that held the family together.
The Griffin's amulet was not merely an object; it was the seal of an alliance between the generations of women in that house. And as Azzurra prepared for the spring recital, Belinda felt that, despite the renal failure and the uncertainties of the future, her lineage was finally safe. The glass crescent moon shone on Azzurra's chest—a golden and green beacon announcing that the winter of the heart was, at last, over.
Should we move on to Chapter 44? We could describe the night of the recital, focusing on Azzurra's performance and a significant moment of healing or realization for Belinda.