Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
16 April 2011 @ 01:29 pm
[It's just another ordinary day in Mayfield. The weather is warm enough that for once Romana dares to wear something that doesn't cover her arms. It's still modest enough, and seeing how he body has lost all traces of it scars, she feels confident in her choice.

For once she feels content. The sun is bright, birds are chirping, and she's managed to find all the ingredients she needs for her Easter feast. And even though she could have taken her vespa to the shop, she chose to walk with the last of the groceries, some deeply repressed part of her wanting to enjoy the sunshine and crisp air.

Stopping outside 750 Partridge lane, Romana opens the mail box, pulling out a few bills, as well as a letter addressed to her. A slight frown forming, she opens it, the frown deepeningen only a photograph slides out. The courtyard of the church of her namesake... in it's ruin...

The photo falls from her hand, as well as the rest of the mail and groceries as Romana shrieks in agony, clutching her left shoulder and falling to her knees as a ugly red burn scar appears, covering her forearm, the marks on her chest covered by her dress.]