With the celebration of Mabon and the definitive closing of the cycle of grief, the Villa had transformed into a place of quiet. The spiritual inheritance was safe. But life, like the Wheel that Belinda had learned to love, never stops. The next festival was not on the Wheel of the Year, but on the map: Samuele's wedding in London. Belinda accepted the invitation with unexpected enthusiasm. After months spent digging through her lineage's past, she felt an urgent need to detach, to breathe air different from the salty and volcanic air of Sicily. For three days, she would just be Belinda, not the guardian of the Lighthouse, not the mother, not the wife.
The farewell was sweet and light. Azzurra was distracted by the promise of a new story from her father, and Elia let her go with confidence. Belinda hugged him, knowing that the love they shared was strong enough to sustain a brief absence. "I will return with new energy," she promised him. In her suitcase, next to an elegant forest-green silk dress, was the locket, and safely protected, the Ostara embroidery. But the most precious cargo she carried on the flight was invisible: her Sun. A Sicilian sorceress, accustomed to the blinding triumph of Litha, never travels without her inner source of light. Even if the North would greet her with cold and fog, Belinda knew that her mere presence—her tamed volcanic fire—would guarantee a sufficient ray of light to guide her and illuminate her surroundings.
The flight carried her from the warm, almost aggressive light of the Mediterranean to the gray, vibrant canvas of the Thames. She landed at Heathrow, where the air struck her with a cold, biting freshness that did not exist in Sicily. The fog was light, not thick and suffocating as it sometimes is on the coast, but ethereal, almost gilded by the streetlamps. Her brother, Mattia, and his wife, Erica, were there to meet her. Living with them in their cozy North London apartment was a balm, a return to family affection without the complex shadows of Sicilian roots. On the streets, Belinda immediately felt tiny and anonymous, a feeling that allowed her to relax the shoulders tense from the weight of discovery. London told stories of commerce, power, and continuous reinvention, stories very different from the geological stratification of her island. People moved with a frantic efficiency, but beneath this rhythm, there was a total acceptance of diversity, a melting pot of languages and cultures that recharged her, giving her a new perspective on her own struggle for dignity.
Contrary to the weather forecasts, and in this, Belinda saw the discreet work of her portable Sun, London was perpetually illuminated by a low, oblique winter sun for those three days. It was not the merciless glare of Sicilian noon, but a filtered, almost shy light that still managed to make the red bricks of the Victorian buildings shine and warm her face. Mattia and Erica took her around, and the city's wonders revealed themselves in this unusual light. They walked along the South Bank, where the modern architecture of the National Theatre merged with historical solidity, and Tower Bridge, whose iron and stone structure looked like a benevolent giant, stood against a pale blue sky—a perfect symbol of balance between ancient and modern. They crossed Westminster, where the Gothic spires of the Palace and the tall figure of Big Ben—severe and majestic—testified to the long, inexorable march of time.
But it was in the Royal Parks that Belinda felt magic converge with order. They visited St. James's Park, where the trees were bare, but their skeletal architecture was sharp and beautiful, drawing complex patterns against the sky. Despite the frost, the lawn was intensely green, a sign of the resilience of Northern life. Belinda paused to watch the ducks swimming placidly in the lake. It was the Imbolc of London: the promise of life resisting the cold, a familiar theme for someone who had rediscovered the Wheel of the Year. Her inner sun made every scene more vivid, transforming cold reality into a poetic anticipation. Even more touching was the visit to Kew Gardens. Despite being the dead of winter, the Palm House offered a tropical refuge, a microcosm of humidity and lush vegetation that reminded her of the exuberance of her island. But outside, in the formal gardens, Belinda saw the true work of the Wheel. The flower beds were now dormant, but their arrangement was impeccable, their geometric structure perfect—a triumph of human planning. She understood that her Mom's care and order were like the design of these gardens: even in rest, the form is maintained to guarantee future flourishing. The low sun followed her, almost a magical exaggeration. For Belinda, it was proof that the wisdom of the cycles, once accepted, gives you control over your inner atmosphere, wherever you are.
Samuele and his partner's wedding ceremony took place on Saturday afternoon, in a historic yet luminous hall in the Chelsea area. The environment was saturated with white, elegant, and highly fragrant flowers. Samuele, usually laconic and impeccably dressed, was radiant. Seeing him so happy, finally complete, filled Belinda with a pure joy that had nothing to do with her complicated inheritance. The ceremony was intense and deeply moving. The grooms chose vows that spoke of resilience, choice, and construction. When Samuele looked at his partner and declared, in a firm voice, that love is an act of will and courage, Belinda felt tears well up. The scene struck her with the same intensity as the discovery of Mom's embroideries.
She understood that the wisdom of the cycles, Uncle Carmelo's dignity, and the love she had found with Elia were all aspects of one, fundamental truth: life is what you choose to build, not what you are forced to inherit. The struggle for dignity had not ended with the discovery of the Wheel; it had recommenced there, in the daily commitment to light and personal truth. When the couple was pronounced husband and husband, the applause was a wave of sincere joy. Belinda stood up, feeling rejuvenated, emptied of the last remnants of the past.
Back at Mattia and Erica's home, before sleeping, she took out the locket. She was thousands of kilometres from the Villa, yet she was closer than ever to her true essence. London had given her the gift of distance, allowing her to see her Sicily not as a prison of history, but as a precious source of strength. She knew that upon her return, she would have enough inner light to face not only the possibility of the mysterious cellar, but any future that awaited her. The Sicilian sun, a faithful companion even beneath the fog, was ready to go home. The physical distance between her beloved brother and her beloved sister-in-law remained a heartache, both being Belinda and Elia's best friends, yet too far, too absent for the Sicilian conception of family.