Early Morning

Florence, Tuscany – January 1840

Natsu slowly opened her eyes. Spiders of frost had crawled onto the window and settled overnight – now thawing under a steady gaze of the watchful sun. Nestled in her blankets on the floor, she observed them gradually disappear before rising to face the day.

She had never become accustomed to sleeping on the bed within her dormitory. On the first night she was beset with a sense of uneasiness as the foundation of feathers threatened to swallow her up whole. Guided by the light of the moon, she conceded defeat and fashioned a place to sleep on the floor.

Another attempt had ended in disaster as she found herself suddenly awake, nursing a painful bruise on her shoulder after falling out of bed. Following further sleepless nights, she had used a small amount of her dwindling funds to buy a sturdy mat to sleep on.

Natsu sighed deeply as she splashed ice water onto her face from a small basin opposite the bed. It was but one of the many challenges of living in Florence that she had failed to overcome.

She peeked out of the window and was met with silence. No footprints disturbed the soft layer of snow remaining on the ground outside. A gentle wind tickled her cheeks before she pulled herself back inside.

In Osaka she had regularly woken up early to help her mother with morning preparations, venturing out onto the bay at dawn. Natsu revelled in the commotion; the clatter of crates as sailors unloaded fish onto the docks, the sea birds howling as they dived for scraps, and the merchants waving their arms angrily in protest.

In the early winter mornings at the academy, not a soul stirred but her own. Today she was free to explore the grounds and beyond prior to starting her portrait practice with Louis at noon.

Natsu pulled on a pair of black woollen breeches before settling into her favoured scarlet coat. A clash of colours and layers of fabric dominated the arts in Italy. She was proud of the modest collection of clothes she had acquired since arriving, the styling in European fashion had swiftly grown on her and she sought to match her peers where she could. She laughed quietly to herself as she wrestled a wig over her tangled hair before sliding on a pair of shiny boots.

Stepping out of the dormitory, Natsu looked up. Etched into the high corridor ceiling was a sky of flowers spiralling off in every direction. Tulips boldly bloomed above her as she walked towards the eastern wing of the academy. Her professor had told her of the man responsible – a supposedly sour individual who had retired to the edge of Florence after a rumour spread about his trembling hands. She was reminded to keep any future ailments to herself lest they ruin her chances of gaining employment.

Natsu reached the eastern wing and discreetly pushed open a set of heavy double doors leading into an antechamber. She was suddenly surrounded by portraits of old academy professors, each ready to look sternly down upon any student that might disturb their gathering.

She wandered over to her favourite, Jacopo Avellino. Many of the other professors paraded long side-whiskers, flowing locks and tight curls framing serious expressions. But Jacopo Avellino was different, someone of a more feminine profile looked back at her, smiling with delight. She had never seen such a portrait and was unable to determine who completed it.

It was widely known that upon retirement of a professor, their most favoured student of the time would be commissioned to paint their portrait for the academy collection. It was rumoured that Jacopo did not want to reveal who their favourite student was, so no personal mark or signature was made. Her own professor had lately began reminding everyone during workshops that he was getting old.

Pushing away runaway thoughts of her own work joining the collection one day, she walked through the antechamber and entered the great hall. A towering seascape sat above the doors at the end of the hall leading to the courtyard. Billowing sails and explosions of gunpowder depicted a ship of the line under attack on a blazing horizon.

She remembered approaching the port of Livorno, carried by a tiny fishing vessel which had travelled around the coast of Italy. She woke to the sound of the crew scrambling to their stations and preparing to land. She raced to the deck, after spending what felt like her whole life at sea, Natsu was desperate to reach Florence.

A towering figure blocked sight of the docks in the distance. She found herself trembling and retreating to the stern of the ship as the Capri stormed towards them. She held her breath as its passage cast long, lasting shadows across the deck.

Men in brightly coloured uniforms shouted out commands as dozens of sailors danced across the rigging, pulling ropes and handling sails. It felt like a dream. Her father sometimes let her go aboard the ships in Osaka. She marvelled at their size and loved to race him from bow to stern when nobody else was on the docks. But as the warship thundered off into the open sea, she realised then that the world was far bigger than she had ever imagined.

Natsu walked out into the courtyard and approached the watchman standing beside the academy gates. He looked up curiously as she approached.

I’m picking up supplies for my coming workshop.

It’s a little early, isn’t it?

I want to reach the Forum before it becomes busy. 

The watchman shrugged his shoulders and opened the gates. She left the academy grounds and set out to explore even further today.