The Dawn Of Sin. Valentino Grassetti

      I violate the canvas with nervous, impulsive and powerful brush strokes.

      Nicole Dubuisson went out of her way to delight Paolo Magnoli with certain erotic games he loved to define très rare, where sex was often a note on the side-lines of their complicated lives.

      In bed, Nicole needed neither love nor perversion. No handcuffs, ropes or whips to injure the flesh and relieve the scars of the soul. No feeling, pure or indecent it was, gave her pleasure. Nicole enjoyed only enjoying the taste of revenge.

      She had sex with Paolo Magnoli because she had an outstanding account with her husband. A list of small and large misunderstandings, a long-lasting mourning list had led her to hate her spouse to the point of keeping him close, but only to be able to get rid of her own way. In fact, Nicole had decided to ruin his life without stamped papers. No goodbye jobs brought up by the immoral fees of certain lawyers. If Paolo Magnoli made sense of the miseries of his life by having Nicole put a twelve heel in the ass, for her to indulge the erotic fantasies of a depraved lover represented nothing more than one of the many moves of a chess game played against the very concept of marriage . Such a castrating institution was to be punished. This was his recurring thought every time he left the house wearing lace panties and winking smiles.

      The two lovers lived in Castelmuso, a village of fifteen thousand souls, a geographical point suspended in time placed on a hill close to the Adriatic Sea.

      A sign informed tourists that the country was counted among the most beautiful villages in Italy. It stood on the highest point of a pleasant hill, where the houses, the sumptuous and decadent buildings, the vaults thrown between the alleys, the dangling arches were an invitation to touch with hand those stones full of the energy of all their ghosts.

      Sandra, Paolo Magnoli's wife, drove her husband out of the house when the psychologist told her that the children were ready to give up the presence of such a degenerate father. A week after being sent away from the family, they found Paolo's body near the farmhouse I Cavalieri. An elastic tie dangled from the branch of a robust olive tree: his last tie.

      The inhabitants of Castelmuso said that he got crazy because of what they called the perfect poker: four aces made of coca, whiskey, debts and vaginas that sucks Mastercard. Daisy, Paolo Magnoli's daughter, was twelve when the tragedy happened. Adriano one less. The two children never forgave their father for leaving such a cowardly life.

      But this was now part of the past.

      1

      The first Thursday of the month was a particularly grey day. The low clouds had settled on the roofs, the drizzle beating insistently on the school windows. Despite the weather Daisy Magnoli had the sun in her pocket. The news that had been waiting so long had come and he could not hide his enthusiasm. He did not attend the psychology course until the break.

      He entered the classroom with his umbrella turned by the wind, his coat dripping, a cake decorated with a curl of silver ribbon and a smile that would have made that moment perfect. She was ready to report the news of the news. But first she had to rely on a ritual, something that would not break the balances, as she liked to call them. The thing was in fact rather delicate, and the girls were certainly not saints in earth. Especially those of the last year, sailed snakes that made no discounts to anyone.

      Those who attended the psychology course knew that a good harmony or, on the contrary, a complete disagreement was necessary among the students. Daisy knew how much the contrasts trained the temperament and formed the character, animating the discussions. But in classroom B of the Giacomo Leopardi high school there was neither one nor the other. The relationships between the girls could be considered rather vague and indefinite, enough to induce them to pretend they were all more or less friends with each other.

      Daisy took off her coat, placed the box she had just picked up from Le Romainson the desk, the pastry shop in front of the high school. She blew a tuft of soft, smooth hair that

      covered her forehead. He wanted to scrutinize the row of desks, from which his companions peered. They all wanted to know but none of them dared to ask.

      The dessert, however, was a clue.

      Daisy untied the bow and unwrapped the cake. He took a pack of plastic plates out of his backpack, removed the nylon and sliced the puff pastry delicacy.

      The girls already disagreed about the dessert. Those on a diet thanked and even avoided tasting it. The others, convinced that food restrictions wasted more time than excess pounds, tasted the cake considering it something similar to their idea of paradise.

      «Come on, tell us how it went!» Lorena Rossi asked excitedly appreciating the soft fragrance of the flan parisien, with its delicate lemon aftertaste.

      "Oh well … where do I start? Let me think, ”Daisy began, her eyes sparkling to chase exciting memories. He wanted to tell everything. But the balanceswere balances, and she had to be careful. He took a breath, the feeling that everything he had to say, the words, the phrases to conjugate, the letters themselves of the alphabet were struggling to come out. At that moment he had a strange fantasy: he imagined the sloping roof shape of the A to stick on the sternum, the curves of the B push behind, as well as the half-curves of the C and the concave and convex lines of the whole alphabet.

      The little speech she had prepared seemed not to want to come out of her mouth. The imagination persisted in not making her give the News of the News. "How did it go … right, then: I arrived with my mother at the Hotel Granduca, the four-star hotel along the main road” she finally managed to say. “There were a lot of people outside. At first I had an exaggerated squeeze, then I calmed down and thought "dirty misery, here we will be sleeping." Fortunately I discovered that many had appeared. Guys sent from production. In

      short, a little scene for the backstage to be seen on television. There were about fifty who were there for the audition. "

      "Shit. The bell. We have little time, "Lorena nibbled her lips, urging the girls to finish the cake.

      "And then? Then what happened?» Asked her friend anxiously, who started to gather plates and cutlery scattered around the counters.

      "Then I went into the conference room” Daisy continued.

      “They had set up a kind of rehearsal room. Low lights. Spotlights on the face, sweat, blush dripping on the cheeks and all that stuff there. There were three guys sitting at the table with bored faces and dead-bitch expressions. The base has started. I sang for a minute, I think. Then they took the music off. I stood still, didn't breathe and waited for the verdict, but they kicked me out without even looking at my face. I say, not even a look that it is one! I thought they didn't catch me. Point. End of the story. For two weeks I sent the big cams to fuck, then, all of a sudden, when I started to stop thinking about it … surprise! She has arrived! She ran agile and graceful on the telephone line, I on the other side to pick up the phone. You, the call, finally came. "

      Daisy held her breath before the words began to flow smoothly and weightlessly.

      «Girls, hold on tight. I will participate in the next edition of Next Generation. »

      A murmur of wonder meandered between the pews. A lot of compliments followed, some