Angels Feet Project

She felt a grasp of a strong hand on her wrist. So strong that the blood almost drained from the tips of her fingers.
– It’s dangerous. Someone could recognize you – he said.
At the market in Manfredonia, as in a kaleidoscope, winded forward native people, horses, carts and boats of the merchants, local and out-of-town, it smelled of fruit, shellfish, ginger, cardamom and cassia, imported from far way. She remembered like not so long ago, thanks to her strong will and stubbornness, they met here, in this place. “I am Torismondo. And you? Please, reveal your name to me.” „ I am the one who commands the streams and reflects the light of the moon”, resonated back in her memory.
– We need to go.
– One moment more – asked Giuturna fascinated by circus-like mixture of sounds, shapes and colours. Even more than the colourful fabrics what tempted her were the stands full of patterned cowries, from almost white and slightly dotted, to those resembling the fur of wild cats and the eyes on the butterfly wings. The bottom side of these tiny shells gave indistinguishable illusion of the female door to paradise, giving pleasure and life. Women milled around picking through them completely leaving their senses. Not so long ago they sacrificed them to the Goddess of Love. Nowadays were still buying them for the charms protecting from infertility and helping maintain pregnancy.
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