Of volume lineage

How The Story Ends

Isabella

The zip ties dug into my wrists.

My soft skin didn’t share my sentiments of being created and forged from iron. No, beneath the pressure, my skin split like a soft peach, summoning blood and pain to the surface.

But that was the least of my worries.

They had trapped me in the back of a truck, which was rotten with dried blood and molding in each corner. I couldn’t see very well but the smells told me all I needed to know–this was transport.

And I was being delivered to my death.

I struggled against the restraints, but each movement summoned a new feeling of anguish. My arms ached, my ribs were bruised, my stomach hollow. Stinging and throbbing sensations seemed to cling to me with the same pressure as my dress and shoes, settling on me like another outfit.

With a heave, I resigned and leaned against the wall behind me. The vibrations of the car driving rumbled through my bones, chattering my teeth.

I chanted my identity to myself, a vain attempt to stop myself from going crazy.

Second daughter.

I was Isabella Geltrude Vigliano, born Lombardi. I was the daughter of Vitale and Maria Lombardi. I was the younger sister of Vitale Junior and…and Isabella Lombardi. My sister died when she was seven; I am her replacement.

Second mother.

I was the stepmother to Marzia Ines Vigliano. I took her to the museum and listened to her talk dreamily about history.

Second wife.

I was the wife of Giova

I…loved him very much.

I love him very much.

Even if he wanted me dead.

The truck rolled to a stop. Voices boomed outside, and they grew closer and closer. The lock shook as it was opened, and a stream of sunlight came soaring into the once dark space.

“It’s time,” one of my captors said.

It’s time.