Adrianna knows she’s being watched. I can tell by the subtle change in motion of her head and the way she’s now twirling her thick brown hair. She’s intelligent enough that I know she’s changing her movement to alert me of her awareness. Our game of cat and mouse has changed since Scotland, which feels like years, not weeks, ago. Adrianna always knows that I am paying attention to every action she takes. She has known since London when I sat too close to her on the tube.

The tourists of Venice remind me of fish swimming upstream. Rarely does one stop and recognize the beauty of everyday life in Italy. Instead, they opt for the sights that a travel book has told them will make their social media envy-worthy. Adrianna, however, is a fish not going upstream but stalled while her fellow class swims on.
     

Intentions are a funny thing. We often think that if we discover someone’s intentions, then their actions will be excusable. Humans refuse to believe that ignorance is bliss, which is most likely the reason I’ve followed this woman across three European countries all the while with my own hidden intentions. Adrianna is talking to an Italian man outside of a meat shop, and my view is becoming more obstructed as the sun sets. Their discussion is different from any other I’ve seen her have in that I can tell there’s history between them. Their relationship, however, baffles me because he’s not flirting with her but, there is no friendly humor between them.
      

The man spits out a very intense long winded sentence and before she can respond, his demeanor shifts from abnormal to content as if he has accomplished a task correctly. The nativo hands Adrianna a link of sausages that was previously hanging on a hook outside the window of the meat store. The sausages are green, moldy and obviously have seen better days but she acts as if they were what she expected all along from this visit. Of course, to be frank, it’s not exactly a surprise to me either. Every city we’ve been to has included a handsome man with whom she’s had a discussion that lasted more than an hour and resulted in varying types of meat handed to her. She’s never done anything with the carcasses in her hotel room except put them in the freezer she carries with her suitcase.
       

It’s almost nightfall by the time they separate, going in opposite directions. He disappears into the crowd of tourists racing back to their hotel rooms, and she seems to vanish in thin air. The coffee shop I’ve been spending time in is about to close, and I realize that I never finished my cappuccino. I’m not the kind of person who can drink caffeine late at night without their sleep pattern being interrupted, but an instinct I can’t recognize forces me to allow the tepid thick drink passage down my throat.
   

I aimlessly wander the streets of this sinking city, not bothering myself with anything more than trivial thoughts. By the time I arrive to a landmark I recognize, I realize how many hours I’ve been avoiding my own torturous demons. It is almost three in the morning, and I am standing in the courtyard of St. Mark’s Basilica which isn’t uncommon because it would be pretty difficult to miss the massive cathedral that Venice worships so freely. No, what’s strange is that there doesn’t seem to be another living soul in this entire city. The world is on standstill, and I’m afraid to breath too loud and wake up Earth.
  

Time passes so slowly when you don’t know what you’re waiting for, and the 20 minutes I spend motionless are the longest of my short-lived life. I can’t find it in me to turn around, go home and continue logging Adrianna’s existence.
  

The night breaks, and I can see a group of people walking toward the center of the square wearing what appears to be recreations of 17th century Italian clothing. Their robes sparkle with gold, and I have no doubt in my mind that it is pure gold. Whatever I am seeing seems to be something imagined, even though I am not the type to imagine something so bizarre.
  

The people break off into two groups that are based on gender. The men sit in a circle and begin to chant “Lotta benandanti.” They chant at a rhythm and on specific notes which makes this cult-like ritual seem like a drum circle. The women are walking with huge bowls that they set down. Then they form partners and dip their hands into the dishes, raise them out and lather their partner’s face with the substance.
   

The moon comes from behind a lengthy cloud, and the women’s faces sparkle with what now is obviously liquid gold. The group melds together when the women have all painted each other, and they step into the circle that the men have formed. The women begin to dance and join in the chants.
   

I have no idea what to do with myself. These people are obviously performing a ritual, and I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s something the church wouldn’t look too kindly upon. Their words, movements and expressions are completely animalistic, while their clothes are that of an era long departed.
   

Suddenly, everyone stops moving and my heart clenches in my chest. I am absolutely sure they have seen me peeking from the shadows and will now throw me into the canal. However, their attention is directed at the front doors of the church, and I am able to breath once I realize this.
   

The doors swing open and out walks a man whose face makes my blood run cold. Everything about this man is inhuman. He is something so horrifically satanic that it is obvious he runs purely evil. The man walks down the steps and enters the middle of the circle where the women are scrambling to get out of his way and join the men. The diavolo smiles the smile of a girl with a secret. He opens his mouth and says slowly but with confidence, “Iniziamo.” The group takes his direction and chaos breaks out.
  

The men start gathering various wood pieces that they had previously placed by the waterline and the women anxiously adjust their clothing and fix each other’s hair. Their leader stops them once a large wooden pile has been made, and the women are standing straight in a line though obviously shaking.
   

He walks up to the women and stares at each one very intently. Once he has passed a woman, she looks dejected and returns to stand with the men. This happens until he’s passed half the women. He stops at a very tall blonde woman who is able to look him in the eye. They stare at each other for a few moments and then he nods.
   

She is taken to the wood pile and stands there while the women pour gold all over her body. Once her skin is no longer visible, the leader raises his hand and the entire group—except the blonde woman—kneel facing¬¬¬¬¬¬¬ the church. He speaks one very firm word. “Salire.”
    

The men and women don’t move an inch, but the girl screams and as I look at her I can see a fire has started underneath her. The logs quickly burn and a flame hits her dress. No one in the group stops kneeling, and there is no movement among them.
     

I want to help her, but my very human desire to see what happens next holds me in my place.
     

“ADESSO” the girl wails as she burns to a crisp and a sudden flame makes her entire body surge full of fire…then it disappears altogether.
       

Standing where the blonde girl was, atop a pile of singed wood and among praying people, is Adrianna.