For one insane moment, Lila contemplated running away. Insecurity sank its teeth into her and she cringed, wondering if it was really such a smart idea, knocking on a stranger’s door, especially when the door belonged to such a dilapidated-looking house.

But while Lila was wavering on the doorstep, the door suddenly swung open, revealing a small elderly woman. Her snow-white hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck and a black cardigan hung loosely over her spare frame. Lila stood at least a foot over her.

Something in the woman’s eyes immediately put Lila at ease. Although the face was papery and criss-crossed with wrinkles, the eyes were impossibly young, blue and full of life.

Finally, the woman spoke. “Sì?”

Lila didn’t speak much Italian beyond her Italian I and II courses from college, so she lumbered forth in English.

“Um, hi, I just wanted to know who lived here. I mean, it’s such an amazing house, it’s so old … Not – not that it’s not beautiful, for being so old, because it is.”