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MidReal Story
The Secret of Isabella
Scenario:Eu estava me preparando para viajar para a Espanha
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Emily
She is a traveler with a passion for mystery and adventure. She is curious,brave,and determined. Emily discovers a cryptic letter in her suitcase before a trip to Spain. The letter hints at a family connection and leads her on an exciting journey across the country,from Barcelona to Seville,uncovering secrets and resolving mysteries along the way.
Carlos
He is a knowledgeable guide in Seville. He is patient,informative,and supportive. Carlos meets Emily at the train station and offers to help her navigate the city. Using his expertise,he helps Emily decipher the meaning behind the letter and uncover the history of Isabella,leading her closer to understanding her family's past.
Luis
He is a kindhearted shop owner in Barcelona. He is friendly,helpful,and sincere. Luis assists Emily by confirming the authenticity of the letter she received. He provides her with valuable information about Emily's ancestor,Isabella,and encourages her to continue the journey to Seville to learn more.
I was getting ready to leave for Spain.
I had my suitcase half open, and I was throwing inside whatever I thought I might need.
When I moved the clothes I already had inside, I found a letter.
It was folded several times, until it became a small square.
I opened it carefully, not knowing what I would find.
And I was surprised to see that it was addressed to me.
The text was cryptic, but it seemed like an invitation.
It said: "Dear Emily, when you find this letter, you will be preparing to come to Spain. You don’t know why you are coming here, but you feel that something is calling you. You are right. Something is calling you. And that something is your past. You have a connection with this country that you don’t know yet. But you will soon discover it. To help you, I will give you a clue. Go to the Cathedral in Barcelona. Ask for Luis, the shop owner. He will give you the next clue."
I was speechless.
Who could have written this?
And how did the letter end up in my suitcase?
I tried to remember all the people I met since I decided to come here, but I couldn’t think of anyone who might do something like this.
I decided that I would ignore the letter.
I mean, who writes mysterious letters like this one?
It seemed like something out of a movie.
But as I stood there with the letter in my hands, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something more to this.
I stare at the letter, my hands trembling slightly.
The words blur together as tears well up in my eyes.
A sudden wave of clarity washes over me - this letter, this "mystery," it's all meaningless in the grand scheme of things.
I walk to the waste bin and, with deliberate movements, tear the paper into smaller and smaller pieces.
Each rip feels like a release.
The fragments flutter down into the trash, joining discarded receipts and crumpled tissues.
I return to my suitcase and continue packing, this time with purpose, focusing only on the essentials I'll need for my trip.
"Emily, are you sure about this?" Sarah asked, her voice tinged with concern as she watched me pack.
"Yes, I am," I replied, my tone firm despite the lingering doubt in my mind.
"But what if that letter was important? What if it holds the answers you've been searching for?"
Standing in my bedroom, I hold the torn pieces of the letter in my trembling hands.
Sarah watches silently as I walk to the small metal trash bin beside my desk.
One by one, I drop the fragments, each piece making a soft sound as it hits the bottom.
The paper with its elegant handwriting disappears into the darkness of the bin.
My fingers linger on the last piece, the one with my name written in careful strokes.
For a moment, I hesitate, but then release it too.
I stare at the trash bin, my heart pounding in my chest.
Sarah places a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off and walk to my bed where my half-packed suitcase lies open.
I continue folding clothes mechanically, trying to focus on the adventure ahead rather than the discarded letter.
My hands move from drawer to suitcase, arranging items with forced precision.
When I reach for my passport, my eyes drift back to the bin.
The corner of the torn paper with my name peeks out accusingly.
"Emily, you can't just ignore it," Sarah insisted, her voice a mix of urgency and frustration.
"I have to, Sarah," I said quietly, trying to convince myself as much as her.
"But what if your past is the key to understanding everything that's been happening?"
I sit on my bed, watching Sarah rummage through her oversized purse.
She pulls out a worn leather-bound book, its cover a deep brown that has faded in places.
The pages are yellowed and the corners are frayed, giving it an air of age and neglect.
My hands freeze mid-fold over a sweater as she approaches me.
The musty scent of old paper fills my nose when she places the book in my lap.
I trace the faded initials "I.C." embossed on the cover, my fingertips catching on the cracked leather.
Sarah explains that she found it while cleaning her grandmother's attic last month, hidden away in a trunk filled with forgotten treasures.
The connection to my torn letter becomes clear as I open to the first page and see the same elegant handwriting.
The past I thought I could escape now demands to be understood.
With trembling hands, I open the leather book while Sarah watches silently.
The yellowed pages crackle as I turn them carefully.
The script is elegant and matches the destroyed letter.
Between pages 43 and 44, a folded piece of parchment slips out onto my lap.
I unfold it slowly, the paper so delicate it threatens to crumble.
The date at the top reads "1492" - the year Columbus sailed to America.
My eyes scan the first line: "To my dearest descendant, what I am about to reveal has remained hidden since the reign of Isabella of Castile."
"Emily, this could change everything," Sarah whispered, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Do you really think it's meant for me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I stared at the parchment.
"There's only one way to find out," Sarah replied, nodding towards the book with a determined look.
