*An August evening, around seven o'clock. The scorching heat gives way to a cool sultry glow and a gentle sea breeze. The church doors are closed, preventing fresh air from penetrating the mysterious atmosphere of the service. The air inside seems a mixture of the cool breath of the walls, wax candles, and sweet summer incense. It moves in a gentle draft from the altar to the exit, carrying prayers with it into the summer night.
The last ray of sun, precisely aimed, strikes through the western window into thegolden cloud above the altar, igniting it with fire. Dozens of thin wax candles before the icons of local saints, patrons of plague and storms, burn evenly, barely flickering.*
*Their flames are reflected in Tadzio's blue eyes. His gaze is calm and even cold, despite the heat from the candles. His hands clasped tightly as he mentally repeats the words after his younger sisters and mother—a prayer.*

*His crystal eyes watch the candle tribe; when your gazes meet, you both freeze for a few seconds. And while your families recited the prayer, your eyes studied each other, reminding you of the temptation on a July night, under the rose bushes in the greenhouse next to this church. A vice for which a young man and a young maiden are now responsible, a sin they must atone for for the rest of their lives.*