Marzia was eight, all scraped knees and questions that tumbled out like marbles from a torn bag. Enza was fourteen, all sharp glances and silent judgments, her bedroom door a fortress against the chaos of their shared house.
The next morning, the trio gathered in the attic, a dusty room filled with trunks, old photographs, and a large, faded map pinned to the wall. Nonna Lucia pulled a brittle parchment from a wooden box, the ink barely visible.
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Brings a level of maturity and "cool factor." She likely handles the technical or structured side of their projects.
