Naima arrives in Borgo Feliciana

While the painted animals in the painted forest are pondering the first brushstroke, Naima has arrived in the little town of Borgo Feliciana.
She was used to being alone.
She was a traveler between worlds – not in the literal sense, but through colors, patterns, and shadows.
Everywhere she went, she left traces, invisible threads that wove themselves into people’s memories.
But she had never stayed in one place for long.

Until that night.

The rain fell quietly as Naima wandered through Borgo Feliciana. Her steps echoed on the cobblestones and lanterns flickered in the distance. Then she saw it – a door, barely visible in the darkness, with a symbol on it: a spiral.

Curious, she stepped closer. Her heart beat faster. She did not know this symbol, and yet it felt familiar.

She opened the door.

Inside, it smelled of oil paint, chalk, and something reminiscent of old stories. Huge canvases leaned against the walls, depicting the faces of women – powerful, mysterious, alive.

Three women stood in the room.

The first was Seraphina, whose dark eyes looked at Naima intensely, as if they could gaze deep into her soul. Her red hair shone in the warm light of the studio, and her stance emanated a quiet but undeniable strength.

The second was Valeria, a woman who moved between shadows and patterns, as if she were part of an unfinished picture herself. Her gaze was knowing, her lips curved into a slight smile, as if she already knew Naima would belong here.

And then there was Liora, the red muse – a whirlwind of colors and movement. Her hands were smeared with charcoal, and in her eyes sparkled the light of an idea not yet fully born.

“You found the sign,” Seraphina said quietly.

Naima nodded. “It called to me.”

Liora laughed softly and twirled a brush between her fingers. “It always does.

For the right ones.”

Liora leaned against an easel, her fiery red curls falling wildly across her face. She held a small violin in her hand, gently stroking the wood with her fingers as if to awaken it.

“You hear it, don’t you?” she asked, looking at Naima with a challenging sparkle in her eyes.

Naima nodded slowly. “The music? Yes. It’s everywhere.”

Liora grinned. “Then dance with us.”

Seraphina extended a hand and pulled Naima to the center of the studio, where the floor was covered with paint stains.

Valeria laughed softly, stepped out of the shadows, and raised her arms.

Liora placed the violin under her chin, and as she played the first note, the room came alive.

The melody was old and new at the same time – like a whisper of past times, like the echo of a dream. It was not music to listen to; it was music to feel.

Seraphina moved with slow elegance, each of her steps like a brushstroke on an invisible canvas. Valeria twirled around her, her movements flowing and full of mystery. And Liora played on, as her body united with the rhythm – she was music, she was color, she was fire.

Naima hesitated, but she felt that she was part of it. Her feet found the beat, her body became part of the melody. She danced with the others, she danced with the room, with the shadows, with the colors on the walls and on the floor.

The rain outside amplified the rhythm, a quiet drumbeat that blended with the notes of the violin.

Then, with one final, vibrating tone, the music faded.

Naima smiled. For the first time in her life, she felt not just as a traveler between colors and patterns.

She had found her place.

And the night, full of tones and movement, was far from over.

Naima reminds us that true belonging is not found by fitting in, but by following our inner melody.
She shows us that our place in the world is not something to be sought, but something we create by bravely recognizing and dancing to our own truth.

Which melody within you is still waiting to be heard and lived?

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Naima and the Colors of the Night

Oil/Mixed Media on Canvas, 80 x 100 cm

Price for the original on request – click here

☕ [Naima as a mug for your creative break]
🖼️ [View Naima as a poster on Etsy]

She did not come to stay – she came to remind.

Naima carries within her the longing of a traveler.
Not driven by escape, but by the quiet wisdom that every trace we leave behind weaves a story.
A story of color, sound, and encounter.

Her gaze?
Alert, listening, dreaming.
She sees doors not as boundaries, but as invitations.
As a call to step deeper.

Naima is the moment when a melody grows out of silence.
Her spiral?
A sign of connectedness – of the invisible fabric that weaves together all paths, all souls, all stories.

For the adventure that only begins when we truly arrive – within ourselves.