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The story of our town? Well, It is not a glamorous one. It's not like Shakespeare's legendary Verona at all.Made known across the world due to the wondrous words weaved by Shakespeare. Technically, our city is a legend as well. A forgotten one.

Dimenticato can be compared to Venice, except for one thing, it's better. All the magic said to exist in Venice is all myth and folklore. Dimenticato has the style of Venice, the class of Venice, the magic of Venice. Except unlike Venice, our history is lost. Our island is forgotten. Reduced to a mere bed time story. One of isolation, torture, alliance and death. But also a story of great magic and chaos.

Our people were never harmful to the world, but yet we were forced to flee. Our people were not like the vampires hiding in the sewers of London praying on the blood of innocents, or the half-female half-birdlike sirens beckoning sailors to their death. They were merely people blessed with gifts. They were special and could do the impossible.

You see, one of our elders was the reason a great and terrible famine ended. Using her gift, she nourished the earth and made it grow. Her crops grew faster than any farmer could even attempt. Yet, despite her efforts, she was labeled the cause of the famine instead of the solution.

Another elder used his gifts to ended a drought. He made rain from the sky onto the parched land and it rained until there was enough for the people to drink and the plants to grow. Ordinary people, jealous of gift, called him 'Servant of the Devil' and sent him into exile.

Every murderous attempt or banishing sentence against my people helped our island come to be. It was their safe haven and our home. The inhabitants of the island are and always have been "different". Always have they been gifted with unique powers.

Except for one family who had been seeking refuge after upsetting the Spanish government. My own ancestor, Juliana, saw the family in a boat rowing aimlessly off the coast of the mainland. The "normal" family did not know where they were going and were unable to notice the presence of our island. This occurred during the 1700's, when the government was everything but kind. Grandma Juliana says the inhabitants of the island had gently manipulated the waves so the family would end up on our shore. The sudden appearance of the island surprised them but they did not question the miracle.

Our people and the family lived in harmony for 80 years. Five years past Grandma Juliana's death, the descendants of the family decided to go to France and aid the nobles for what supposed to be only ten years. The family said they would return with any new information and technology they could get their hands on and what the islanders hadn't thought of yet. Not to mention, new scientific discoveries. The family went in search of anything that would help our island advance in science and medicine. Our people saw them off with heavy hearts and tear-filled eyes.

The family left around 1786, three years prior the French Revolution. They would send their eldest son with news once a month for seven years. They stayed in France aiding the nobles , in hopes of making living there, and finding ways to help us. They only planned on staying there three more years but then horror struck. The family ended up with the most horrendous fate. In 1793, the family was killed at La Place de la Concorde. Murdered by the guillotine. They were considered traitors against the French citizens. Our town was in mourning.

Our island was a popular legend amongst the Italian people in those olden days. The island was also widely known in France and Spain. Although, in Italy our island was more mystical then Venice could ever aspire to be. We would send adults to the mainland of Italy for informational purposes about once or twice a month, and if they would stop at a local sbarra they could hear the drunks talking and arguing about the truth of our island. �Dimenticato is out there, and I'm going to find it. I know those things got something worth a lot of money, I'll die a rich and sexually pleased man.�

In the streets you could hear an old woman talking about a friend in France who witnessed our allied family's death. We had people who understood us, wanted to come to our island for supposed riches, and people who thought our kind worshiped the devil and wished to harm us.
As time went on, talk mainly centered on the new government, America, and the battle between science and the Catholic church. Many hushed talks of the Illuminati and the Free Masons, but hardly any talk of our island.

Decades passed and our island became an ancient bedtime story told by those who were deeply interested in their roots and the stories of the old Italian people. Old men would whisper �L'Isola di Inferno� Island of Hell, only in their sleep. And teens mocked their grandparents for ever believing in such a thing.

Our island became a joke to the adolescent and a pleasant bedtime story to the infants. The story twisted with lies and half-truths. The torture and torment my people had gone through was forgotten and soon people believed magic was found only in Venice.

I live in Eden, but we have no forbidden fruit. We live in peace amongst ourselves and stay isolated from the world. I live on an Island, right off the coast of Italy. Everyone says there are only two Italian island, but there's three. We live on the Island of Dimenticato, the Island of the Forgotten. Our city is like Venice but different, it's better. All the magic said to exist in Venice is all myth. We have the style of Venice, the class of Venice, the magic feel of Venice but our history is lost. I live on the island that Venice aspires to be.

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