On the outskirts of Antella, in the backstreets of Florence, Alessandro Filipepi strolled the alleyways, immersed in his thoughts. Filipepi reminisced on the praise he received during the unveiling ceremony earlier that day. With a grand gesture, Guasparre del Lama had pulled at the red silk covering to reveal “The Adoration of the Magi”. It was magnificent - a classic, portraying bold and typical characteristics of Renaissance art. Each figure was well-structured and defined. Filipepi was proud that his work had impressed the Medici family, one of the richest and most powerful in Florence. His thoughts shifted to those of his love interest, and wondered what would come of his budding romance with Cassandra Castelle. Filipepi was madly in love - he had spent the last several months with her. She had shown interest, however, he wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about him. The only thing that interrupted the moment was the loving call of Filipepi’s older brother: “Boticelli! The mail delivery has arrived!”

Although he did not like his pet name much, (it meant “little barrel”), it was oddly fitting. He grinned and turned towards his brother’s voice. A gold-sealed envelope was handed to him, along with a playful hair-ruffling. Botticelli read the messily scrawled note. His eyes widened as he read. Lorenzo de Medici had offered to commission him to create a masterpiece in honor of his cousin’s wedding. Lorenzo even set standards for the art. He wanted the piece to reflect the happiness of the marriage, as well as highlight Medici power. It was to be hung at the entrance of the Medici Halls as symbol of their success and prosperity. Botticelli was delighted. A second decorative red envelope lay on the table beside his brother. Intrigued, Botticelli peeled the envelope away, careful not to damage the intricate paper. A calligraphy-lined scroll slid out of the envelope. The previous moment’s delight turned to despair, jealousy, and then, anger. His beloved Cassandra was officially engaged to Francesco Medici, and their wedding date was set to be held in five months.

Botticelli’s thoughts tumbled around in his head. How long has she been engaged? Why didn’t she mention it sooner? Was she too embarrassed to tell me? Did she ever consider our relationship when thinking of the future? Questions ran through his brain faster than bullets. How would he fulfill Lorenzo’s request? A golden opportunity like this could set his fame up forever. To be commissioned by the Medicis was an honor. It was a perfect way to spread his ideas, thoughts, and values. Botticelli knew that he could not disappoint Lorenzo, but that he had to get revenge on Francesco, the thief who stole his one true love.

Botticelli sighed. As he lay in bed, ideas brewed in his mind. A marriage gift could be the perfect opportunity to ruin Francesco’s honor. It had to be extravagant. It had to be something that no one had ever dared to attempt. He knew he must incorporate his feelings, his emotion, and his voice. A powerful statement piece would be perfect. Power through subtlety. As his eyes closed, a small smirk began to form, perched menacingly atop his lips.

He dreamt of Cassandra. She was his Venus, his Goddess of Love, of Beauty, of Compassion. She was all he had ever wanted, yet something he could never have. As the paintbrush of his dreams created the scene, reality prodded him awake.

His brush strokes were soft and gentle, like Cassandra. Seeking inspiration from a sculpture of Goddess Venus he had seen in the Medici house, Botticelli drew her graceful outline on a canvas. She would be nude, with only her sweeping hair to cover her. Perched impossibly on the tip of a seashell, Venus’s was an unachievable beauty. Pushed along by a gentle breeze from the zephyrs, she floated effortlessly. All the while, he thought about his love for Cassandra, and passion poured out onto the easel. He was letting her go, and putting her in the care of the woman on the other side of the sea, whose welcoming arms held drapery open to welcome and protect her. Like his painting, Botticelli had to let go of his passions for Cassandra, and let the future become the present. But that didn’t mean he could not capture the moment in time forever.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. It was the night before the marriage. Botticelli had only just swept the final touches onto his piece with confidence and certitude. The clock struck midnight and the time was now. Unfolding a delicate silver overlay, Botticelli carefully covered the finished piece and walked out into the shadows. Sweet revenge was inevitable.

Lorenzo de Medici proudly stood on the raised platform and smiled. Botticelli’s painting was set on a frame, the shiny covering draped on top. Lorenzo greeted a crowd of five hundred, who had gathered to witness the revealing of the glorious painting. They all wanted to be a part of the history of the piece that was to stand proudly at the entrance of the Medici Halls. He could only imagine what lay in store. It could not be a more beautiful day. Birds chirped a sweet melody, and a butterfly fluttered around Lorenzo. It flitted towards the other side of the stage, and Lorenzo’s gaze shifted to rest upon his cousin brother, who was seated comfortably with his bride-to-be. The handsome couple radiated love and compassion. Botticelli would have gagged had he seen their infatuation. Ready to gain approval from the crowd as well as please his cousin, Lorenzo made the big announcement. Allowing his cousin to remove the drapery, Lorenzo beckoned him to center stage. With a dramatic gesture, Francesco removed the covering.

Silence. Several jaws dropped. The subject was a nude. Venus, the Goddess of Love and Beauty, to be exact. The only female nude acceptable was Eve. Botticelli’s portrayal was outrageous. Nevertheless, Venus was breathtakingly beautiful. Her long, luscious curls covered her body, and her supple figure was proportionally perfect. Pink flowers drifted in the breeze of the Zephyrs, who were intertwined impossibly. The deep space was deemphasized and instead, there was a graceful sense of pattern and decorative quality. The traces of gold in Venus’s hair, fluttering drapery, and rolling waves created an irresistible sensuality. The painting was all about neoplatonic beauty; physical as well as sensual. It was divine beauty. Every figure floats. The endless impossibility of the piece stunned the audience.
Francesco was shocked and on the verge of fury. His balled his hands into fists and was red in the face. His humiliation was transparent through his elegant robe. Unlike any Renaissance piece before, The Birth of Venus went against all set standards. The concept of the female nude, the curves of the body, and the dreamlike conception did not conform to any previous standards. The nerve that Botticelli had to embarrass him on his wedding day was unacceptable. How dare he create a mockery of his beautiful wife and show such immaturity? Cassandra blushed and covered her mouth with a hand. The only one who could verbalize the group’s feelings, however, was Lorenzo.
“What kind of game is this? Alessandro Botticelli, do you wish to mock me and my family? Are you jealous of the power we hold, or of the power that you do not have possession of? Where are you hiding the real painting? Show yourself!” yelled Lorenzo.

Botticelli never did. A brilliant magician’s trick; play the prank and disappear in time to escape the storm that follows. Lorenzo, discouraged, ordered the painting to be locked away in the basement cellars, only to be discovered decades later by two curious children. William and Elizabeth were their names. They just so happened to be the grandchildren of Francesco and Cassandra.