!!! Completely updated version of the book is published on: https://tapas.io/series/Soul-of-the-Cerberus

I drew long deep breaths as I finally arrived in my hometown. I was standing on the deck of the ferry, transporting me from Split to Korčula. Usually, I've spent my summer in Split, where I was studying arts at the University of Split. Although I loved the busy streets of the bigger cities, it was nothing compared to the smaller one, which was bursting with history and culture. I loved narrow streets and old buildings made of stone.

The city was surrounded by walls and represented a great attraction for tourists. Summer months were my favorites since the little city was bustling with foreign people, ready to spend money either on restaurants or markets full of souvenirs and jewelry.

I sighed in content as I braided my long, thick and almost black hair that reached past the middle of my back. The wind made the task almost impossible as it persistently blew in my face. I threw huge old hiking backpack over my shoulders and took a few wobbly steps towards the crowded exit of the ship. I really shouldn't have taken so many books with me. I've exaggerated every time and took almost every art book I owned even though I barely had time to touch neither of them in the end. But this was my last year in college and soon I will start working towards my very own gallery. Well, at least I've hoped to open a little shop with my paintings.

I brushed a few runaway hair strands from my face as I pushed through the people who were jostling one another. As I finally made my way down to the port, reflected with moonlight and city lights I took the island in. Restaurants were full of chattering people even if there was only the beginning of June. Boats relentlessly transported tourist from the island back to the mainland. Little shops were already open offering every little thing consumer's heart desired.

Mother and father probably already opened their shop over a month ago. Father would still be working with the fishing company if it weren't for my mother's talent. My mother, Ivana Varga made the most beautiful little clay statues and figurines. Her products extended from candle holders, Virgin Mary statues to depictions of island attractions. She used various ornaments and seashells to make handmade jewelry.

My mother truly was a resourceful and entrepreneurial person, but my father wasn't. He wouldn't differentiate between individual pieces of jewelry or materials mother was making products with, even if his life would've depended on it. He didn't have a clue how to attract or please costumers. And he definitely didn't know how to run a store, no matter how small it was.

Yes, my father, Boris, was a disaster in the making, but he was a kindhearted man. All the locals knew him and absolutely adored him. He was five years older than my mother and very close to his 56th birthday. He was a plump-cheeked man with a rounded belly and graying hair. His beard was reaching to his chest, which mother absolutely despised, but no matter what, he refused to shave.

Father was a charismatic man who loved his cigars, morning coffee, and endless meaningless chatter. He was a proud owner of the 20-year-old wooden boat, which was already heavily overgrown with algae and slightly rotting on the edges. But until he still had his boat and a fishing rod, he was a happy man.

Mother was constantly irritating him with her nagging about his laziness, but she also loved him with her whole heart. They still held their hands or stole a few kisses from one another when they thought they were alone. Boris may act as he didn't have a care in the world, but he did try his best. He would do everything to see his family safe and sound, at every cost.

I was told my mother was always an artistic soul. Both, Ivana and Boris were born and raised on the island and while Boris was a fisherman as a young man, Ivana was painting portraits of passersby or anyone who took an interest in art. She didn't have a shop then, she was still painting on the streets.

Presumably, I've inherited most of my mother's traits, but I didn't really see it. Of course, there is an art, but that was mostly it. While my mother and father both used to have tawny hair, mine was almost black. Ivana has brown eyes and Boris's are green, while mine are vivid blue. I severely lacked mother's independence and sharp tongue, and most definitely father's nonchalant attitude.

But there was one thing I definitely shared with my father, enjoyment in all the small little things‒the way wind was always rustling through the branches of pine trees, the smell of the sea salt and the peaceful noises of the waves as they relentlessly hit the shore. I adored the early summer sunsets as fishermen loaded their boats and prepared fishing nets.

Nevertheless, how happy was I to return home, there was still a little empty spot that lingered in my soul. I tried to learn how to ignore it in time, but lately, it grew, never leaving me alone. Unease also showed in my art, which professors thought was brilliant. My darker side, they've said. More than once they criticized my work, either it was too boring or tame. They desperately wanted for me to pour my soul into the paintings, the good and the bad side. I never knew how until recently that is. I never really cared or wanted to embrace such gloom. Why would I? I was raised in a positive spirit, which meant never despair or give up. My mother was the one who instilled this way of thinking, and I was grateful she did. If she wouldn't support me the way she did, I would never chase my desires or dreams of an art college, or most definitely, I would already give up halfway through. But here I was, still with a long way to go, however with a black stain on my soul.

My parents' house was distanced approximately half an hour on foot, just outside of the city center. It was an old house made of stone and wood. Shutters and doors were freshly painted olive green, and as always, there was oleander everywhere. Pots were scattered all over the place‒on window sills and every single step that led to the porch. The porch was an essentially small overlay of concrete and painted stones‒my mother's work, no doubt.

I could head out and check if my mother is still working in the city, but it was already late and I was exhausted from the traveling. Although it wasn't a long journey, it took only about 3 hours for the ferry to arrive from Split to Vela Luka in Korčula, but the rocking of the boat had truly unpleasant consequences on my empty stomach.

There was a fragrant aroma spreading from the windows of the house, smelling of garlic and baked fish. My stomach rumbled loudly when I was unable to remember the last time I had eaten. No doubt father was preparing a dinner, which at least four times a week consisted of fish and boiled potatoes. Boris's love of fishing was affecting everyone in the house since he always caught way too many. Not that I was complaining, he was an excellent cook and I would devour right about anything this moment. Actually, I was glad father was home early and not my mother because all she could cook were frozen vegetables and make some horrifically over seasoned salad.

I let myself in, looking around the house. "Dad?" I tried even if I already heard music blaring from the kitchen, knowing he will never hear me with this horrendous racket.

"Dad! What on earth is going on here?" As I stepped into the hallway, there was another surprise waiting for me, a huge, furry surprise and it was salivating all over me.

"Barica, no! Where are your manners?" I laughed out loud, hugging the hairy animal, which was trying to knock me down. "Yes, I missed you too, it was lonely without you." I patted him on the head as a big gray Yugoslavian shepherd dog tried to give me his paw, probably expecting a treat. "I don't have anything, I am so sorry boy. Now come, let's find out what is going on in this house." Barica followed me loyally like I would vanish every second.

"Dad, what are you...? Dear God!" I burst out laughing, seeing my father vigorously shaking his hips left and right and swinging spatula up in the air. His face was red with the effort, trying to imitate dancers on the television. His apron was so dirty, one would think he was rolling in the food, not cooking.

Boris was so transfixed on the screen, he didn't even notice when I came in. When the television went blank, his eyes finally snapped to the newcomer. His face became even redder if that was possible and his lips stretched into a heart-warming smile.

"Korina! I thought you were lost to us forever!" He said with a false outraged voice.

"Of course, you did. This dancing thing was probably a celebration when authorities announced I was lost to the sea." I smirked.

His chest was shaking with laughter as he hugged me. I had to carefully maneuver my body from colliding with his enormous frame. To say that his hug almost crushed me, would be a big understatement.

"You know your mother and I missed you Korina." He was all serious now.

"I know, Dad. How are things here? How is the business going?" I inquired him.

"Oh well, you know, as always my love." He smiled, but it never reached his eyes.

"What's wrong dad? More foreign investors?" I put my arms around Boris's wide shoulders.

"It's hard these days, the bastards are buying off everything they can. The store is running, but those nasty squids are opening new ones, with fancy goods and restaurants. Building modern apartments, new hotels." He said.

"Yes, it is true. But that also means new customers and more consumerism dad. Tourists are always up for spending some money on souvenirs and art. The sale hasn't fallen yet, did it?" I looked him straight in the eyes.

"No, not yet. But I am truly worried, daughter. Those rich people have different tastes, living their lavish lives, while we have to break a sweat to earn some money. Working day to day, hoping we will have enough to put on our table."

"They certainly do have a different lifestyle than us, dad, but that doesn't mean they are not willing to spend more. I am back now and I am going to do all in my power to help you guys with the store. You know how many of my paintings we've sold last year. This season I am going to do even better. I promise."

"I know, and I thank God for a daughter like you Korina. You know damn well I am useless at selling things and even worse with figures." He crossed himself and looked towards the ceiling. "I am a simple man, born and raised on the sea. I wish I could have done more. To contribute more..." He leaned on the counter, his head bent low.

I knew he was beating himself up with those heavy thoughts daily.

"Father don't stress yourself with this. Like I've said, I am here to help you. You and mother already did enough as it is."

"Enough with the heavy stuff for now. You must be exhausted and ravenous." He smiled as he tried to cover his unease, but he didn't fool me. I promised myself, I would work hard over the summer to help to secure my family's financial position and I already had a few ideas in mind for my new artwork.

"Plus, there are always enough of fish," I said over my shoulder while checking out the rich stock in the fridge.

Father roared with laughter as he momentarily forgotten his worries plaguing his mind. "I hope you are not complaining daughter because there will be a lot of similar dishes in the future."

"I assure you, I will survive." I laughed at him.

"Maybe you will, but I don't know if I can." Ivana's slender frame filled the doorway of the kitchen. She was a vision as always. Her long light hair, with little streaks of gray in them, were braided in a similar fashion as mine. Even after her fifties, my mother was a beautiful woman. It wasn't hard to believe men were throwing themselves on their knees before her. But it was not only her beauty that captivated them, it was her posture, the way she carried herself. Her chin always high, never staggering as she walked on the street. My father always told me how proud and honored he felt, when she chose him, declared her love to him. Even to this day his eyes filled with love as he saw her.

"I hope you are not waiting with dinner for too long, Kori must be starved." She hurried across the room to warmly embrace me. "We haven't seen you for so long." She said with a pained voice. "We've really missed you." She whispered in my ear. "I am really glad you are back."

"I've missed you too mother," I said as she tightened her embrace.

"How are your studies? Have you met anyone yet?" Mother curiously interrogated me.

"Well, I hope she did! She is a grown woman now for Christ's sake!" Boris proudly puffed his chest.

"Ok, enough of that you two. First of all, my studies are doing great, and I am about to finish my degree in no time. And second of all, no, I haven't met anyone yet." I gave both of them a stern look.

"How come? Well, of course, no one is good enough for our little Korina, that I agree." Boris was vigorously nodding his head.

I slapped my hand on my forehead. "Father I hope you do realize I've just turned twenty-three, do you? And it is not about if someone is good enough or not, I just haven't had the time for serious relationships and dating in general. Or I haven't met the right person, simply put." I defensively crossed my arms over the chest.

"Good. What an intelligent woman, my daughter. But a hopeless romantic still, I see." He clicked his tongue in a non-approving way.

I shared a knowing look with my mother when she finally broke the silence "Stop chattering big man and serve the dinner, women are starving." She said with a smile on her lips.

"Yes, my love, dinner is ready and served." He pointed at the table and almost knocked down the glasses.

I chuckled under my breath as I followed them to the meal.

"Mother, I was thinking of painting a new collection of paintings this season. The old ones were good, but they are too monotonous. We cannot sell the same depictions every year, presenting only see, boats and buildings. Sure, they are pretty, but not interesting enough. We need something fresh. Think about it." I pressed my mother, hoping for a positive response.

She put down her fork and looked curiously back at me "I trust you Korina, you've proved yourself a very capable artist over the past years. What do you have in mind?"

"We need to use new materials, not just oil paints. We can mix the materials you are using for your jewelry‒wood, stones, you name it. And we must sell stories, not just paintings. We have to attract new customers with not just happiness, but sadness, hope and mystery, are you following me?" I said with my voice full of enthusiasm.

"This could be good Ivana." my father said, looking at his wife "What do you think?"

"Difference could be good." She scratched her chin "And God knows we need a little difference. Like I said, I trust you fully and you have my permission to use your ideas as you please." She smiled at me "But Korina, you've just arrived, have a rest, catch up with your friends. Have a little fun." She gently put her hand over mine.

"There will be plenty of time for that mother, but first things first." I was motivated and I wouldn't let anybody distract me.