It was the first time Berenice came to me, asking me to tell her story. I saw this short-tempered young girl, dressed as a shepherdess, looking at me from… Cappadocia in the 4th century! Just like this, with all the details. I spent a few days puzzled by that image, but I ended up letting go (nowadays when an author explains that she or he talks to a character, I fully believe it!).
Then, Berenice teases me again. "Come," she said, "I'm going to tell you about an unexpected encounter that changed my life." And this time I see the teenage shepherdess next to an old man, looking at me with her deep dark eyes. Both seemed determined and I had no choice but to listen to their story. Right there I wrote the first chapter of Berenice of Cappadocia.
Hence came marriage, graduation, children, moving to France, back to Brazil and so many other things that engulf the days, until days become years. But Berenice was always there, in a little corner of my mind, growing old just like me.
Two years ago, we decided to return to France. I left the job I had at the time and made a decision: the time to write has come, Two years ago, we decided to return to France. I was ready for the full story of Berenice, ready for listening to what she had to tell me and share her story with whoever would listen.
It took me around fifteen years of waiting, but now I see they were essential for me to better understand where I was going. I wanted to induce the readers to travel to Ancient Rome, in this amazing and enigmatic land that is Cappadocia. And through this trip, each one could find value in their own story. Because, you see, like the anonymous mass composed by me, you and so many others, Berenice wasn’t a hero neither. Nothing in her world is magical. She hasn’t had a call for heroism. But in her own way, making her choices and facing all odds, she had an extraordinary life. And if in all her simplicity her story is amazing, believe me, so is yours.