One of the good things about waitressing in Amsterdam was the constant flow of tips. Backpackers from all around the world parted with their money like the waves rushing to the shore. I weaved my way through the maze of tables in the bakery, the coffee swirling dangerously close to the top of the mug on my tray, threatening to flow over before I reached my customer. Managing to steady my hand, I placed the mug in front of the aging man, my hand immediately reaching to add extra milk and three spoonfuls of sugar. It was nice to serve regular customers, the added confidence of knowing exactly how they wanted their orders, combined with the generous tips they left behind made for a happy occasion.

"Amelia," the man rasped, voice scratchy from a long lifetime of serenading passing tourists in the streets, "I do look forward to my coffee when you are here to pour it for me," he ended his attempt at flirtation with a cheeky wink, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkling as he did. I felt a blush steel over my face as it did whenever someone praised me. He might have been well into his sixties but Vincent still knew how to flatter a girl. I'd worked at the Cafe en Rose for a little over two months, having moved to Amsterdam from Paris. Customers like Vincent made the job enjoyable, even if the management was beyond hope.

"It's nice to see you today too, Vincent," I smiled at him and left a few extra biscuits on his table as I left. I always gave him a little extra, I guess he'd charmed his way into my heart after all. Calling a quick goodbye I made my way passed the bar, throwing a small wave to Joseph who was managing the till, I untied my apron and hung it in my locker. Buttoning up my coat I made my way towards the back of the store where Marcie, the manager of Cafe en Rose, usually haunted. Marcie was a short woman, only a few inches taller than myself, and reminded me of a commander in the army. She had a stern face, all work and no play, and an attitude to match. It was rare to catch Marcie in a good mood, so I wasn't surprised to hear frustrated sighs as I knocked on the office door.

"What do you want, Amy?" she snapped as I poked my head around the door, fingers whizzing away against her keyboard as she no doubt typed up the latest complaint form to be issued to staff. She was infamous for those.

"Amelia, ma'am," I quietly corrected her. Another thing she was infamous for was her complete lack of interest in her employees. I'm not sure how I actually managed to get a job in the cafe, Marcie must have had a shortage of applicants so she had no choice but to pick the runt of the litter. In other words, me.

She sighed. The fifth sigh since I entered the room - I was counting. "Yes, Amelia." she practically sneered the name, "What did you want? If it's another break the answer is no. I pay you to stand around enough as it is."

I cleared my throat, washing away the insults I could only ever dream of saying out loud. As much as Marcie irritated me, I needed the job. I had rent to pay and food to buy, and all that didn't come cheap. Not that Marcie cared, she wouldn't bat an eye if I turned up and told her I was homeless, as long as I worked my shift and left as soon as possible. "Er, my shift is finished now, ma'am," I stated lamely, aching to leave "I was wondering if I could, erm, be clocked out. Please." I tacked the please on as an after thought, incase she thought I was showing some insane act of defiance against her supreme reign.

She let out another sigh, this one longer like I was causing her pain by asking to be released. That's six sighs now Marcie dear, you'll set a new record at this rate. "D'accord." she replied in French, although I had my suspicions she had never even been to France, let alone learnt the language. "Go. Don't be late tomorrow."

I decided against telling her that I had never, in fact, been late to a single shift. I'm sure she wouldn't believe me. Turning back to her computer, Marcie silently dismissed me. I mumbled a goodbye to her as I all but bolted from the room, my bag colliding with a nearby locker as I left. I heard another sigh come from the office and allowed myself a small smile. There was something vaguely satisfying about knowing I had the power to stir an emotion within Marcie, even if it was irritation. Scooping up my tips from the jar, I hollered a goodbye to the rest of the staff, slipping out the door before I could be called back for some ridiculous reason.

It was a good time to finish work, the sun was just beginning to droop in the sky, drowsy from her hard work. The tourists marvelled over the rivers that wove underneath the streets, reflecting the soft amber glow from the streetlights. Locals drifted from the various cafes and bars around the plaza, the busiest time of their day over now that the tourists would be returning to their hotels, cameras full and stomachs rumbling. Amsterdam had that effect on people. For me, Amsterdam was like a haven. Beautiful in a historical way, much like Paris, I found myself falling in love with the romance of the place. Paris was the city for the overzealous couples who wanted the world to know they loved each other - Amsterdam was for the couples who wanted their own little world.

I stopped beside the wishing well in the middle of the street. I was told by my landlady that it was meant to be demolished, but the local children fought to preserve it. I liked it. A little well of hope in a city full of opportunities. Digging out a bit of spare change, I dropped a few coins into the well. The plonk, plonk, plonk of metal hitting the water let me know my wishes had been heard. Whether or not they were answered was a different story. Giving one last thought to my childish wishes, I turned away from my well and carried on with my walk home. Although I didn't get very far.

Passing under the old willow tree, I smashed into a brick wall. Or what felt like a brick wall, anyway. I threw a hand out to steady myself, the girl I'd crashed into doing the same. We both grappled to keep our balance. Her blonde plait whipped through the air as she grabbed onto my wrist, steadying herself as best she could. She looked at me then, eyes the same level as mine, undoubtedly the same height. She had small features, the innocence in her sky blue eyes, so different from my own forest green, startled me. Her mouth began moving but I didn't hear a sound. All at once, it began.

Images began flashing through my mind. A car, two people fighting in the front seat, they don't look like nice people. Oh god, he's angry. Is he going to hit me? No, not me, her. The blonde girl. Another image flashed into my mind, replacing the car. I was in a house this time. It was damp and dark, I was alone. My arm hurts, I think it's broken. I want mummy. No, I don't want mummy, she wants mummy. The girl I bumped into. She's scared. What is she scared of? It hurts. I don't want to see anymore. Make it stop.

No! No! I don't want to see! Stop showing me this! NO!

Just as soon as it had started, it was over. My mental outburst had broken the link between us. My senses returning to me, I looked over to the girl whose memories had just flashed through my mind. Her eyes were wet, horrified. Her lip was quivering, like she was going to break down any second. Oh god. Did she know? Did she realise what I'd done? I took another look at her ashen face before coming to my conclusion. Yes. She did.

Ripping my wrist out of her grasp, I turned on my heel to run. My mind was working a mile a minute. She would tell someone about what happened. She'd say something and then everyone would know that I was a monster, a freak. I'd be hunted down. I couldn't go through that, not again.

The last thing I heard as I sprinted away was a deep baritone voice ringing out across the plaza, leaving a heart wrenching echo across my entire body;

"Sky!"

Little did I know that voice would haunt my dreams for the next few days.