This is my first Twilight FanFiction! Please read and review, although I won't be an author who stops writing because they don't have enough reviews!
Now, we don't learn much about Amara in this chapter, not even her name really. It will all be explained over the next few chapters. We do learn that she doesn't like her rich lifestyle though.
Disclaimer: This will be my disclaimer for the entire story, just saying. I own nothing you recognise!
As far as I was concerned, this was just another holiday had that my obscenely rich and obnoxious parents decided to drag me on. I mean, the number of times we have been to Italy, and not once have I been allowed to explore or do my own thing. Granted, I was only fourteen, but I have an insane amount of body guards, not to mention a security tag on my phone. Honestly, you'd think I was a criminal with the amount of surveillance I had on me. Which is the exact reason I decided today would be the day, finally. Today would be the day I rebel. Today would be the day I would go exploring.
I woke up at six in the morning and quickly changed into some of my more comfortable outfits, which would hopefully help me remain inconspicuous as well. It took me roughly an hour to get completely ready, and so I'm out of the hotel-five star, naturally- at just gone seven o'clock. I have to seriously run to avoid anyone noticing me, or at least being able to get a good look at my face. The ferry boats are not too far from the hotel, luckily, and so I do not have to run for too long.
After roughly ten minutes of solid running, I reach the boats. An old, withered man sits in a small hut, head covered by a large fishing hat and a thick beard. Just as I near him, he looks up at me, and flashes me a toothy grin- or what would have been, had he had many teeth that weren't rotting.
"How you doin' love?" he asks me loudly. Clearly, he had hearing problems as well, if he felt theneed to speak at that noise level.
"I'm fine, thank you," I reply courteously, my slightly exaggerated manners shining through.
The old man nods at me and then gestures to the black notice board at his side. "Next trip is in 20 minutes," he states.
It's my turn to nod, and I examine the board next to him:
Volterra – 0735
"I guess I'll go there then," I say, and I hand him a generous wad of money.
The man blinks in surprise but quickly recovers. "Tad too much, love," he says bluntly, and then proceeds to just take the top note. I shrug my shoulders, take my ticket from him, and then take a seat on a bench to my left.
The minutes tick by slowly, with only the sound of the passing waves to keep me company. Them, and the old guy in the hut, who by the way, is now sleeping and snoring heavily.
Eventually, it reaches twenty-five to eight, and the boat taking me to Volterra arrives.
"Good morning," a woman with a black hair, a youthful face and a thick Italian accent greets me. "Are you going to Volterra?"
I nod silently and the woman moves to allow me onto the rather small boat. So much for a ferry.
"So," the Italian woman begins as we set off, "Where are your parents?" The looks she sends me instantly tells me that she believes I am meeting my family.
"I'm meeting them there," I reply, hoping it will rid her of any suspicion or ill feelings.
"Ah, I see," she replies lightly. Another few moments pass us by with neither of us saying a word.
"Um," I say, eager for the, in my opinion, damning silence to be over. "How long have you run these boat trips?"
The woman smiles at me and begins her story of how she started. Luckily, the story carries us all the way to Volterra, ensuring the silence does not make another appearance.
By midday, I am standing in the streets of Volterra, admiring its architecture and design. Hey, it was the way I was raised; nothing I can do about it now. The streets have a surprisingly medieval look to them, almost as if they were built that way. But that's not possible, I know. I mean, yes they could be the same buildings, but they would have to have been redone over time, or less they would have been completely destroyed by the most famous killer; time. Yet the houses look as though they have not had any work done, and appear to be in the same condition as the day they were first built. That's really weird.
With my brain and eyes assessing the remarkable streets, I fail to notice a group of eager, yet confused looking tourists, who are being led by a tragically beautiful girl. That is, I was until she came up to me, confused tourists in her wake, acting like lost puppies; following her every step, her every move.
"Can I help you?" I ask politely. She flashes me a dazzling smile and reaches out her leather-gloved hand for me to shake.
"Hello," she replies, although she has a light German accent, as opposed to the Italian one I had been expecting. "I'm Heidi Marvelli. I work for Touring-On-The-Go. We," she gestures to the puppies, "are heading to Volterra Palace. Would you be interested in joining?" Heidi flashes me another smile, obviously trying to win me over. As a matter of fact, it's actually doing the opposite.
I glance down at the tourist map in my hands. Volterra Palace? I checked the map several times, struggling to find a Volterra Palace. Something doesn't add up.
I look back up at the beautiful woman and smile in a hopefully apologetic manner. "I'm sorry; I don't have any money left."
The woman waves her hand as if it was nothing. "That's alright," she leans in closely to me, as if she were about to whisper a very important secret. "I won't tell anyone if you won't."
I chuckle along with Heidi, although me in a slightly more nervous manner than she. I move to the back of the group, knowing that if I didn't she would find a reason for me to come along anyway. Damn tourist guides.
We walk for just over ten minutes, when we reach a beautiful palace. It looked like something out of a fairy tale. The walls were high, with stain-glass windows dotted around them. The large oak doors opened before us, and Heidi led us into what must be a reception area. How could this possibly not be on the map?
The inside was much more modern than the outside, complete with an Apple iMac and a receptionist. The receptionist also had an array of leaflets, a few of which that caught my attention.
As I was at the back of the group, they didn't seem to notice too much when I held back to grab some of the leaflets. The next set of doors opened and the tourists went through, Heidi still in the lead. One look at the receptionist, Gianna as her name tag said, told me that I should have gone with them. I was really starting to worry now. What was going on?
The large double doors closed behind them before I could even move, and Gianna pushed a set of pink head phones into her ears. Only they weren't connected to anything.
My brain began working into overload to work out this seemingly endless puzzle. And that's when the screaming started.
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