"Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing some slight turbulence," the plane gave a sudden lurch and the sound of thunder filled the plane, "there is no need to be alarmed, but, due to company policy it is necessary that we remind you of the necessary safety precautions, so please direct your attention to the front of the cabin."

I didn't bother to look to the front of the plane, if the plane were to end up crashing I don't think I would be all that frightened. If anything, my current situation would vastly improve. Years of sporadically attending church had taught me that death wasn't something I needed to fear, that, if anything, I would only be blissfully happy after death. I could only hope they were right.

It sounded like I wouldn't get to find that out, at least not right now, as the captain informed us over the speakers that we were just outside Volterra and would be landing in a few minutes. I sighed in irritation, not disappointed per se, but I wasn't sure how much more life I wanted to deal with. Am I suicidal? No, but I've always been a person of extremes. I'm either elated or depressed, energized or tired, talkative or silent.

Full of life or barely there.

Right now I was the latter of the two, and I couldn't help but feel like a zombie as the plane landed. I gathered my things as if in a trance and could hardly muster the energy needed to feel anything as I saw that my connecting flight had been canceled due to the weather. I wasn't in a rush anyway, my newly appointed guardian, my great aunt's first cousin or something along those lines, was an eccentric woman who was so busy being trapped in her own world she hardly had time to care about her surroundings.

It had taken me by surprise when I was told that my parents had left me in her care. I had only ever met her twice, and both occasions had been years ago. She was kind, that much I could remember, and she had always been sneaking me candy (even though I had been strictly told that that was not something a serious ballet dancer should consume) and telling me stories of whatever she had done when she was a child. Meredith Grant is her name, and I could vaguely conjure up the memory of the frail old woman who never appeared in the room without a cheerful grin spread across her wrinkled face. She was fiery and loud and, even at the age of 73, she was the type of person to insist upon hiking up a steep mountain with hardly any assistance whatsoever.

I guess I shouldn't have been so shocked though. Neither of my parents had any siblings and I had never even met my mother's parents because of their strong disapproval of my parent's marriage. My father's mother had died five years ago from cancer and his father seemed close to following suit. Meredith, however, had never failed to send a Christmas gift or birthday card and had, apparently, flown in all the way from New Zealand when I was born. She had never had any children of her own, but had instead chosen to travel the world. She had always loved my mother and had taken the place of her mother when they had grown apart, so it only made sense that they would pick her to look after me in case the unthinkable happened.

I left her a voicemail anyway and then left to ask customer service about booking a hotel room.

After booking a room in the city and getting my luggage I called a cab.

The driver was a cheerful middle aged man. He hardly spoke English, and I was embarrassingly bad at deciphering accents so the ride was a little awkward. He didn't seem to notice it though, he continued to talk in a mixture of English and Italian, asking me the occasional question to which I would nod my head and smile. Soon enough I had lost even the energy to do that. My smile felt stiff and insincere and I could feel a lump in my throat, an obvious sign of a soon to come emotional breakdown.

I wanted nothing more than to lay down and cry. I had never been good a coping with emotions, preferring to ignore them for as long as I could before facing them in solitude. And right now seemed to be the breaking point, even the sights of Volterra didn't interest me.

It was a beautiful city though. The buildings were all tall and close together, surrounded by narrow streets paved with sandy colored stone. There were baskets and pots filled with flowers outside the fronts of stores and the windows were all aged and clear, a tell-tale sign of their decades worth of wear and tear. It was different from what I was used to seeing, and the change was kind of refreshing. If this was what Florence looked like, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

My father had loved Italian architecture.

At least in Florence I would have a better chance of moving on, I would actually have the opportunity to make real friends for once. That was a downside of dancing. When you spend five hours a day practicing there's no time for anything else, and the only friends you do make are competing with you. It's hard to really get close to people when you're constantly trying to be better than them.

I was going to miss dance though. Actually, that was an understatement. I didn't know what to do without it. I didn't have any other talent. I can't play an instrument, I was never great at school, I can't draw or paint. Dance is something that I'm good at, something that I'm passionate about. Up until a few days ago, I had basically devoted my life to dancing. I hadn't gone to homecoming in favor of a recital, I'd had to miss countless parties and events, sleepovers and vacations because it would interfere with my dancing schedule. But I had always seen those as a means to an end. If I wanted to be a professional I would have to skip out on fun things. Anything to achieve my dream. But I had never even entertained the idea that I would have to stop. That I would have to give up my spot in the New York City Ballet, a company I had been a part of for a mere nine months. I hadn't ever had a starring role, I wasn't even featured in every show, but neither was any other fifteen year old. But there was a possibility that one day I would get a starring role, that people would know my name or recognize me for the talent I might possess.

I shook myself from my thoughts when the driver, who I learned was named Sergio, announced that we were at the inn I would be staying at. I sent him a ghost of a thankful smile before paying him and collecting my luggage.

The check-in was easy enough, it looked as though I would be staying at one of those family run inns. Where the owners want to sit down and get to know everything about you. I was quick to leave though, I wasn't exactly in the mood to talk, and I had to resist the urge to lock myself in my room and cry. It was only 2 'o' clock and there should be plenty to do. I just didn't want to think, and if I was lucky a long walk would make my mind as numb as my body felt.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Please R&R.

Next chapter will introduce the Volturi! Also, I forgot to say last chapter that Alec will be the age of 16/17 like he was in the movies, if he was 12/13 it would be a little odd. Thank you to everyone who has followed and reviewed this story so far, it means a lot! The next chapter should be up in a few days.

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