*Valora's P.O.V*

I sat in the backroom, the phone held to my ear as I listened to the woman on the other end. She was yelling at me again, berating my decisions and letting me know how disappointed she was in me. Why couldn't she see? I didn't need this right now.

"Why are you putting us all through this Valora? Hasn't this family had enough pain without you giving up the fight!"

I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. She always resorted to this, guilt tripping me in the only way she knew she could. I wish she'd just let it go, realise the same thing that I had done and allow me some peace from her ranting.

"Mama, please, I haven't given up... I'm just fighting a different battle now... One that I have more chance of winning"

I winced as she let off a string of curses before slamming the phone down on me. She'd never understand, no matter how much I tried to speak with her about it. The mobile dropped from my weary grasp as my hands came up to cradle my head, too exhausted both mentally and emotionally to cry any more tears. What good would they do me now anyway?

"your mother again?"

The voice, raspy from over thirty years of smoking, drifted to my ears as my bloodshot eyes raised to look into the face of my boss and friend, Reggie. His sharp green eyes shone with concern as he offered out a hand to guide me back to my feet, his tousled hair the shade of fresh fallen snow. I smiled brightly, wishing nothing more than to appease the worries that I knew were whirling around his mind. Since moving to Volterra, almost four years ago, Reggie was like family to me. A wise grandfather figure that always seemed able to make me laugh when I wanted to cry.

"How did you know?"

"I could hear her screeching from the other side of the bakery"

I scoffed slightly, swiping the tears away that threatened my eyes. His eyes only seemed to sadden further as he placed a hand against my shoulder and lead us both back through to the front of the store, his cane clicking gently against the clay tiles.

"She is your mother and, whether she agrees with your decision or not, she loves you. Her words may be hurtful at times, but it is because she is scared and can't see the same as you in this time. Fight as only you know how and be the Valora that we know and love... And never be ashamed to cry child because, sometimes, allowing those tears to fall is the greatest sign of courage"

My shoulders slumped slightly, his words hitting my heart as a few tears fell free. I pushed the front door open, turning to send a fragile smile towards the elderly man before leaving to start my trip home, to collect my guitar for another night of busking.

"Thanks Reggie"

The night air is cold, my fingers feeling a little numb as I strum the little pick against the strings of my guitar, my eyes closed as I try to ignore the chill. A lot of people at work wonder why I do this, question why I bother when I already have a job and so few really stop to listen, simply throw a few coins into my guitar bag before walking away as if I do not exist. But the fact is, I enjoy this. The simple thought that, even if I only make one person smile with a song, I have made one person smile on a day that may have been going terribly.

"Step one, you say, "We need to talk."
He walks, you say, "Sit down. It's just a talk."
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
You begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life"

What do I mind if they don't really notice my existence anyway? I'm not trying to get noticed for anything, only trying to earn a little extra. Not that I keep the earnings, I don't need the extra money to live my life, I'm more than content with my little flat and job at the bakery. But there are others that I do this for who aren't as lucky, and that's another reason I do this. I want to help, give something back to the people who helped me so much as a child.

My eyes snap open as I feel someone staring at me, meeting the gaze of a raven haired man as he stands at the other side of the street. He's been coming here every night for the past two weeks, simply watching and listening, but he never comes over to speak. The first night I noticed him, he ran away when I smiled at him and, as cute as it seemed at the time, I was a little hurt that he fled. I find myself wondering who he is, this stranger who comes to listen each night, wishing to know his name and hoping that he will continue to visit. The nights with my guitar don't seem as lonely when he is here. But, at the same time, he scares me... there is something about him that seems almost ethereal.

He's still there when I begin to pack up my things, something I've been noticing since his first visit. He's begun to stay longer, simply watching, like an overprotective guardian. I don't know whether to feel flattered or slightly freaked out by it. And so I decide that I will make the first move to the mysterious man, with my guitar strapped to my back.

He seems frozen as I draw closer, and I begin to see his features much clearer. He is beyond handsome, he could make the male models in my sisters magazines cry with jealousy, his long ebony hair held back and his expression one of surprise and, although I'm not completely sure, awe.

*Aro's P.O.V*

I cannot find words to describe how I feel as this angel, I can think of no better way to describe her than as an angel, begins to walk towards me, that same smile across her lips as when I first saw her two weeks earlier. Since that first night, she has plagued my thoughts and I find that I can no longer turn away as easily as I did before. When I can see her, singing as she does each night, I feel like a light has been blessed into the bleak darkness of my existence, offering guidance where once, I now realise, I was lost. Is this what all those others feel when their hearts begin to open and embrace another? If it is, then I wish I had met her sooner, for this feeling is one that I would happily drown myself in.

"I've seen you every night for the past two weeks, I feel a little rude for not speaking with you sooner... My name's Valora Shields"

Valora, such a unique name. A feminist variation of the word valour, meaning courage. How perfect this name seems for a woman who, when others, even member of my own coven, would so gladly turn and flee from me in fear for their lives, so boldly greets me. I take her extended hand gently, grateful that I have chosen to wear gloves this night. Unlike others I have met before, I do not wish to use my gift for telepathy on her, I want to learn about this woman through her own words and actions rather than through a simple touch of hands.

"Aro Volturi... A pleasure to speak with you, Miss Shields"