After taking a break from posting for a few years to decide how l want to go forward with my writing, l've decided to post smaller projects from now on until my main stories have been hashed out and edited.

This is also honestly giving me something fun to do instead of staring at the walls all day during my quarantine.

The world is in a current state of pandemonium but if everyone plays their part COVID-19 can be contained and the line flattened.

#Stayathome

Anyway, this, l know, is a dreaded twilight fanfiction, but l just thought l'd practice my writing and tweak already invented concepts.

I hope this is enjoyable! ❤️😊🌼

My tour guide wrapped her fuzzy jacket tighter around her arms as the evening chill set in. I thought it was kinda pointless, because it left her shoulders bare to the assaulting wind. She kept on refilling her wine glass with sweet wine. She tried to convince me to take even a tiny sip, but I didn't want to totter down the street. And I was not legal yet in America. But I wasn't exactly in America at the moment.

I was taking my long-awaited gap year in Italy before attempting Law school. It would have been nice to tour all of Italy, but my annual allowance and the few titbits I scraped together from working just about covered the tour around Sienna and Pisa.

"Dio, mio! The weather is very cold, sì madame?"

I pulled my seasoned hoodie tighter around my neck.

"Sì." I agreed.

Madame Bianchi, stained the top of her flute with more rouge lipstick. She had enthusiastically taken me through all the sites of Pisa, like the Leaning Tower, the Cathedral and the seminary. I was ready to hit the sack right away.

But she insisted I take a look at something before then. She put her glass down and flashed a pearly white smile at me, marred by a line of red. She was smiling so wonderfully that I hadn't the heart to tell her she had lipstick painted on her two front teeth. I gave a weary one in return.

"Madame you must see this, no?"

She slid a pamphlet to me and I slid it closer, where the flickering bar light shone above my curls. I read: Castello di Volterra.

Beneath the bold heading, thankfully, in English laid: a glimpse into the past before arriving at your final destination.

That last part sounded strange, but l'd love to see a castle.

I'd always dreamt of being a princess like those characters from the Disney films, until my mother clarified that girls from our neighbourhood didn't live a happily ever after, we were lucky to even get by at all!

I looked for the city it was located in, because I couldn't remember the website I used to book my tour ever mentioning a castle in Sienna or Pisa. And it wasn't in any of those places.

"Mi scusi, madame. This says it's not anywhere where we booked, but in a place called Volterra." I said pointing a chubby finger at it.

She nodded and gave me another lipstick-stained beam.

"Sì, it is not in Pisa or Sienna."

I gave a scrunched-up look. So why bother showing me this?

"Need I remind you we are on a tight budget? I can't afford this."

I pushed it back to her. She smiled as if she expected this.

"But madame this is a complementary package it comes after booking more than one city to tour, which you did!"

Hhhmmm, it was free? I began wondering why.

"It's free?"

She nodded and l scowled.

"Why would a tour be free?"

She threw her brunette hair back and showered it over the chair rest.

"If you find it dissatisfactory. You may call me and discontinue the tour."

I raised my brow.

"You won't even come back, that's how absorbed you'll be!"

I nodded disjointedly, too tired to argue. She grinned triumphantly and declared it was time to take me to my hotel. If this tour was a piece of garbage I would hightail it out of that place.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My tour guide met with a colleague of hers and spoke with her quietly. How could they hear one another over the gurgle of children screeching?

Parents in the tour group chased after the kids, couples kissed, and ladies with rosaries and prayer beads prayed in their floppy sun hats.

The tour guide smiled at me and said:

"My amica, Heidi, can take over for me so you see the castle nicely, call if you need anything."

I had ended up in the back; that wouldn't do. I tried to get in front but a girl from New Jersey put her palm out in front of my face and popped her gum out.

" Hey, kid I was 'ere first, back of the line."

I huffed and looked at her tangerine skin and too yellow hair, she looked like she was impersonating the sun.

"Hey, how old are you anyway, huh?" I said indignantly.

"Meh? I'm nineteen." she gloated.

We were the same age! But I lied I was twenty-one to intimidate her.

"Whateve' yah look like you just turned sixteen," she said in a monotone.

So, I was stuck in the back where I had to go on pointé to see over much taller tourists and hearing was like a luxury with all the chattering from the group. And not to mention it was sweltering out in the square.

I dipped my sore feet in the fountain then I gasped as two mischievous ten-year-olds splashed water on me as they chased one another in the fountain.

"Ben and Carrie, get out of that fountain!" a red-faced woman with a sunhat said.

Ben pointed a moist finger towards my face.

"But she can play in it, why can't we?"

Playing? I wasn't playing... I was soaking my feet. The woman looked at me with pleading eyes.

"Sweetie, please be a good example and get out of there will you?"

I stood up getting away from the little twerp.

"I was just getting out," I muttered.

The woman begged her kids, nearly in tears, to behave. She must have suffered through this behaviour throughout the entire day.

"Ben, you see? She came out."

Ben frowned. Yeah! His jig was up. She went to the edge of the fountain and pulled her children out. They wore matching Bermuda shorts and tees.

They were advertising that they were twins and if the boy had longer hair it would,nearly, have been difficult to tell them apart.

Finally, the group was ushered into the castle. Outside it sported the characteristic ruddiness all buildings in Volterra had. The castle had long, wide hallways decorated with murals, rugs, antique vases and statues. At the front they offered an audio tour with compact LCDs and black headphones. I snatched one up and followed its pattern alone through the castle.

And I fell behind the group; I didn't particularly care. It was quiet, not a person in sight apart from my group and the guide. Where was everyone; was it abandoned? That didn't seem likely.

I shook my head and followed the virtual tour guide. And the voice I was listening to was raspy and shaky like the person had stood out in the rain the entire night before recording the audio.

"Welcome to Volterra! Home to the famous Cathedral, Village square market, clock tower and its ghoulish legends. All of the southwest region of Florence, including Volterra is wrapped in ancient mystery.

Volterra dates back to the 8th century; it was an Etruscan village later invaded by Romans. In the 1950s, the Roman Theatre of Volterra, built in the 1st century BC was excavated."

There was a whole run down of the town's history and the important architecture in it, such as the Piazza dei Priori, the main square, the art gallery, the town hall, the chapel and cathedral with a famous painting by some artist I didn't get to see in Sienna, since my guide had insisted for some reason I come to Volterra and leave my already paid for tour!

After this I would rush to Sienna and get my money's worth. At least there didn't seem to be anything of too much interest here.

Then I was led by the disembodied voice in my headsets down more fancy hallways, but all the rooms were not to be entered...boring.

Couldn't we see one room at least? In the hall I found a painting with four men, clearly from after the Roman period. They looked like they had makeup on,colouring them pale and three of them had long hair. They wore puffed up sleeved shirts and tight pants. It looked like it was from the 1800s, maybe earlier.

This is cool.

The lecture eventually took me to the reception area. It had grassy carpeting and wooden-panelled walls. There were peach and dull yellow couches waiting for a guest to sit upon them. The sweet aroma of flowers coloured the air. The room had no windows but it was warm and well ventilated.

I saw the backs of the twins, their mother and that Jersey girl. I purposefully walked further behind.
I had removed the volume. With the device still covering my ears I entertained myself with listening to my tour group's squawks.

As I got nearer I saw gold ornate double doors. I think I was too far away to be seen by the people inside. The door was shut.

OOoh, better get out of here then. I was already too late. I passed by the reception again and deposited the tour audio kit there before casually walking out to the square to dip my feet in the fountain that was once forbidden.

I took out my cell phone from my rucksack and dialled the number from the agency. It rang twice before chiming off. I tried again. I was standing, looking at the castle.

It was absolutely magnificent,towering red with creepers crawling up the side and multiple high points to view the entire city.

"Man, I'd sure love to be up there!" I said peering longingly at one of the visible balconies.

It was midday and the sun was making its presence known. I wished the agency had told me what to pack; I had a billion hats I could've brought with me from home.

I blew out a breath and sat on the fountain tiles and placed my sloth-covered rucksack beside my sandals. I typed in the number, struggling to press the chubby, little buttons with my large digits. The phone rang and rang and rang.

But no response came. I, frustrated, stuffed my cell-phone back into the bag. I shrugged it over one shoulder and decided to find somewhere to lunch because the marimba began playing in my stomach.

"Now, where to eat?" I pondered as l walked past the streets that were cobbled.

I passed a man in a blazer that was a sharp currant colour.

"Buon pomeriggio, signore. Mi può dire come arrivare la... (could you tell me how to get to the restaurant)"

I paused and with his impatient greenish eyes he held the gaze of my mud pie eyes. I gestured to my stomach and made round motions. A torch seemed to light in his eyes.

He pointed left behind what looked like an Italian version of my flats in America, dilapidated and squashed together. He told me the restaurant was nestled in the housing area. I had to go left then head straight.

"Aaah," I said muddled up but I said graci in the most cheerful tone.

Then we parted ways. I followed his directions and came to an area buzzing with the chatter of clients on outdoor tables and with long queues of hungry customers.

Every so often there was a passer-by with a sandwich of some sort. I could see cafes, taverns and quaint family-owned restaurants. I didn't want to really wait long or eat a heavy meal as I planned to continue with my journey ahead.

I found a sandwich shop that was not too full, but with a good sized queue. The top of the shop had a new sign, the only new thing this shop probably brandished, that said Trattoria.

I stood under the shade for only fifteen minutes, as it was just past noon and not many people had arrived yet and the service was adequate. I have no idea what I ordered but thankfully, one of the guys making my sandwich understood English.

I just told him to give me the best sandwich. He took out this hard-looking rectangular bread, schiacciata, there was a white cheese, pecorino, smeared, and a ham, eggplants and artichokes with fresh parsley.

I took a bite and I detected a hint of saltiness, soft and milky texture and a nice meaty feel. I hummed in satisfaction heading back to the water fountain.

I re-dialled the agency's number and it was finally picked up. I had started pacing. That dense lady sounded confused when I spoke of continuing my tour in Siena.

"It's me! Makayla! You have to come get me, you forced me on this previous leg of the tour and it was a total waste of time!"

I waited silently.

"Oh, mi scusi. I will be there soon."

I cut the phone and stared morosely at the sloths painted on my bag before fiddling with the buttons. I was going to enjoy my last few days here.

After a long day touring Siena I booked into a small bed and breakfast. I had gotten Miss Bianchi to remove my remaining luggage from my accommodation in Pisa.

I had no reason to return; I had already scouted potential colleges and job opportunities for two days. Now in the last three I could relax and enjoy the culture of Italy and learn a bit of Italian hopefully? American guys loved girls that were multilingual. I slumped onto the single bed.

I shut my eyes and reminisced continually of my adventures in Pisa and compared it to the days out in Siena.

There was a similar undercurrent of old, Etruscan architecture, a hearty history that reverberated through the modern additions, that developed each passing of time, and a passion for food but each settlement stood out in its own way.

I felt a sudden breeze rush past my face. I felt an impending doom. My eyes suddenly snapped open. As I sat up on my hands my heart pounded. What was that?

My eyes flashed across the box room. I studied my surroundings; in the front left corner was a little, wobbly circular table holding a telephone and a cracked vase of flowers.

The right, where the window was, had a large shadow creeping toward my bed. I hopped so that my feet flopped on the bed, which prior to that were swaying off the edge of the wooden bed. Unadulterated fright ran red in my veins turning my body cold.

The flimsy, grey curtains hooked by toothpick nails above, flapped loudly as they as they whipped against the window sill. The wind whistled as it forcibly entered the room, chilling it. I gasped.

The window was closed when I entered. 

How had it opened then? I glanced either side of myself and found no intruder but dread had draped itself over my shoulders, like a mink coat on a hot summer, stifling me.

Fear clung to my belly desperately. I closed the windows, abruptly, halting the exodus of the chill. My black eyes strained in the dark when I saw a shadow by the lamps.

I swear I could spot a grand man standing near the flickering light pole. His head flicked up to stare at me with iridescent eyes that seemed vinaceous under the orangey light. His long hair beneath the fedora was brushed by the wind.

I screeched and when I blinked there was no man. Disturbed thoroughly I drew the curtains closed, hoping to forget the vision entirely. Maybe I needed rest...

My curiosity was peaked this morning by the family that ran the inn I was staying in, in Siena.

I was served a lovely cup of cappuccino, however, it had too much sugar for my liking. But it went well with the breakfast I was served. There were all kinds of cold cuts and cured meats. There was a Florentinian bread that was salty and a tasteless bread and even different sorts of cheeses. I helped myself.

A wonderful woman, Ms Agricola, spoke to me animatedly in Italian. I didn't know where to begin so I told her my nationality and how I don't really speak that well in Italian; that's about one of the few phrases I had caught onto.

Luckily, she easily switched to English.

"Where were you before, dear?" she asked.

"I had been in Volterra before; my tour guide insisted on me visiting some castle there even though it wasn't a part of the package deal."

My hand picked up the butter knife and there was a stiff silence that now permeated the air. Her husband looked at me, his spotted, wrinkly hand quivering.

"Volterra, madame?" he said in a raspy voice, his eyes a-lit in silent terror.

I nodded but not without giving a strange look. Was there anything wrong? I bit into that periconi cheese I was beginning to love. The couple spoke in hushed tones. I frowned. I apologised, thinking I had disrespected an Italian custom.

Was it about saying grace first before eating or another phrase to wish the diners well? Maybe I should have asked.

Ms Agricola's greyed curls bounced as she softly spoke to her husband. He extended his hand out to her and she clasped onto it. They shared a look with disjointed smiles before:

"You are a fellow believer?" asked Mr Agricola.

I smiled.

"Got confirmed in the Church at twelve, sir."

"So perhaps would you like to hear a tale of a saint?" he went on.

I could see them glancing at my chest where a pink rosary hung, it had metal beads and a silver cross as the pìece de résistance.

"Long ago, Italy was reigned by the Romans, who practiced paganism and polytheism. The Romans from around 300 AD accepted Christianity and it became their main religion, but pagan worship still continued existing. As the centuries past, however, Christianity became commonplace but..." said Mr Agricola.

"But?"
I was getting impatient to hear the next part. He had a strong voice that drew you into the tale.

"The land started experiencing mass death in its villages and towns; they were being terrorised by creatures!" the woman said theatrically.

"Some called them the Devil's compatriots," her husband whispered.

"No-one knew from whence they came but one thing they knew was that they were unstoppable forces of destruction; few things could destroy them." she said.

This was obviously bullshit but it was intriguing. And who didn't love a little folklore?

"It may have been God's punishment for the world's growing unbelief or the spiral of sin it had fallen into," he said biting into buttered bread.

"The creatures only came out in the darkness so in the day people were safe, but they never lived long thereafter. Peasants were dying from the infliction of fear; fear of who would fall prey next to the beasts. The kings didn't care! They were safe in their towers. The people started doubting the Roman rulers, but they believed the rulers were put there on the pedestal by God."

He finished his portion then his wife went on to recount: "Then a true king rose, a priest called Marcus, from the historically Etruscan region, chased away the beasts forever; then the Roman rule over Volterra...Florence ended."

My hunger satiated I felt like I didn't get the whole point.

"That's a good story but what were these beasts?"

They apparently were two different ones. One, a werewolf and another, a vampire. Often the vampires roamed amongst the people and they never knew so.

There was still time and I wanted to see the Volterra Baptistery and the Cathedral to snap photographs for my travel scrapbook.

I wasn't sure if the idea for university here would pan out. I phoned a tour guide agency from that city,  not ready to fall prey again to Ms Bianchi's confusion. I was phoning them at the family dinner table and they looked aghast.

"Uh, madame what you look for in Volterra, here in Siena we have better church for pictures." The man insisted.

I liked the architecture and l didn't really get a chance to look.

The man insisted that nothing there was worth my life if I were just interested in looking. What did he mean? After they saw I was determined to go they told me to get the earliest tour then be back before nightfall because people often get mugged at late hours. I nodded.

I met this man who would show me around the religious monuments of Volterra at the towering walls of the city and l phoned the agency Ms Bianchi worked for, to drop me off at the gate. They were quite furious l had arranged my day-trip myself but l could've cared less.

I was back to do what I enjoyed. I had on my grey sneakers my brother had bought for me. A grey t-shirt with a pocket by my heart and blue Levis, the only quality denim in my wardrobe.

The man was in his thirties and robust. He gave me a cheery grin.

"Buongiorno, madame."

I gave him a smile.

"Buongiorno," I said.

He introduced himself as Mr. Benito Russo. He wanted to show me the entire city but I told him today would be simple. I was only here to see the church, the chapel and the baptistery. He nodded and he said walking would be best so I wouldn't miss a thing.

Our first sight was the Baptistery. It was an eight-sided building, built in the thirteenth century complete with statues depicting Jesus removal from the cross outside the enclosure and an inspiring painting of Mary from within.

"This painting is by the painter, Niccolò Cercignani." he said pointing to it.

"You see it's a bit damaged;that happened in World War two," I nodded absorbed.

I turned around and looking at the beautifully sculpted boy holding a cross, a cloth draped over his privates in the centre of a sort of cream, green and orange stooped area. It was before another painting hidden beneath an arch. The stone was a seashell and yellow umber colour.

After that we went to the Cathedral, it was about eight thirty then. I was astounded by the masterful stroke work dedicated to God, in an ethereal splash of jade, azure and muted brown. There were stipples and triangular and rhomboidal shapes on the outside of the sandstone structure.

I could not look anywhere without seeing a saint or the Lord. It was solace and warmth. Out of habit as we entered I bowed my head and the basin containing a sponge I dipped my finger in there and did the sign of a cross.

The guide, feeling awkward for just entering returned to do what I did. I told him it wasn't necessary but I did it to just acknowledge God. The man refused to look unreligious so he did as I did. Unfortunately for him it meant a lot of kneeling and bowing.

Then he tapped my shoulder we had to return at eleven, there was a service but I wanted to stay. He remained of course out of boredom and translated the sermons and readings for me.

I even got introduced in the church as a visitor. Many stared agape, they had probably never seen a person with my skin before, this wasn't the trendiest area to visit by people, if they did visit.

I took the attention in stride and spoke in my mispronounced Italian, as I nodded my frilled hair got in my forehead. They applauded regardless. My guide was impressed by me and he offered me lunch before we left.

I accepted and he went off to the restroom momentarily leaving me at an upscale looking restaurant. A drop fell on my nose. I looked into the sky as if seeking God and heaven fell on me

I hid inside the restaurant soaked through. I shivered as I waited for Mr Russo. I heard clicking, of men's boots and l smiled.

"There you are! I thought you weren't..." I let my sentence runoff as I peered up and realised that the man I saw was not Mr Russo, he was younger, and paler as well. He had his long hair tucked into a messy bun and he wore semi-formal clothing.

"You aren't Mr Russo," I said.

He tilted his head as he looked at me strangely. I winched and greeted him in Italian. He responded a little coldly and l tried to figure out how I'd talk to him.

"I'm not he but I'm here to take you."

I smiled realising he could in fact speak English but after I registered his words I balked.

"Wait, what? Who the heck are you? I'm not going anywhere with you."

He laughed and strode nearer. I moved backwards, making sure I had witnesses in case he tried anything. There were many people in due to it being noon.

He paused and reassured me removing a stiff paper from his blazer. I snatched it suspiciously.
I gazed upon it.

"Demetri Colombo, member of Little Italia tour guide services."

I frowned it was the same company as Mr Russo. But anyone could forge this so I messaged Mr Russo and he confirmed I was indeed to continue my tour with him. But since it began raining I would need Demetri until he got back.

But I questioned the necessity of it all. This didn't make any sense! First off the tour was over and he had been the one trying to get me lunch which is why I had stayed in the first place. I sighed agitated.

"I don't care if you are from the same company; l'm hungry and cold. So, I'm just going to leave."

He tried to talk to me but I moved away from him and tried phoning Ms Bianchi and her agency but there was no response. I sighed and sat at an uninhabited table. I shook. He sat across from me.

"I know this is inconvenient but something came up and Mr Russo was forced to attend to it. Tell you what, I'll get you somewhere warm to sit and then you can be on your way after the rain stops. You won't find a taxi now especially since it's lunch and also the ones you do find will be overcharging."

I looked at him sullenly.

Demetri was really friendly and he talked of how he worked at the castle as well and how one job didnt cut it. I laughed agreeing.

He told me he could get a jacket from inside and I could just wait in the reception for him. I returned to the familiar place and sat on the yellow sofa made for one.

The secretary kept glowering at me. I gave a long stare. She twitched uncomfortably before going back to typing,probably she was just doing nothing.

Then my vision stirred and my heart started beating fast.