ＰＡＳＴ

𝔄𝔴𝔞𝔶

"America is a country that lives on hope. It gives us the opportunity to realize our dreams and go our own way."

Barack Obama (1961)

The towering tree, with its multitude of branches surrounded by a dense canopy of green leaves, blew gently in the wind.

A shadow darted out and moved briskly on the thicker branches. His eyes, glowing blood red in the moon's light, fixed on the two-storey house nearby.

Abruptly, the man paused, and the flawless skin on his forehead began to form small wrinkles as his eyes glided quickly and searchingly over the brick building's facade. The muscles under his dark outfit tensed, and the wood cracked under his gloved hands.

The dark blond young man started to jump and landed directly on one of the balconies of the building.

Quietly and quickly, he opened the balcony doors and entered the bedroom.

His eyes immediately darted to the large double bed, whose scarlet bed linen was carefully folded and unused. The tension in his posture intensified as he walked towards the empty double bed and stopped near the headboard.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and his hand gripped the metal frame of the bed, which seemed to tremble under his inhuman strength.

The man's red eyes closed, and a mask of deep concentration settled over his handsome features before a growl like a wild animal filled the room.

The frame shook and detached itself from the rest of the bed before collapsing, burying most of the mattress beneath it. The translucent white fabric of the curtains tore in places, forming straight slits.

With his fists clenched, the man stood before the bed he had destroyed.

"Signora...?"

"Signora...?".

I jumped up from my seat and met the friendly eyes of one of the flight attendants, whose cherry red uniform brightly overshadowed the plain colours inside the plane.

The vivid red immediately made me think of blood, so I had to squint and avert my irritated eyes.

"Is everything all right, Signora?" the woman asked, and I nodded wordlessly as I slowly rose from my window seat. I pulled the beach-coloured cardigan over my shoulders and left the now-empty plane with one last glance at my seat.

🙨

Washington's unfamiliar humid climate manifested itself in cold drizzle and icy winds that whipped up the narrow canopies above our heads. The clouds had gathered into a white-grey mass and covered much of the sky.

With my head down, I negotiated the short distance and finally reached the gate, following the small stream of passengers to the main terminal.

The large "Welcome to the USA" sign marked the entrance to the large hall, which led directly to baggage claim and then passport control.

"Welcome to Seattle," said a member of airport staff in a neutral voice. He handed me my documents without resistance and then quickly waved his hand to let me through security.

"Thank you, Sir," I replied quietly, slowly pushing my luggage trolley towards the exit.

"Melina." an excited female voice rang out as soon as I stepped through the automatic sliding doors and spotted a brown-haired woman among the waiting crowd. My lips curled into a broad smile, and I steered the trolley out of the cleared aisle and into the middle of the hall.

"Little one..." was all I heard before the floral scent of bergamot, roses, and freesia filled my nose, and I was pulled into a deep embrace.

"It's good to see you, Aunt Sofia," I murmured as her wavy hair tickled my face. Her hands continued to linger on my upper arms as she pulled away from me again after a few minutes.

Her brown eyes lit up and ran over my entire frame curiously.

"Let me look at you..." she said, spinning me around once.

"You're the spitting image of your mother," she stated, her smile faltered briefly under the sudden memory before quickly regaining its width and emphasizing the delicate laugh lines around her eyes.

"Anyway...I'm very pleased you're finally coming to visit me in America..." she evaded deftly and accepted the luggage trolley.

"...and I'm sure you'll like Forks.".

I tried to keep up with her as we dodged the crowds of visitors, inbound and outbound and finally reached the large parking lot. The drizzle immediately drenched my face and soaked my shaded cardigan so that after only a few minutes, I ended up standing in front of my aunt's red Dodge Caliber, freezing and with an ice-cold body.

She looked at me worriedly and opened the trunk.

"You'll soon get used to the cold and the rain, Melina. But I hope your wardrobe isn't all thin fabrics and cardigans... because Forks and Volterra have very different climates," she said as I brushed a wet strand of my hair out of my face.

In Tuscany, with an average temperature of around 20°C, the few rainy days a month were manageable, whereas Washington was the exact opposite. The average annual temperature dropped by over half, with continuous rain showers and almost wintry temperatures spread over twelve months.

"Don't worry...Grandma and I have ordered enough fall and winter clothes," I explained and sat down next to my aunt in the front seat.

The spacious car immediately vibrated, and my aunt switched on the heating.

"If not, we still have plenty of opportunities in Port Angeles and Seattle to add to the wardrobe you brought," she explained. She pulled out of the parking space before the red car slowly started to move.

"You should call your grandparents and let them know you've arrived safely in Seattle," my aunt said as soon as we merged onto Interstate 5 towards Tacoma. I glanced at the time display on her dashboard and shook my head.

"It's well past midnight in Volterra. I'll call her as soon as we get to Forks," I explained quietly, and my aunt nodded in understanding.

"All right..." she said, her brown eyes still fixed on the traffic. My head leaned against the cold window of the car as the forest landscapes formed blurry green streaks before my eyes.