Chapter One 'June 10, 1996'

Turin, Italy. An attractive city full of gardens, statues, and fountains. With over 2.2 million citizens, and billions of tourists, this city is always full of adventure.

'June 10, 1996'

June 10, 1996, is a distinguished day for half of the citizens in Turin, Italy. Daeron Bianchi, the most skilled assassin known to the small neighborhood of Piedmont was overcome by another skilled assassin not well known in the smaller neighborhood of Werner. Mr. Bianchi left behind his widowed wife, Mrs. Bianchi, and his ten year old daughter, Angie Bianchi, the heir of his entire fortune. The foggy, dark night in which Mr. Bianchi perished, was incredibly mysterious. Local citizens had heard a few gun shots. Others say they only heard a scream for help. Another man, whom was the owner of a magic store, claimed he saw everything. 

"Why I swear m'lady, I saw em' with my own two eyes. They was hiding behind the big black bushes. Soon enough the ghostly spirit grabbed poor ole' sir. He was tall, oh yes, and shady too m'lady. Now my two eyes aint' working well nough' for my years have come over me, but I aint' eva seen no sir like this one. This one grabbed Mr. Bianchi alive. He choked em' with brute force till the blood was spurtin' outta poor ole' sir. I swear, I do, m'lady."

Mrs. Bianchi was never the same once she was announced the news. She'd cry herself to sleep, that is, if she could even pretend to sleep. She became pale, forlorn, and bloodless. Nothing could cheer up the poor woman, not even the only connection Mr. and Mrs. Bianchi created, their daughter, Angie. 

Poor Angie, the young pre-teen who had always been a sickly child from birth. It was normal to see Angie sitting in corners, looking out windows, or walking across the gardens of Piedmont, alone. Yet there was something very peculiar about this young child. She had the most alluring rhythm when it came to playing the violin. Her voice not practiced, yet blending in with the angelic tone. Those who had sneaked up on the gardens of Piedmont on Friday afternoons knew exactly what made Angie Bianchi so innocent. 

Of course, the loneliness was devouring little Angie. Especially now that her father, the man she knew well from mind to soul was gone physically. He never left Angie's mind, or heart. His presence was heavy on her breast, Angie could feel it ever so deep. The little thing would wake up in the middle of the night, at around four or so. With sweat drops falling down her forehead, her hands shaking in dismay, and those sweet, amiable eyes falling apart into tiny puzzle pieces. Just like a nightmare, yet Angie would disagree.

"We sang songs of wisdom, and culture. He held my hand firmly but gently. The feathers on his top hat flushed on my cheeks. Making me feel happy inside causing my cheeks to scatter a color of crimson. It was beautiful mother, simply treasuring. If only those desolate eyes of yours could witness the simplicity of my dream. 

He spoke to me, mama. He said to be good, and strong, and that no one could ever change who I was, and that I was special. Oh, mama, I don't have enough words to describe the moment in which he spoke. Gentleman ways of speaking this time are breathtaking. But, but then he let go of my hand, he stopped looking at me, he paused his speech. Mama, this tall man approached papa. He had squinted black eyes and a long cape covered his body. Just like those evil men who walk the streets of the marketplace."

Angie would always stop there. She'd forget the rest of her dream, now if only the poor child knew how alarming she looked every time she awoke the house maid with her whining. Obviously, something was going on with this child, but she could never seem to spill the end of her dreams.

Angie was given an advisor. A tall, fair skinned woman, with long black hair that tangles itself around her waist when she moves. Her name was Lionelle Halston. Angie did not enjoy her company though. Lionelle seemed inviting to everyone. She would sway her slender finger through Angie's hair, and look after her when she seemed depressed. After four and a half months of company, Lionelle would grab Angie by the arm roughly and push her down the stairs of the Bianchi mansion. 

Lionelle was cold, and nebulous. She believed Angie was possessed by her father's soul.

"Mrs. Bianchi, there is no solution to your daughter's horrifying abjection. She has not been sleeping well, and has hurt herself down the stairs regularly. I would simply advice to take her to a rehabilitation home. Angie refuses to take her medicine and has become very demanding with me. I feel no respect anymore."

Lionelle was devious. Oh yes she was. With ever turn of a head, Lionelle would stare down with a grin at Angie. The snake like tongue that slithered on Angie's face was consuming her. Feeling like debris stuck on the corners of floors. Angie could not believe what this advisor was doing to her life. Angie could not stand Lionelle, with ever day that passed by, Angie felt more and more anger. Something had to be done, if Angie wanted to feel free from the chains drowning her body.

I understood her perfectly, I still do.

This is the story of Angie Bianchi...

Author's Note

Here is chapter one, fully complete now.
Thank you very much.
Enjoy!
-Martha

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[She comes, when I call ..]

Finishhhh it(;
Please.