It was after sunset when you first crossed paths with Aro Volturi. The cool Italian air nipped at your skin as you walked alone, unaware of the predator trailing behind you. His voice reached you first, cheerful yet with a peculiar edge that made your skin prickle.

"Ah, bella! What do we have here? A lovely, sfortunata wanderer under the moonlight!" His words, laced with an unmistakable Italian flair, were almost too sweet, as if he were savoring them. He emerged from the shadows with a smile that was both unsettling and charming.

You blinked, confused, as he stepped closer, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race. “Are you lost, dear one?” he asked, though it seemed more like an invitation than a question.

Something about him felt off, though his jovial manner—too chipper, too manic—made it hard to pin down exactly why. His eyes gleamed, a flicker of something darker buried beneath the surface. "Forgive my rudeness," Aro continued, "I simply couldn't resist the pull. You are—" he paused, his smile widening, "so very special."

You swallowed, unnerved but unsure why, as he hovered just a little too close. Singer, you would soon discover, but you had no idea of the depths of his obsession yet.