The Fallen Ones

Chapter 1• The First Summer

Maria

I've never had somewhere to call home. No where for me to run to when I'm afraid. No open, loving arms to hold me close and tell me it'll all be okay. No place to go for the holidays. The closest thing I have to home is Montrose.

My mother died the day I was born; never even had the opportunity to name me. My father has never been in the picture. I don't even know who he is if we're being honest.

My grandmother raised me from a baby. She named me Maria, after my mother Mariana. She was an old school Italian Catholic lady; church every single day and only going to sleep once the rosary has been completed.

I remember her being warm but strict. Eager to fill my belly before hollering about the dirty dishes. Braiding my hair as she spoke about what a good wife looks like. But she died before I even started school leaving her entire estate to me with one stipulation.

That I must be enrolled at Montrose Academy for the Elite.

I've been there for nearly twelve years. But I don't consider it home. It's quite simple; I don't belong there. I don't come from an endless flow of money. My family name doesn't garnish respect or fear. And more than anything, I look nothing like my peers.

Blonde haired, blue eyed, with a twisted face. Everyone looks the same. They dress the same. Act the same. Even talk the same. And all the while, they look down at me.

Dark hair and tanned skin make me stick out like a sore thumb. A dirty foreigner they're forced to interact with. Whose voice is still laced with the accent of her mother tongue.

In the twelve years I've been at Montrose, I've never had a friend.

The teachers and various staff aren't bad though. Even without studying, I'm at the top of my class. I don't participate or stay back to ask for extra credit but I do set the curve for every exam that's ever been administered. Plus, I never get involved in any kind of mischief or trouble.

My only respite is dancing. It's something I started before my grandmother died and have continued. There's a ballet studio in the nearby town that I spend every afternoon at.

Much like the girls at Montrose, the other dancers look down at me. I don't mind as much there because I know I'm better than them. They may be more wealthy and cared for but I am far superior at ballet.

I've always dreamt of being a ballerina. Grandmother took me to see the Nutcracker when I was little and there was no going back. To be perfect on stage, night after night, is the dream.

But dreams aren't reality. I know that when I graduate next year, nearly all of grandmother's money will be gone. I can't afford to take the risk; to jeopardize my entire future for a silly make believe. It's a dream, like many others, that I will keep tucked away in the shadows of my mind.

At Montrose, there is a mentor system. Each student transitioning into their final year is paired with an alumnae from their home country. I honestly didn't know there had been other Italian students until I was given my own mentor.

Her name is Rosalina DiSilva, from Mussomelli. Very little information was given to me about her, unlike my peers. I have no idea how old she is, what she does for a living, or if she even still lives in Italy.

The only thing I know is that in the next few minutes, I'll be meeting her at a private air strip. I'm spending the summer with her; it'll be the very first time that I have left Montrose. At least, for an extended period of time. As nervous as I am, I am far more excited.

The taxi comes to a stop on the tarmac and the driver hops out. As he begins unpacking the trunk, I climb out of the car. A giant luxury jet sits in front of me. A few men in suits surround the area, heads on a swivel and hands on their hip.