The summer of 2000, hot, muggy and exciting. Porcelain was 21, living in NYC for a bit now, and enjoying life. It was the place to be at the time, for someone like her. She stayed at her godparent's place in Manhattan. The Yellow Cab company knew her by her first name. The underground Goth clubs were her stomping grounds, her art business was thriving, and the night was hers. Then she noticed him. Porcelain's striking green eyes fell on his form. He stood out like a beacon in the crowd. We'll call him Gio, short for Giovanni. He had wavy dark brunette hair, piercing blue-green eyes. Quite literally tall, dark, and handsome. His clothes hung onto him like some Greek god, right out of the Iliad. She was wearing a black lacy number, her long cherry-brunette hair hanging down past her waist. Gio's eyes met hers, and they strolled toward each other in the middle of the dance floor. They had a whirlwind romance. Enjoying each...