Warning: This story discusses problematic mental health (depression, schizophrenia, dissociation) and successful suicide.

I wanted to explore character creation. I wanted to explore character development, on already created characters and my own creations.

I wanted to be able to write a person and create life, and I wanted to make them a little too different, a little too strange. A little too much.

This is an OC-insert, reincarnated into the world of Twilight. She does not care about the Cullens, they do not care about her, and then things happen.

I want to call her morally grey/dark, but I haven't even gotten anywhere in regards to (essential Twilight-related) plot, so she might not be either.

The story starts right before the Cullens move to town, and it will end depending on how emotionally invested I become in this story.

Prologue

News and gossip travel quickly.

Forks. It's a small and secluded town, the people live out their lives here. The grandparents, great-grandparents, parents, have all grown up together, each generation popping out children. It's almost like the entire city is creating an incestuous family, but with thrice-removed cousins marrying each other instead, so there is a far enough degree of separation.

Every now and again new people will move to town, bringing dreams of a new start and then realizing how the city works too late, thus becoming another drone in the production line.

Mum was one of those years ago.

Then, she birthed me.

Even if you lock yourself in, it is like the plants and animals whisper.

There's a little girl running through the kitchen, bare feet hitting the tiles paving the floor, giggling and shrieking, as happy as can be. Her cheeks are flushed, hair in complete disarray. She's smaller than the average kid, and looks about five.

Her mother, most likely her mother, catches her, swings her up into the air, smiling just as wide as the child. The father, much more stoic, but the touch of warmth in his eyes shows just how happy he is to be there.

Then she's a teen, the girl still as happy as can be, smiling wide, mouth full of braces. She's caught a growth spurt, the last one she'll ever have.

She's running, again, but this time it's on a track. She's sprinting, as free as a bird, friends and family cheering her on in the bleachers.

And there's the end of her life.

Knife through her jugular, lying in a bathtub, the steady sound of blood dripping down the drain.

She looks even smaller than her five year old self.

There's a note, the yellow standing out from the white and red.

Hi, it's me.

I can't stand myself anymore, please...

Particularly if there's news about a supermodel family moving to town.

But those are echoes of a life long gone, a pipe dream, nothing to be touched upon because no matter how hard she looks she can never find anyone from that time.

All the extras, not just reality, no more creativity.

She can only dream and forget.

Dream, then forget.

But hearing is one thing, seeing and believing are two more.