A/N: Ok, this is my first fanfiction, so just let me know what you think. I wanted to do this as a series of one shots, probably three, about how Edward's view of salvation changes. This one is before he meets Bella. For now, the plan is to do one after he thinks Bella is dead and one after he finds out that she is alive. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Sadly enough, I don't own Edward. I just put thoughts in his head, which belongs to Stephanie Meyer.

I have always tried to avoid thoughts of my own salvation, or lack thereof. They are too painful. For many years now, I have believed that I was damned. I am a monster, after all. Monsters don't deserve mercy or forgiveness or grace. Monsters deserve death and pain; monsters deserve Hell. I still remember what Hell feels like. It has been nearly a hundred years, but those three days are still burned into my memory. The agony, the blinding pain that left me writhing like a worm and praying to be released from the ceaseless torment. That is where I belong, of that I have always been certain. How could I deserve anything else? I can still see the faces of each of my victims, still hear their pleas for mercy and feel the horror in their minds when they realized that this was the end. They were monsters too, but who was I to judge? In their eyes, I could see myself. When I sent them to Hell, I knew that I would one day join them.

Sometimes, I stand in the hallway at night, when everyone else is occupied, and study Carlisle's old wooden cross. It speaks a message of hope and grace, but not for me. Never for me. It is then that I envy the humans. Faulted, fragile creatures, secure in their ignorance and blind in their faith. It was to them that God appeared, them that He forgave--that he saved. Them he loved. The humans had only to reach out a hand, to speak a word, and they were granted salvation, a guarantee that they were loved and would one day experience the ecstasy of Heaven. It was shocking to me that so few of them accepted this priceless gift. I yearned for it, hungered for the knowledge that I could be redeemed. That I could be forgiven for my many sins. I had long ago given up on ever attaining it.

Carlisle still clings to his faith. It is one of the things that I admire most about him. In the hundreds of years that have passed since he stood before a pulpit and preached the word of God, he has never stopped believing in those Words. His compassion and his self control are testaments to the life that he chose to live, a life devoted to a God who may or may not choose to repay him for it in the end. This is the life he taught us, the life that we have all chosen to lead. It is a life of maybe. Maybe if we believe enough, if we try hard enough, if we resist long enough, He will love us too. It is a dangerous game, one that at times has the potential to send us into the blackest despair, the kind reserved for those who know that hope has left them and will never again return. Sometimes, it is easier not to hope. I don't hope much anymore.

Hope, faith, and love. The three key holy virtues. What do I know of those? They are reserved for higher beings than I. Faith is futile, hope is hopeless, and love…is a mystery. I love my family, but that is not the love that I mean. I have never known the kind of love that sparks between Rosalie and Emmett, the kind that brings such peace to Carlisle every time he looks at Esme, the kind that gives Jasper the strength to resist temptation just because Alice wants him to. No, I look at the bond that draws the couples in my family to each other and know that I have never known that, and that I never will. I don't deserve it.