A/N: I've been writing a lot of fanfiction lately. And by a lot, I mean a lot. Anyway, I decided to write a fic inspired by one of my favorite novels, The Island. However, since there is no such category in this site, and because I'd like to be a tad more original, I'm going to do the following thing; write a Twilight fic. I thought that, if I simply wrote the original story in different, less and more simplistic words, it'd be plagiarism, right?

Oh, and this one is somewhat serious compared to my other fics. Just so you know.

Summary: Bella married Edward so that means that she's happy, right? Well, she's not. AU, AH, OOC etc. Rated T for some language and character death.

Disclaimer: I make no claims to originality.

Isabella Marie Cullen brushes her long, brown curls and gazes at her beautiful face in the mirror. She is indeed an exceptionally beautiful woman.

No, not just exceptionally beautiful.

She is beautiful and rich and strong and perfect. And married. How could she forget that?

Of course, she loves her husband. But she also loves her copy of Pride and Prejudice and her silk dresses and her engagement ring. (She hated it before, but before was different. Now she knows more. For example, the value of diamonds.)

Edward has fulfilled her wildest dreams, yet she is not happy. Why is she not happy?

Renesmee is happy, though. Isabella knows she shouldn't feel this way, but it kills her; it cuts her to the core.

When Isabella was eighteen, she knew who she loved. She barely knew herself, yet she was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Edward Cullen. She could never picture her life without him. She never tried, really.

Isabella knows about imprinting. She's known it for years, actually. She hates it. Fiercely.

Back then, she never thought that anything would overcome the unending emotion of rage - that, at first, she had confused for fear for her young daughter. She was, of course, wrong. Envy was an emotion almost unknown to her. She never doubted Edward's love for her - except for a dark period that seemed so long ago - so she never felt the green-eyed monster creep into her; not in its fullest form. Because, let's face it, she knew that Edward would never love anyone but her.

So, no, Isabella never feels jealous.

Isabella's grip tightens around the fabric of her silk robe; her knuckles would turn white if they weren't so damn pale already. Edward notices. Of course he does.

What is it? She shakes her head and smiles at him. Nothing she whispers so he doesn't hear her voice crack. Do not cry, do not cry, do not cry she begs herself before she remembers that she can't cry. Isabella wishes she was human for a brief moment. Maybe...maybe Edward would spare her and kill her to end her misery. Then of course, he would have to die. Now, why doesn't she give a damn?

That night, they make love and all she can see is him.

Isabella laughs, a high-pitched, out-of-control sound. So it turns out that Edward knows. She wonders what was her stupid mistake that led to him finding out. She should be terrified, yet she felt nothing but great fucking joy.

Never in my life, have I loved anyone as much as I love him she says, her smile wider than Edward has ever seen it.

She never sees him pull the lighter out of his pocket.

Isabella knows she envies her daughter.

But she is dead now - in all kinds of ways - and it doesn't matter if she's jealous.

God, I love italics! So, watcha think? Review person, review!