(A/N: Okay, so… this is my Twilight fan fic. I was attached to the penname Evangeline through this. The title of it will make sense later in the story =P)
Preface
"Evangeline, what in the world are you doing now?" His soft voice became louder as he gradually opened my door.
His look of horror almost made me start rethinking what I was doing. My foot was still in place- ready to kick the stool out from underneath my feet, but I froze when our identical, emerald green eyes met.
"…E-Evangeline…You cannot do this…" His voice was shaking as he took a step closer to me, holding out his hand. "…Please… Just get down from there- we can talk about this—"
"There's nothing left to talk about, Edward." I replied, numbly. "…I'm tired of all of this…living in your shadow, always being the last one noticed… my life's not worth living. No one will miss me, regardless."
"Mother will miss you." He retorted almost instantly."…Please, just get down Evangeline… at least wait until after tomorrow if you insist." He tacked on the last part weakly.
I softly smiled.
"…Alright…" I sighed, slipping the rope off my neck and stepping down.
That one fateful night stayed brutally clear in my mind, even worse then the other memories of my human life. Of all gifts for me to have, it had to be remembering. The last thing I want to do is remember the life I had before… unfortunately, it was a power that would follow me around until I die.
I looked down at my mother's grave, 'Elizabeth Masen' written across the stone and that accursed year written underneath: 1918. Thankfully, today had been a cold, rainy day in Chicago while I visited my mother's grave. My coven might not have let me go, had it been normal weather for the middle of June. I had to insist, though.
I knelt down, setting the white and red arrangement on her grave, and hanging my head as the rain started falling in a light sprinkle.
I saw the shadow appear from above me and looked over my shoulder.
My fiancée, Damian, looked down at me, flashing me his warm smile while he was being soaked by then rain from holding the umbrella over my head.
"Are you done, angel…?" His French accent was apparent. Then again, mine probably was too, at the time. How long had I been in Paris then… since 1930? 1928, maybe?
"…Yes…" I stood up and tried to return a smile back. The atmosphere of the moment didn't seem to allow for it, then.
If I had know that was the last time I would see Damian, I would have at least made it memorable… but what happened that day, 4 years later, made me remember, nonetheless...the day I was reunited with my little brother.