A/N: Because it's just too obvious not to do.
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This wasn't the way the story was supposed to go.
Bella knew the timeline. Pretty girl moves in with her evil stepmother; is forced into the cooking and cleaning and becomes nothing but a plain face—of course, she was living with her biological father and she liked to cook and clean, but the story was the same nonetheless.
And, okay, so her Prince Charming was a monster that wanted to kill her. They were still in love, the kind of heart-stopping, drop dead love that they can never completely describe in books written for ten-year-old girls.
And, yes, the prince had dragged her to the ball, and she wasn't exactly the fairest in the land—but still, they had all the sleep-talking, diamond-skinned myth of the perfect fairytale.
And everyone knew they would have their marriage and first kiss—sweet and chaste like it was supposed to be (even though that wasn't the way she wanted it). She would wear her pure white wedding dress, the blood red lips of a virgin dark across her white skin. He would call her lovely and smile, and they would say I do.
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Jacob Black was one big mistake.
The prince wasn't supposed to leave. He was supposed to save the damsel in distress, not be the one to cause her pain. And never ever ever in the stories did it talk about love triangles and cradle-robbing—that was far too Dawson's Creek for Cinderella.
Jacob Black wasn't supposed to love her. If she had any friends, they were to be singing birds or little dwarves, not beautiful sixteen-year-old werewolves. When he kissed her, she wasn't supposed to like it. What kind of heroine has her heart split in two?
The only choice the princess was supposed to make was which shoes to wear to the ball.
And if the prince did leave, and the princess did fall in love with this tall, dark, perfect boy, then the ending was clear. She would give him her heart like he gave her his and they would watch as their black-haired children grew up in the forest, far away from monsters and magic.
But she just had to go and mess everything up.
She snatches her heart from Jacob Black and shoves it into Edward's cold dead hands—tells him she's made her choice (even when the tears are still falling), tells him to kill the wolf, tells him Dear Prince, I will always love you. Because everybody knows that princesses never lie.
Oops.
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Fifty years later, her heart is still broken, and she is wandering through the woods like Little Red Riding Hood, looking for her beautiful, lost wolf.
But he's in another story now, and it's too late. Sorry, Cinderella.
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END