A/N: Hey everyone, this is my first fan-fiction, and as I love the Twilight saga so much, I decided to take that up as the topic. But I did a little bit of change. I have added two new characters—Robert Wells Cullen and his human love—Lilka Wyatt. As Stephanie Meyer said, "At the heart of twilight is a love story,"So I decided to make this a love story. You will come to know more about Robert as you read.

As I said, this is my first fan-fiction, so I would very much appreciate it if you comment and review. Enjoy!

Chapter One

I have to say, although I am partial to the music of the fifties, I do like Enrique Iglesias.

I sped up the car as I moved out of the town and towards home, listening to Taking Back My Love, the sound of which was low so it just sounded like background music. It was almost dark in Eaton, New Hampshire, although it did not make much difference whether it was day or night, as the sun rarely peeked out of the clouds here, at most, once or twice a month.

A perfect place for vampires.

And I, Robert Wells Cullen, most certainly am one.

If I were to pile up everything I had or didn't have on one side of a scale, and place this dreadful truth of mine on the other, the latter always out-weighed the former. No matter how much I tried to make myself forget it, or how much I tried to evade it, the truism of the fact that I was, after all, a monster, always seemed to catch up to me, like a bad spirit.

Nonetheless, I loved what I had, and what I was. I had learned to accept it, thanks to the vigorous efforts of my adoptive father, Carlisle, or Dr. Carlisle Cullen, as Eton knew him. If I dare say so, some of the credit goes also to my 'special gifts', as my adoptive niece, Renesmee, or Nessie, termed it. Because I could sense people's auras, I had seen how hard Carlisle was trying to keep me from becoming the monster our kind usually is, and I respected that, enough to cloak myself in this sheet of faux humanity. I had been restraining from human blood for years now, and I had almost reached perfection.

Another of my abilities—willful restraint.

I was almost home now, my ostentatious Citroen Metropolis—a gift from my adopted brother Edward on my eighty third birthday, human years included—turning on the narrow path, which wound all the way into the forest and the interiors of Eton, twisting and curving like a snake.

In spite of actually being eighty three, I was—physically—twenty three, working as a young psychiatrist outside Eton. This was the kind of atmosphere we preferred to live in, small, clouded, rainy towns. And we could live at a place for not more than four or five years, else ways people started to notice that we weren't actually aging. And we could not afford to give them the chance to even suspect us. That was the important thing: inconspicuousness. Melting into the darkness, vanishing in the crowd like any other simple person.

This—the fact that we couldn't age or in that sense, change or grow—was the root cause for despondence in my family. This was what each one of us missed in some or the other way—the possibility of a change, of growing further and having a normal life, seeing our children, grandchildren and their children. That was what was everyone in my family's greatest desire—one for which we could go to any limits—becoming human again.

And yet, we knew we couldn't.

We knew we would never age, never fuss over turning forty, never crease our brow at spotting our first grey hair, never walk our girls and boys to school, never pick them up and go for a pizza, never sit somewhere distant on a porch quarrelling with our spouses about which color curtains should we get for our grandson or grand-daughter, never hear their laughter, never laugh or play with them.

We would never die.

Of course, the only people lucky enough to even have a biological daughter in our family were Edward and Bella. They had Renesmee, thanks to fact that Bella was human when she conceived. I envied Edward sometimes for that.

Thinking of Edward always left me amazed, more due to the resemblance between us rather than just him. It was simply uncanny. I had the same chiseled face, same full lips, same sharp nose, and same broad forehead that he did. Had I not been five years older than him—although physically—we could have passed for twins. Instead, I pretended to be his elder brother, who looked freakishly like him. He even had the same tousled, bronze hair as I did; only mine had a little red in it, and was a bit shorter. And often—just for the fun and liking for it—I often wore spectacles, rectangle, rimmed ones, the ones which Alice claimed made me look "grown up and thoughtful, but at the same time hot". Of course, I had to clean them thoroughly very, very often, thanks to my perfect vision which could even make me see the lines and scratches in the glass. And as a plus, I could sing and compose, though I tended not to. It made me feel drained—mentally, though.

I didn't realize when—against the background music—I started to hum to myself and composing melodies of my own to play on my guitar.

It was then, against the chilling darkness of the cloudy night of Eton, New Hampshire that I saw her.

As the car wound round and round with the road, I made out the outline of a figure walking in the middle of the road. Had I not been having superbly accurate vision, I probably would have knocked her over. Her back was to me, covered by a red, knee-length coat, and I see her shiny, silky black waist-length hair flying in the wind.

I screeched the car to a halt, not just to stop her from walking in the middle of this treacherous path, but also intending to change her way. Did this girl realize how close she was to a lair of vampires?

"Excuse me, Miss!" I shouted as I got out, sensing that the air tonight was a bit too much cold. There was no scent of vampire in the air, just a small faint smell of human blood. So this wasn't just a random nomad passing through.

She stopped and turned.

I looked at her face and recognized her instantly.

Lilka Wyatt—the towns' architect.

"Hey, you're Lilka, right?" I neared her slowly, keeping the distance between us in mind.

Although I had only seen her in town once or twice, it was only now, in proximity to her, that I realized how beautiful she looked. Pale, with an oval face, with big, black eyes, just like her hair, and lips that had the color of cherries, and a slightly pointed nose, topped by a beautiful, reddish blush on her cheeks due to the cold night. But in spite of all that, there was something with her—something wrong.

She looked drained, tired, and troubled, and her forehead creased as she nodded at the acknowledgement of her name. She had her arms wrapped around her, and she was wearing black, leather gloves. Her head was covered with a cap, and beneath her coat—which was unbuttoned—she was wearing a red, knee-length dress, paired up with black stockings, and heels. I was, for a moment, reminded of Alice, of how she would have appreciated Lilka's style sense.

But still, there was that something, something which wasn't right but was supposed to be. I strained my mind, concentrating, but I couldn't figure it out.

"What are you doing out here in this cold?" I asked.

"I . . . I was . . . trying to get home. . ." she blinked and looked away, her eyes troubled.

"Do you want me to drop you?" Come on, I wasn't that shameless as to leave a girl alone on a road in this wintry night.

"Uh . . . no . . . I'll walk . . ." she stammered.

What was it with her? It was so exasperating! I knew something wasn't right? What was it?

"You sure?" I creased my brow, concentrating hard.

"Hmm . . ." she nodded, careful not to make eye-contact.

And then it clicked, in that alone, wintry night, standing with Lilka Wyatt on the road.

Her aura.

Usually, I saw people's auras as a small faint halo around them, often as a shield guarding them. The color of them determined the person's present mood.

She had no aura.

I concentrated, trying to strain my eyes to spot a colored halo, or a shield around her.

None.

There was no corona, no guard around her. It was just, plain her, standing before a vampire who had been seeing people's auras for decades now, and had never seen a person without one.

Unless they were dead.

How could that be? It was simply impossible. She wasn't a vampire, and she definitely wasn't dead—the sound of heart beating and the blood pumping inside her was evident of that—then . . . why didn't she have that halo I saw around everyone?

It was frustrating! I felt like a toddler, a toddler whose favorite dish had been served to him, and yet he was forbidden to eat it. My brow creased as if it had been carved that way. It felt as if she had found the blind spot in my visions, of which even I wasn't aware of. I frowned, like Alice did when she couldn't see something properly in the future. I knew now how she must feel.

"I . . . I'll leave . . . I better go now . . ." Lilka stammered.

And then the frustrating being meddling with my mind turned and started to walk in the other direction.

"Are you all right?" I ran up to her, and easily matched pace with her, "Are you sure you don't need my help?"

The main reason I offered—although indirectly—to drive her home was purely because I wanted to know why. Why couldn't I—let alone see—sense an aura around her? What was the mystery behind her? Behind that? Maybe close proximity and a small conversation with her might help, not that I'd ever needed to do that before. . .

The second reason was because she did look like she needed help. She had her arms wrapped around her all this time, like she was trying to hold herself together rather than just protect her from the cold, like she trying not to fall apart. She was careful of not making eye contact, turning her face away at just the right time. Had she been crying? I didn't know yet, but my psychiatrist self was constantly telling me that there was something else wrong with this girl, apart from the fact that she was apparently . . . aura-less.

"No . . . I'll . . . I'll go . . ." she mumbled, and then as I watched, she sped up and disappeared into the dark night.

If I had any doubts about her being all right, most of them had been cleared by now.

Confused and frustrated, I slid into my car and sped off, allowing myself a small glance in the rearview mirror, watching a red figure shrink and finally disappear into the darkness as my car raced ahead.

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