The Christians think Hell is a place where souls of the unsaved go in the afterlife to be tortured for all eternity. Those of the Baha'i faith believe it to be a place of remoteness from God. Muslims believe it to be fiery pits where souls who once lived in sin abide. The Greeks believe it to be a place called Tartarus, a bottomless pit of torture in the underworld where the gods punish you due to your deeds. Hades, Hella, Anaon, Uffern, Peklo, O le nu'u-o-nonoa, Naraka, Diyu, Infernus... The names of this place of torment go on and on. To me, however, one word gives a name to Hell.
Life.
One hundred years. That is how long I have existed. There is no "life" for me since the beginning of that time, only existance. Only my friends-my pack-keep me from snapping under my own emotion and flinging myself off a cliff or the like. I will not age nor die until I have found an imprint, but this is unlikely. For love to blossom , there must be a heart that is not broken. For soul-mates to bond, there must be a soul that is not shattered. If I were to imprint, who is to say if they would accept me? I am a broken woman, a hundred years later. Time cannot heal me, only he; the one who causes me eternal torment. What made me like this is what I am made to hunt. Vampire. I am meant to sneer the name in disgust, yet I do not. I say it with love, and with sorrow. I say it with the wistfulness of a starving woman talking of food. I say it like a woman thirsting to death speaks of water. How strange that I need the creatures I hunt!
I apologize. I have ranted to you, yet you know not my name. I am Isabella Marie Swan, known as Bella. I am one hundred and eighteen years old, though I look only eighteen. Curious, yes? I may sound fragile but I am not, for I am the wolf, the bear, the tigress, and the lioness. Can you handle a tale that has nearly driven me to madness? If so, then come, little cowards. Read an old woman's tale. If you dare...