Prologue
The wind blows through a sunlit window on the third floor of Sunning Towers, a rather cheerful name for so dismal a day…and mood.
The gust floated across the brightly painted room to blow a few pages of the desk at which she sat copiously writing the story that would allow her to stake her claim in the great literary canon… or not.
You see Bella Swan had been slaving at her typewriter for almost two hours. Barely noticing the rising of the sun or the falling pages of her manuscript, straining her eyes as if to make the letters materialize on the page.
Sensing defeat she rose from her chair, shaking out her now dry, wavy brown hair as she walked to her empty bedroom. The room consisted of a mattress and eight unpacked boxes stuffed with clothes, sheets and other miscellaneous objects that begged for release.
Glancing at her wrist watch Bella decided it was late enough for her morning jog…