This is my first Twilight fanfic, and I have a heavy plot planned for this story. This is the mere beginning! I truly apologize for grammar mistakes and other mistakes, for I did type this around midnight.

Disclaimer note: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer and not I.

Is this the end?

Despite my situation, the rain pounding on the outside of the shed seemed to be calming. I listened, and just for a moment, my hyperventilating ceased. For a moment, I imagined the piano, Edward's piano, his playing, his music, his graceful fingers sliding from key to key… The memory was so strong, and for that moment I could hear the calming music. But only for a moment. Then the harsh ragged breaths came back, as the weight of my situation came crashing down on me yet again at full speed. Edward was gone. I was trapped, like a mouse, and I had so easily taken the bait. They were all gone, Emmett, Alice, Jasper, Rosalie… It was coming back, all the memories of how I got here, all too quickly, I wanted to push them away, but why should I bother? I was too weak. It was obvious I wouldn't hold out much longer in this state. Why try? For Edward, for your family! The little voice in my head argued. They are all gone, it doesn't matter now. I squeezed my eyes shut in frustration, and then, they didn't open. Darkness hit me like a speeding train, before I could come to grip what was happening. Darkness and silence.

Where am I?

When I awoke, I immediately felt the ache in my gut, and the sense that something had gone drastically wrong, but I hadn't a clue what. I heard soft raindrops, then footsteps, and I realized I had to get up, I wasn't where I was supposed to be, hell, I didn't even know where I was! I stood up at once, and dusted off my…dress? Peculiar, I thought, why should I be wearing an odd garment such as this one? The dress did indeed look quite old fashioned…

"Miss Isabella," A rusty voice called, "whyever are you napping in here for?"

The voice belonged to a shabby old woman, wearing an even more old fashioned dress, with a knitted blue shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

"I was… I er… I dropped a button!" I tried to think of a quick explanation.

"Do not crawl about on the floor so, dear, it is rather filthy. Come back into the house at once!" I followed her back into what was supposed to be a house, but looked rather like a Victorian style town house, squished between many others. Glancing behind me, I realized I had been "sleeping" in a little shed, right in the corner behind a garden. I also noticed the soft rain had become a light drizzle, and the sun was peaking out from behind some distant clouds. I hadn't the slightest idea where she was, who this old lady was, why she was wearing a dress, but apparently the lady seemed to know me so I went along with it. Perhaps I had been searching for a button, smacked my head, and had a bad case of amnesia? No, that couldn't be right, I clearly remember wearing something similar to jeans and a t-shirt… Then it dawned on me. What if I wasn't even in the same time? How am I to know what day and year it is? The house did look very old fashioned, but also very new looking. Maybe they just built older looking houses newer nowadays? Where had I been before this amnesia, anyways? We went inside, and the old lady snapped at me to change out of my dusty filthy clothes and dress nicely, we would be walking to town for lunch at the teahouse. Being quite intimidated by her, I tried to do as I was told, and not ask silly questions, for I was sure "Where are we?" and "What year is it?" would be a silly question, and one I would be scolded for. Assuming my room was up stairs, that was the direction I headed. Luckily, in the hallway at the top of the staircase, there was a seemingly trustworthy maid.

"Excuse me, but are you aware of amnesia?"

"Yes, Miss,"

"Hypothetically… say I had a case of amnesia? What is the current year, and where are we?"

"Chicago, 1918, Miss," Somehow, that year seemed oddly familiar too me, but I couldn't pinpoint why.

"And who is the woman downstairs that knows me, and would you mind telling me how I address her?"

"Why, Miss, that is your Auntie Elizabeth, and you call her Auntie,"

"Thank you very much; I have one last question, um, which is my room?" The maid pointed to the last room down the hall. Just as I opened the wardrobe in the room, I poke my head out of the door to ask the maid one more question.

"What would I normally wear to tea?"

Throughout the remainder of time until "Auntie" called me down for our walk into town, the maid, her name was Lydia, was very helpful on filling me in on the more important details I should know. Back in this day, people walked far to get to town. "Auntie" and I had walked over four miles, and still hadn't arrived yet. Although it was very nice to see the old houses as brand new, and the people all dressed old fashioned, I had a growing feeling of sadness that made me want to cry. It was just then that we walked past a particular house, with the windows wide open and curtains billowing (the rain had cleared up), that I heard a piano playing in the house. A very familiar piano tune drifted through the air, and then I suddenly remembered everything.

Forgotten.