Twilight fan fiction
The Untold Story
I do not own Twilight
Where it All Began
My name is Isabella Marie Swan. How tragic my story at first, but I regret nothing. Some would say I had sort of a cursed kind of luck. I say it's just my own tough fate. I would rather have this life; more special than your own imagination has capacity for, than be normal. Even with the weight put upon my shoulders.
My decisions affect the entire world.
No pressure.
Saying I am carefree is not true, but I am carefully sailing on the breeze of my own strange fate. Going where it takes me.
It all began in Chicago of 1917. I was born into a poor family, but we managed. When I was fifteen, I landed the best, and last, job I ever had. I worked as a maid for the higher middle class Mason family.
I was maid my first two years in that job, but soon landed a job in the place I wanted to be the most-the kitchen. I worked as the assistant cook, not technically allowed to plan meals, but I did anyway.
The old head cook, a black lady named Ann, saw the potential in me and let me do a lot of things for her that I would not normally do as an assistant cook.
Most of the servants where black, and because of this, many people looked down upon me, seeing me more as one of them. I could've cared less about how they viewed me, but all the servants were perfectly nice. I was also perfectly content with my life as a poor person. I always felt blessed. My eyes were not like those that had more money, clouded with greed and want, but more focused on the simple things in life, like family, and hard work, and love. I was more content with a life that many though about disdainfully.
Anyway, the Mason's had a boy, my age, who's name was Edward Anthony. He was such and odd boy, not seeming to be able to find a girl he fancied. He seemed to like it much better, giving his time and attention to his beloved piano that to a pretty rich girl. He just…. never seemed to mind isolation, and cared not to try hard to find a wife, a girl he could spend his life with.
I would not have been hard for him. He was handsome, with his lean figure, his bronze hair, and his gentlemanly manor…
Ok, so I may have had a crush on the mister's son, but what girl doesn't? He had so many admirers; it was ridiculous that he couldn't find a wife. He could have any single woman he wanted with his looks and charm.
He was very musically gifted. He played the piano every day, venting his feelings, and loosing himself in his music. When that boy played, the loud whispers and gossiping women, the entire kitchen went silent, just to listen even to songs he had played many a time before.
And me? I closed my eyes and had to resist the pull of the music. It called to me. I wanted to stop working, and twirl around the room like a rich girl in a pretty dress.
One night, one that I will certainly never forget, Edward came home late, his messy bronze hair messier than ever before because he had obviously been running his hands through it. It was one of his nervous habits.
I had not known what had happened at the time, but I came to find out that the girl he had been courting had ended it.
I knew he was not sorrowful about the break up. I knew his parents had forced the relationship, with good intentions. They wanted him to happy. Yet, he never completely was.
He had not eaten anything that night, but requested some beer from the kitchen kegs; so that he may drown his anxiousness, calm his nerves.
I suggested to Ann that I prepare his favorite dish, potato soup with rich Parmesan cheese and a tough of spinach.
So, as fast as I could, I made the dish and had Ann fill a mug with cold beer, hastily putting it in a bowl and smothering it in melted cheese.
I went to put it on a serving trey and find a maid to give it to serve, but none of them were around.
"Honey," Ann said," all of the maids went home. You have ta take it to 'em yourself."
I flushed at the idea of being in his presence alone. There was always someone else around to make my presence all but invisible.
Nevertheless, I knew I must take it to him, if I wanted to avoid him inquiring how long it took for us to get him a mug.
Timidly, I took the tray out of the kitchen and into the dining room where there was only one occupant, with his hands on his face, rubbing his temples, seeming lost in thought.
I set his beer down first and then his bowl of soup, putting the spoon down and turning away, hoping to avoid confrontation.
Hurry, I told myself. I was stopped however by the mister saying, "What's this?"
I was quite relieved to hear that he sounded shocked rather than angry.
I turned to him and said," You didn't eat nothing sur."
I turned yet again to leave, but was stopped again by his interrogation.
"Who made this? How did they know…?" He trailed off, then as an afterthought said, "Thanks to the person who did."
With a small pause, I answered, " Ay did, sur. I knew because I'd been working here many a year, sur. it's my job to know what yur favorites are." I gave a shy smile.
He seemed to ponder this.
"What is your name?"
"Isabella Marie, sur."
"How old are you?" He seemed very curious about this.
"As old as yourself, sur."
"How long have you been working here?"
"Three year, soon enough, sur."
He seemed to puzzle over this, and I knew that I must get back to work.
"Not to interrupt your musings, sur, but I must get back to my work. "
"Oh," he seemed a little disappointed, if I did say so myself. "Well, you can go then. Thank you."
I nodded and swiftly scurried out of the room, a grin bursting out full blow on my face as I slumped against the kitchen door.
