Disclaimer: I do not own any Twilight characters that pop up in this story. I've just borrow them for the sake of not having to invent my own :P Although I have taken the time to come up with the original characters written.

This is a new story and like my others it just popped into my head one night and kept me up for the rest of it. So you know the drill, give it a shot and let me know what you think, whether it's opinions on characterisations, questions on details, or basically just whatever pops into your head :) I find that usually works best.

EPOV

Serendipity. Those who are of a romantic mind may otherwise call it fate, destiny, divine providence. Others may say it is simply coincidence. I was once one of those who claimed coincidence was the reason for most fortunate turns in events. However as Isabella Swan sat beside me, her all too familiar scent surrounding me and that all too familiar monster clawing to escape its cage, I felt that maybe I could be converted. Because this all too familiar moment could surely only be the cause of fate. Destiny. Divine providence.

New POV

September 1931, Rochester.

"Annabelle, it's your turn," my mother prompted before she took a swift drag from her cigarette, releasing yet more acrid smoke into our living room.

I pulled myself up from my slump, unfolding my hand from under my chin, and picked up the two little dice.

"Best hope for two sixes, you could get Broadwalk," she smiled down at me and today I could see it was a true smile, the one that met her blue eyes and made them twinkle. True smiles were a rarity ever since this depression thing started. Not that we were much affected by it.

I shook the dice in my hand, giving them a blow for luck like mother always used to and cast them onto the monopoly board spread out before me.

"Oh hard luck, Darling, maybe next time." Mother patted my arm with one hand and stubbed out her cigarette with the other in one fine act of multitasking.

"C'est la vie, Mother. Whatever's meant to happen will happen." I sighed as I moved my little dog around the board.

"You're a funny little thing, Darling," Mother chuckled before taking the dice for her own go.

I was used to this, the board games, the quiet afternoons at home because the schools couldn't afford to be open all day. Our household may not have been hit like all the others by the depression but that didn't mean we couldn't feel it. It was as if a big ball of cotton wool had came and plonked itself right over America, muffling all the fun and making the streets seem less bright, less hustle and bustle.

We were lucky, being a Hartley came with money, a lot of it, but I knew it still bothered Mother that Father had lost his job. He wasn't the only one. That big Wall Street crash had caused an awful big mess.

"I was out at the store just yesterday and I bumped into Mrs Hale, you remember her, don't you, Annabelle. She has a daughter just a year older than you, Rosalie, said to be a lovely looking girl. Have you two ever met?"

How to answer Mother's question. No we had not met, not for lack of opportunity but merely because Rosalie Hale didn't come with a particularly high recommendation. From all who had ever mentioned her to me I gained the impression she was haughty beyond her stature. No, Mother would not be best pleased with that explanation. Best to keep it simple.

"No, I've never met her. Did Mrs Hale have anything to say?" Other than promote her daughter...

"Nothing in particular."

We lapsed into silence and like that we managed to pass another hour and going around and around on that little cardboard game.

"Oh good," Mother said as she glanced at the clock. "We're finished just in time." She stood briskly and smoothed out her wraparound dress, adjusting the pearls at her neck as she preened and tucked a strand of fiery red hair behind her ear.

"Are we expecting someone?" I asked as I looked down at my simple red dress. I'd worn it yesterday already, not that Mother knew. She'd just spend yet another half hour telling me about personal hygiene and how important appearance was to a young lady such as myself. Then again, at fourteen I wasn't looking to swipe a husband any time soon.

"Well, ever since that school started closing for half days I've been thinking about how best for you to spend your time. Anyway your Father suggested an instrument and we already have that baby grand piano in the lounge so we've hired you a piano instructor," Mother called over her shoulder as she walked across the hall towards said lounge. No doubt she would be fluffing up the pillows on the sofas in there, or checking the mantelpiece for dust. She was always so house-proud.

I walked over the parquet flooring of our grand hallway with weary feet while I approached the room.

"Must I learn piano? Could I not just spend the time reading?" I thought wistfully of the classics I had crowding my room upstairs. Father said it's as if I've tried to move the library up with me.

"Annabelle, to learn an instrument is a wonderful thing, it enriches your life."

"You don't know how to play an instrument."

"Yes, and I'm all the poorer for it."

I snorted, of all the things my Mother was poor was not one of them.

"Now just sit in here and be polite when he arrives. He sounded very proper on the phone so I can't imagine he'll be late." With that she bustled off again while I sat in the cream room, tapping my foot on the polished wooden floor and staring at the black piano not far from the pale gold sofa I sat on.

I didn't have anything against music and the instruments that played it. I couldn't even say the idea of learning piano bored me. I loved to listen to the Father's music after dinner, all the rousing crescendos and tranquil melodies. What I disliked was the attention that came with playing the piano. Once it gets out that you know what keys are which people start asking you to play at social events. They ask you for impromptu tunes while they stare down at your hands. I hated that idea and that was why I stuck to reading my books and indulging in my stories. No one could watch you do that and get any kind of pleasure from it.

I jumped a little when the doorbell rang out through the house. Mother's heels clicked loudly against the parquet flooring of the hallway as she went to answer the door, while I briefly ran my hands through my brown hair.

"Hello to you too, Mr Masen, it's a pleasure to meet you, Although I didn't expect you to be so...young." I felt a little in trepidation lift when the image of a doddering old man disappeared from my mind.

I heard a softly spoken reply before I heard the door close.

"Our piano is just through here, Mr Masen...oh oh I'm sorry I mean Edward." I heard my mother laugh, a light-hearted giggly laugh that she only ever used when Father gave her that smile and whispered something in her ear.

Footsteps sounded as they came towards me, my Mother's set heavier than the other's.

"Annabelle," I stood as Mother entered, smoothing my dress and crossing my hands behind my back. "This is Mr Edward Masen, your new piano instructor." As she stepped aside and he entered I felt my mouth go dry.

He was...indescribable. Terrifyingly so.

He stood there, rigid as a statue and as beautifully designed as well. Yet below the dreamy exterior, seen only in the shocking darkness of his eyes, seemed hatred surely no mere human could feel.

I felt my mouth pop open as he stood there, his fists clenched and his near ebony eyes glaring at me from across the room. Meanwhile my mother babbled, none of her words truly reaching my ears. All I could hear was my heartbeat, loud and clear as it pounded.

"Annabelle. Anna, sweetie," Mother urged and I swallowed heavily before clearing my throat.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr Masen," I whispered hoarsely through my dry throat.

"Oh, he says he prefers Edward," Mother added as she glanced at Edward, her eyes travelling over his statuesque frame.

Mr Masen didn't react. He just stayed in that tense position, his hands being the only thing that moved as they clenched and unclenched.

"Anyway, I'll leave you two. You'll need to get started since I'm sure Edward has other things he must be doing."

I watched as Mr Masen swallowed and closed his eyes, seeming to compose himself.

"Actually, Mrs Hartley, I came merely to meet Miss Hartley and acquaint myself. I must be going," he said quickly in tight words.

I saw my mother's affront at the coldness of his words but she recovered quickly to nod and show him to the door.

As soon as he left the room I sighed a breath of relief and slumped on the sofa, my heart still thumping heavily in my chest.

I couldn't describe why I felt this way, this strange mix of fear and thrill, or how Mr Masen had caused the reaction. It seemed ridiculous that one person could create such feelings within another without uttering a single word.

I heard the door close and no sooner had it's echo sounded than my mother was standing at the doorway of the lounge, her hand on her hip as she stared me with a bleak look on her face.

"What did you do, Annabelle?"

I gasped in shock, disbelief that she could find some way to blame me. "I didn't do anything. You know I didn't. I just sat here until you walked in and then all of a sudden he was just glaring at me."

"You must have done something, he was fine when I answered the door. Maybe something about you insulted him." My mother pondered as she looked me over.

I could feel my temper rising as she inspected me, as if I could invoke such a response from a stranger by simple insult. I couldn't even think what he could have found insulting. I'd just stood there.

"Did you brush your hair today?" Mother asked as her eyes narrowed. I bit my lip as I ran my hand over my hair, trying to tame it.

Mother gasped in horror at her realisation. "And I'm willing to bet you've worn those clothes before as well. What he must have thought with you stood there so unkempt."

I rolled my eyes at her over dramatisation. "Mother, I sincerely doubt my appearance caused his change in demeanour. Maybe he felt ill, or noticed something that unhinged him." Even as I gave her the possible explanations I discounted them in my mind. No illness could come that swiftly, and nothing in our home could stir much of a reaction in someone—let alone unhinge them.

"Perhaps." My mother chewed her nails, a nasty habit of hers that ensured she nearly always wore gloves when she went out.

"Oh well, now that is done I'm going to my room." I walked past Mother as she nodded and chewed and looked around the room in a way that seemed like she was just checking everything was as it should be.

I smiled as I took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. My room was my sanctuary up far away from the hustle and bustle of the lower two floors. It gave me a place to get away whenever Mother's lectures became too inane or Father's business drinks became too loud.

I especially liked the small Juliet balcony that I could access through the French windows. It gave me the pretty little view of the garden below and the other houses beyond. Whenever I've finished reading the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet, I go to my balcony and imagine what it must be like to stand and look down on your love, knowing you're meant for each other alone.

My father thinks my views on love and life are a little too fanciful for a girl of my age, but I can't help but think that these adolescent years are the perfect age for fanciful thoughts and quandaries. They are the brief years we have before the word fanciful must be swapped for responsible or realistic.

I flopped back on my spring bed, staring up at the cream ceiling as I tried to fathom out Mr Cullen's expression. There was something below the glare, something darker than mere disgust, like black fire.

I smirked to myself as I remembered how Bram Stoker had once used the term in his novel Dracula to describe the eyes of the Count himself. It had always stuck with me because I could see it so clearly—that a creature such as him could be capable of a hatred that strong because of the life he'd led. He'd been hunted, lived in war and blood, been shut out from the world.

Father had laughed when I talked about Dracula, he said I sympathised far too much with him, that I wasn't meant to try and understand him.

I wondered if he would think the same of Mr Masen. If he would say I wasn't supposed to justify his behaviour, or try to understand what it meant or why it happened. Maybe Father would just tell me to forget about him, that if he acted so rudely he's not worth my thoughts.

That was usually Father's response to any mention I make of a person's ill behaviour towards me. I believe his bias opinion of me stems from the fact I'm an only child, his little girl. He never tolerates anything or anyone who may hurt me.

As my mind sways towards danger I think of Mr Masen again, his hard chiselled face clouding my mind. Pure alabaster skin, obsidian eyes, and lustrous bronze hair, all so enthralling yet so frightening at the same time.

And all the while, as I remember those dark dark eyes I can only think of Dracula and those two words: black fire.