1
1918
"Another one passed," Charlie Swan says as he enters the small home that houses his small family of three.
Bella Swan crosses her legs and leans against the window, sniffling as she tunes out her father's voice. Emily, her only friend, had passed from the horrible flu that has been going around the busy city of Chicago. The death rate has been rising and rising to the point that some schools are closing their doors.
Her mother had imprisoned her in the house, shutting the blinds and locking all the windows in fear of losing one of her own loved ones. It has been driving Bella insane to simply sit on her bed and watch the world wither away. Especially when her father, a dedicated police chief, brings home heart breaking stories of yet another passing.
It is times such as this when Bella locks herself in her room and ever so slowly pulls open her room window just enough to hear the birds chirping and seeing the ends of the sunset.
"It's not fair," she whispers as she looks at her bare hands.
Her life isn't supposed to be like this. She is supposed to be attending university, pursuing literature, sneaking away on adventures when her mother was concocting up ways to convince her to get married and spout one or two babies. Emily was supposed to be getting married.
She lets out a strangled sob and tries to swallow her pain. Her parents needn't worry about her more than they already did.
It's during this edge between evening and day, the birth of twilight, when she hears the beautiful chimes of a piano. Bella stops breathing and presses her ear against the small gap between herself and the outside world and smiles as the melody grows louder and louder.
The tune is a beautiful compilation of highs and lows, a story of sadness and happiness, a piece so exquisite that Bella has pushed her window all the way open. She looks around at all the windows and possible openings of the house in attempt to catch a glimpse of the pianist. When the song came to an end, an eerie silence fills the neighborhood.
Her hands move before her brain could process her actions and she claps, gleaming happily at her neighboring house. "Thank you," she says, her voice so soft, she was sure no one would hear her.
"You're welcome," a beautiful low voice echoes back, rough with the tone of masculinity.
Bella blushes and nearly stumbles off her bed. He had heard her. The pianist heard her! She let out a gasp as she grabs her bed by its corner.
"Ow!" she let out as her ankle twisted beneath her.
"Bella! Bella are you okay?! Have you hurt yourself again?!" her mother cried up the stairs.
If she wasn't red before, Bella is definitely red now. If the pianist had heard her before he definitely heard her mother. Sure enough, an amused chuckle rang from next door as she hears her mother running up the stairs.
"You should be more careful Miss Bella; we wouldn't want to hurt ourselves now would we?"
Bella scoffs angrily and shuts the window, her cheeks hot from embarrassment, anger, and an odd happy feeling. A rather peculiar happy feeling of excitement and giddiness that had left butterflies fluttering around in her stomach.