Summary:

Edward left Bella because he wanted a better life for her, one that did not include him or his family. And now, Seventy-five years after her transformation, she has the best life she could scrape together for herself. She is a part of a hit rock band, A Beautiful Nightmare, and even has a family of her own. When she by some small miracle or curse, stumbles upon Edward and the rest of the Cullens, will she eventually be able to forgive them for all of their grievous errors? And what about her creator? What will happen when they make a sudden reappearance back in her life? What will Bella do when she needs the people she hates the most? (Rated M for future chapters!)

**Authors note—I'm back everyone! I know it's been a very very long time, and here is my first stab at a Twilight fanfiction! So here is my first chapter to something that has been floating up in my noggin' for a long time. I am so proud of this, and I have chapters already written! So review, and I will get chapters up faster! For any and all pictures, they are included on my profile under Twilight. Cars, houses, people, outfits will all be there for your viewing pleasure.

Prologue

When I was younger, I was no different than any other girl. My mother told me fairytales, where fair maidens and princesses were rescued by their knights in shining armor and princes. As little girls we are to believe that will happen to us one day. A man will come into our lives, and give it meaning and we will love them, and in return they will love us.

Even at a very young age I wasn't swayed by these flowery stories, and declarations of love. I was a product of divorce, and I knew better. However, I was still a girl, with a young girl's heart, and I was still a little susceptible to the charms of love.

That was a long time ago, and I am not a little girl anymore. I have lived a long life, and most of it has been in utter anguish. I am ninety-three years old. Most women my age have much to show for. A husband, children, grandchildren and even great grandchildren. A long and full life lay at our wrinkled feet, and women my age should be able to say, with much certainty, that they have no regrets.

I am not like women my age though. While in years I am ninety-three, I only look nineteen. My skin is supple with youth, even if it is ghostly pale and nearly indestructible. My body is firm and taught, even though it is ice cold to the touch, and I am too strong for my own good. Luxurious mahogany hair cascades down my back like a chocolate waterfall. How I wish my hair was brittle and snow white, wispy and coarse to the touch.

It's ironic really. If you knew me at a certain time in my life, this would be the only thing I ever wanted, to be young and beautiful forever. To not be plagued with clumsiness and dreaded blushing. To have eternity bow before me like a servant to his master. I wanted this so bad I could taste it. When I did get it however, all I wanted to do was die want, so I guess you can say I got my just desserts. You can't have your cake and eat it too.

I did not want this particular life though. To be broken and alone. My heart shattered beyond repair, like shards of glass. I really don't like glass as a general rule. My memory is fuzzy, and I did see this particular memory from inferior human eyes, but I remember glass, glass and pain. I imagined this life, dare I even say it, immortality, quite differently. Not wandered this world lost and confused, but sheltered by love and companionship of family. My family. I wish I could be strong and say I don't think of them or that I don't miss them with my wasted heart, but I do. It makes me very angry with myself. They were never really my family; I just wanted them to be. It was like I was auditioning for a family, and I never got a call back. It does make me feel better to say that I am mad at all of them, not just him, since they all left me without a care.

Much time has passed though, and while I grow no younger, I tire of reliving what cannot be changed. I feel exhausted all the time, but sleep never fully comes, and no dreams wait for me, to let me pretend all is well. All I have is the nightmare I live every day, with this damn existence. It could be worse. Only my heart is lonely, I do have friends, or a family, per say. They are the only thing that keeps me from crawling under a rock and waiting until the apocalypse. I have adoration of thousands, and I give hope to others. What more could a person really ask for? I guess I'm just selfish like that. I do want more, my dead heart cries out for it, for him, all the time.

I ignore my hearts pleadings and open a plain black spiral notebook. Call me old fashioned, since there are so many more technological options for writing one's thought down, but I prefer the closeness, the intimacy of my brain to hand. These notebooks have brought me the only solace I know. An outlet for the pain that still feels fresh and raw, even after seventy-five years of solitude. These white pages hold not only the longing of my long dead heart, but the rantings of a teenage girl scored and bittersweet love songs. I never thought that there would be an audience for them, but lo and behold, I'm not the first one, nor the last I'd assume to be in love, and to have that love rip out your beating heart and riverdance all over it, mashing it quite thoroughly into heart colored pulp.

Brushing away an escaped lock of hair, I press the pen onto the lined paper and begin to write, willing inspiration out of my hands, albums don't write themselves you know. Since I am the voice piece for these thoughts, they let me write them, and then vocalize them to the masses.

Ideas slowly weave themselves in my mind and my shattered heart once again bleeds for my music, the one true thing I do have in this existence.

Quietly in my dark room I write, my only light is the moon, full and bountiful. A fresh start, a new moon.

I, Bella Swan, although by stage name, I am Izzy Sparrow, attack the pages once more, with vigor now that I have decided on what mood to portray. Right now I am angry, and I feel used, so I run with it….

And that's what you get when you let your heart win….

CHAPTER ONE

(Radio Announcer)- "I cannot tell you how excited I am for A beautiful Nightmare's new album. After the huge success of their debut record; Flying on Broken Wings, they have a lot to live up too. With six of their songs on the Billboards' Top 100, and three singles reaching number one, it's astounding a band could accomplish all that with their first album. Their still untitled album will be out later this summer. So until we get new tracks, here's their smash hit; My Immortal."

That particular song was written down so very long ago, about a year after he left me. I was a newborn then, alone and heartbroken. I didn't go through the dreaded newborn phase my family used to speak of. While I do hunt, it seemed my human life's aversion to blood and my unwillingness to be like the family who left me when I needed them most, I don't need to hunt as much as my adoptive family and band do.

Mirelle was the one who saved me, my own personal little miracle. Her story was even worse than mine. Mirelle was born in the same year I was, but was changed about three years after I was, giving her the appearance that she was about twenty-two. She had just graduated college, and was engaged to her college sweetheart. One night after walking through her hometown after a friend's graduation party, she was attacked by a stranger and left for dead, naked and bloodied in the street. That's when Bryant found her.

Bryant himself turned in the early 1900's, right around WWI, making him the oldest of our little coven, and by default the leader. Bryant was mostly nomadic, never settling in one place for a very long time. Horribly lonely, he wished for just one being to share his life with. One night, he heard muffled screams, and then the ever intoxicating smell of human blood. This is where I give Bryant so much credit. He had still retained much of his humanity, much like my ex-father. There he saw a beautiful young woman, completely ravaged. Yet, the blood and look of terror could not hide her beauty, and as they say, the rest is history.

From that day forth, Mirelle and Bryant have been inseparable. Mirelle with her slender willowy frame and model body, and shoulder length reddy-auburn waves, and Bryant with his crooped and buzzed dark hair and burly physique. They were each others ying and yang. Bryant was more subdued and contemplative, he was my contributing songwriter. Mirelle was happy and bubbly, even considering the less than ideal circumstances to which she entered our world. Her happiness was infectious, and she was rarely seen without a smile. In some ways, she reminded me of my old sister, but she preferred to rough and tumble with the boys over pampering and shopping sprees.

They found me about a decade after my change, wandering the wintery Canadian forests, practically wild and as skittish as a colt. Mirelle took it upon herself to take me under her wing. I was very untrusting of her at first, but as the months blinked by, and the years dragged on, I saw the love and understanding in Mirelle's eyes, and Bryant's too. I would willingly give up my life for either of them today. I depend on those like no other vampire has ever needed someone.

That leaves us with the final member of our band. Dakota was born in 2004, an infant in comparison to Bryant. In the year 2022, at the tender age of eighteen, he was merely at the wrong place at the wrong time, wandering the woods at night, surprisingly close to my old home of Forks. Dakota was part McCaw , and Indian tribe not to far from dreary rainy Forks, and has many of the characteristics that I vaguely remember from an old friend. Like all vampires, he was very ripped and toned. I imagine that during his human life he was rather tan, a deep russet color, but with the gossamer of vampirism, he looked chalky over his tanned skin, while he was still darker than the three of us, he merely looked like he had an olive complexion. His hair was midnight black and shaggy and brushed his broad shoulders. His hair reminded me of spilled ink. His nose was straight and roman in style, and fit his face well. We found him about three years after his change in the year 2025. Even as the youngest member of our little coven, we have all been together for fifty years.

While I love all of them with all that I can give, and they know it, I still think back to my hazy memories of my human life where I spent much time in a beautiful white house surrounded by lush green trees. My heart really beat its true last beat within those walls, and I am glad for it.

"Bella, we've got to get going soon. You have an hour to get ready before we go and play that surprise show. Would you like me to help you get ready?" Mirelle's voice whispered through the door of my room.

"No, I'm alright on my own. I'll be ready soon Miry, thanks for the heads up." I get up from the bay window and walk to my closet. The closet is split in two, one side for everyday or 'normal' clothes and the other half was dedicated to Izzy Sparrow's life. I randomly grabbed a few articles and whatnot and threw them into my messenger bag; I was going to get ready at the club.

We were going to do a surprise show for some of our biggest fans. The invitational said that we would be doing an acoustic set of some of the songs from our old CD, but we would really be playing the songs for our new CD due out later in the year. It would be the first time anyone has heard these songs besides us and our manager. I eagerly anticipated the ruckus we would cause unveiling new songs to our most loyal fans.

Being a band comprised of all vampires is sometimes hard to manage, since we can only play indoors and at night, but we make up for that by having a very intimate settings and pyrotechnics. We did have to be careful however, since fire is really the only way to kill our kind. Both humans and vampires have become fans, and I actually expected to see a few beautiful pale faces in the crowd tonight.

I shoved my feet into my converses as I ran, since my heels were in my bag, no need to taunt my old life. I threw my hair up in a messy updo and rushed down the stairs to greet my family and walk out to our cars. We disliked limousines, as they caused attention to us. This particular house was in the Hollywood hills, since we were in LA to promote our new CD, and I was actually pretty excited for the show. I liked being on stage, and tonight would be no difference.

Miry and Bry got into Bryant's second lover, his 2053 Gallardo LP560-4 Spyder in graphite silver, while Kota and I got into his pride and joy, Ferrari 612 Scaglietti 2054 in Tour De France Blue. Both were beautiful works of art. While I could now appreciate fine machinery such as this, I still was not a car nut. I did however, have a baby of my own.

Miry and Bry had been lovers and mates for as long as I had known them, and Kota held more feelings for me than I did for him. I loved him on the only level I could lovethe only level my fragile heart could give, which was that of a friend and brother. He was loving and affable. Jubilant and just a little goofy, and he was the only one who could make me smile by pretending to be like me when I was human; clumsy and unable to stand on our own two feet. He wanted more than I was willing to give him, and it made me feel absolutely terrible. Who knows, maybe one day I would feel more for him, but I sincerely doubted it. When your life is so wrapped and intertwined with that of another person, it would take a lifetime to unweave the threads that bind me to someone who no longer loves me.

As the two cares raced down Pacific Highway my hair whipping in the breeze, words and ideas wrapped up in my head, and I prepared myself for the show later in the evening…never knowing what was ahead of me, and how I could have never prepared myself for what was to come.