A/N:

(C. P. Jameson)

Welcome to my story. The Gloaming takes place in the Twilight universe, but I have altered some things and taken some artistic liberties to a few aspects of the actually fantasy world, created some new creatures, and chosen a new location besides the one we all know and love (Forks, Washington).

I would love some criticism, hopefully constructive, but I will take what I can get.

Thank you in advance for reading.

Prologue:

He's here.

I don't move; I can't.

My hands rest against the tree I'm hidden behind. I feel the bark crumbling under my touch. My fingers feel frozen. Everything feels frozen. Maybe it's the imperishable chill in the air. Maybe it's the sound of his breathing. In, out, in, out. I can't describe that sound. It's crackly, dark, deathly, utterly paralyzing. And it's right behind me.

It's dark out. The moon has to be out, but it's hidden behind the trees. Little rays of silver light peek through the branches above me. But I can't see. My smoky breath blurs my vision. Now would be the perfect time for him to pounce, to end this sick game of hide-and-seek. I feel the beginnings of tears prickling behind my eyes.

In the back of my mind, I can hear the things people said to me, the warnings they'd given weeks ago. If I only listened to them. But I was weak, and still am. I had to see it for myself. I had to see him for myself. And I did. Oh, god, I did.

I can still remember the good—the way he'd put his hands on mine, the way those eyes had looked at me, as if, even just for a little while, everything was going to be okay.

Now I'm hiding behind a tree, icy fear pumping through my veins. Now his hands are cold, bloodless, void of any remnants of humanity. Now his eyes are the color of blood, glowing like hot coals, wild, savage. I feel tears drip down my face, hot, desperate.

I want to scream, to feel my voice leave my body. I want to get up and run. I want to make sure he's safe, to feel his lips against my hands, to make sure he was warm. I want so many things.

That's when I feel a hand grasp my shoulder. Even though I shouldn't, I look down. It's his hand, but it's different. The skin, there's something about it. It's almost… transparent. I can see the bones of his fingers, the empty veins, the colorless muscle. It's horrific. A scream dies in my mouth.

I don't move; I can't.