Stephanie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

I own nothing but an obsession for Twilight

May 17, 2153

Dearest Reader,

Come, pull up a chair and sit by me. Locked in these pages you will find my story, my memory, my secrets, my heart, my life, my death, some things that came after and everything in between.

Can I trust you with it?

It is truly fantastic and not for the faint-hearted. Not for the realist, not for the cynic, no never for the cynic, only the pure hearted will find purchase here. Lend me your ear, your open mind and heart and I will pull you to a myth you dare not dream of, a myth you unknowingly live every day.

Tell me dearest, do you believe in Angels? Not as Dogma, not as testament to whichever religion bears your faith, not fairies with wings and halos. Can you believe in the beings of light, of strength and power that govern here on earth, the beings that hold all things in order, beings that guard your humanity?

Perhaps Angels is the wrong word, a word they would see with distaste. So we shall call them what they are in essence, the guardians. Do you believe? Can you believe in the mythical? If you cannot, this is no place for you. I'll give you a moment to ponder this. Please do not tread lightly upon my request.

As I have learned all too harshly, prepared or not, one can never go back.

Please, please heed my warning and move on.

My story is not a happy one. My memories will bring you no comfort. Even now, however many years later, pain always surprises me. How it knows no bound of species, no restraints of time or place, how it can consume so thoroughly anything in its path and take root in the very base of a heart.

For eternity.

At least my pain is not alone. Nestled just as deeply as the pain is a love that knows no bounds, no restraint, no passage of time.

A Love for eternity.

A relentless storm, a constant war of pain and love, feeding each other, growing stronger, until the sleepless nights I see the stars and wonder, how with all the limits of this existence, such a war can rage unencumbered for so many years and not consume me, reduce me to a pile of ash on the forest floor.

Ah, but now gentle reader I am getting ahead of myself. My memories, the love and pain alternatively, will come in due time.

You see, I have tried so very hard. Hopefully you will never have to know just how truly hard that is, to retain every piece of this story, my story, my life, my love, my history. I will try desperately to get it all right, to tell you the way it truly was.

I will change the small details of course, to protect myself, them, and him. I consider it my last gift to them all. Posterity and secrecy. Nothing less than they deserve or would expect of me. I hope I do us all justice.

I have clung to the tattered diaries of a school girl, the musings of an adolescent, the letters of a woman to her lover. I still hold the flowers, tickets and photographs, all the little keep-sakes of a life and a love that have withered and worn and turned to dust at my fingertips. All so I would not, could not possibly forget. But, all these things fade with time. Even my memory dulls, and yellows and begins to crumble with its passing.

This story, my story will have to suffice. Coupled with the ever present war of pain and love, this is all I have left. All I have to offer you now.

And that, my dearest, is what brings me to you. If you decide to continue, you will bear the burden of my secrets, my pain, and my love. My memories will live on through you. In some small capacity I am genuinely comforted, as much as I am ever comforted, in the knowledge that we all will live on in these pages and in your minds.

If I am being truly honest, and I owe you nothing less, I envision sitting on the docks looking over the endless ocean, over the towns and people and deserts and rain-forests and I know you are reading this story. Somewhere in the corners of your mind, in the heavens, in hell, in the worn pages of an old book in a library in Tulsa, we are together again.

And that, my friend, for the first time in more years than I will count, finally brings me some semblance of peace.

With love and gratitude,

Eve