Disclaimer: All Twilight characters are owned by Stephanie Meyer.

Sorry about the bits of OOC-ness. There are probably a lot of them, but bear with me.

BPOV

I always liked the mornings. The sun would stream down through the red velvet curtains, lighting upon the coverlets, dancing across the walls. I could dance then, too. I could imagine swaying to a softly playing orchestra, walking in gardens at sunset among blooming roses. I could smell sea air as I sauntered along high cliffs. The imagination has no limits.

Of course, the rest of the world does. After finding me awake, Geneva, the maid, would fuss about and bring me soup. She would say the same thing every day.

"You're looking much better, Miss."

I would smile and nod, then set the soup on the dresser, where it would stay until Geneva would come and take it away at night.

I had been sick since I was a child. At first, mother and father were devastated. Then, as time wore on, they seemed to forget my existence. I could not remember the last time I had seen either of them, and the only thing they did for me any more was pay the doctor.

The only other person who came into my room was Doctor Cullen. I had never spoken to him, but every day he arrived with a smile. He talked to me while he worked of things I had never seen. His words of vast oceans, fireworks, and exotic places and animals fueled my imaginary travels.

Lately, though, his smile had been fading. He would come in with a welcoming grin, but, as he checked me over, the smile would fade until nothing was left but a look of worry. My pain had been getting worse, and every few seconds a terrible cough racked my body. I had a constant fever, and I had not eaten for several weeks.

Doctor Cullen would arrive every week at the same time. When Geneva used to talk to me, she would gossip of mother's flirtatious antics directed towards Dr. Cullen. He was polite and kind, but always refused politely to stay for supper or whatever scheme she had cooked up.

As the clock was chiming five, the doctor knocked on my door. He entered, wearing the same breathtaking smile as usual. I couldn't deny that he was unnaturally handsome. His blond hair was swept back out of his face. His skin was pale, paler than mine, even. Every time he visited me, his eyes were a different color. They ranged from the lightest topaz to almost black. Today, they were liquid amber.

His expression turned to worry as he glanced around the room. Pillows and sheets had been strewn about as I tossed in pain. My wavy brown hair was slick to my head and my clothes were soaked with sweat. My face was a constant contortion of pain.

He walked over and set his bag down on the bed. Looking at his silver watch, he pressed his fingers to my wrist. His fingers were like ice against my flaming skin, but it felt good. I sighed. Another wave of pain hit me and I gasped.

He looked at me in alarm. Then, seeing that I was not harmed, he went back to his business.

"I'm afraid that your pulse is quickening." He put his hand to my forehead. "You still have a fever. Is the pain worse?"

I nodded. It was unbearable. It had driven me to make a hard decision. I had known from the beginning that Doctor Cullen was something different. The doctors before him had bled me to try and rid my blood of the virus; Dr. Cullen had never brought a knife near me. When my mother sat in on one of the check-ups, when he first started coming, she had inquired as to why he didn't. He simply refused to discus it, saying that it would not help the situation. He did other things, too.

He worked impossibly fast. When he would walk, it was graceful, but restrained, as if he were crawling instead of walking on two legs. He had an air of secret about him, and he sometimes smiled like he was hiding something.

While he fished in his bag for something, I gathered all the courage I could muster.

"Doctor Cullen?" My voice was rough. It sounded foreign, as if it were dusty from little use. His head snapped up. Although there was shock on his face, he still managed to be polite.

"Please, call me Carlisle."

"Carlisle," I gasped as another wave of pain hit me, "please, I don't want to live like this any more. Please, do something."

"I assure you Miss Swan, I am doing all that I can---"

"No," I cut him off. I did not know how much longer I would be able to speak. "Carlisle, I can see that you're different. I have heard stories about you. I know you can do more. Please."

He sighed and closed his eyes.

CPOV

Isabella Swan lay tangled in the bed. Her breathing was shallow and labored. I knew she was going to die soon. Her fists and teeth were clenched and every so often she would spasm with another bout of pain. Beneath the blankets, she was sickly thin. Her cheeks were sunken and her eyes hollow. It would be cruel to leave her this way.

"Alright," I resolved, almost to quiet for her to hear. I turned around and exited the room.

Finding Mrs. Swan was not hard. She waited outside the room to escort me to the door after every appointment. Today was no different.

"Finished already, Doctor Cullen." After all these years the woman still had the nerve to bat her eyelashes at me. She looked like a much older version of Isabella. The years had not been kind to her.

"Actually, Mrs. Swan, I was just looking for you."

She could barely hold back her squeal of delight.

"I would like to take your daughter someplace where I can treat her fully. She has a very rare disease, and I believe some of my colleagues would be able to help her."

Mrs. Swans' face fell. "What would this cost?"

For a moment, I was taken aback. "Surely, Mrs. Swan, you cannot put a price on the life of your daughter."

"No, no," she stuttered, "it's just that I--I want to be sure we can afford it. And to push a burden like that child on you would be terribly rude."

Looking around at the expensive art pieces around the Swan residence and then at the fine silk that Mrs. Swan wore, I knew it was a lie. "It would cost you nothing, madam. Having young Miss Swan say here, though, could very well cost her life."

"Please then, take her. She hasn't been out of that room for years now, and she is a great burden on our family." My look of mortification at her words must have prompted her swift leave.

I opened the door to the bedroom to find the young girl laying her head back against the heavy headboard, eyes scrunched up in pain.

"I am going to take you somewhere else now, Miss Swan," I warned her. "Is there anything you would like me to bring?"

"No," she grimaced, "and please, call me Bella."

I strode over to her bed to find she had passed out. Gently, I lifted her slight frame into my arms. "Don't worry, Bella."

Wooh! Well, there you have it. Love it? Hate it? Should I write more? Should I jump in a well and shrivel up, never to write again? Really? Tell me about it so that I can write (or not write) another chapter. OK, so I'm going to write another chapter anyway, but feedback is mucho appreciated.