A/N: This is set in an alternate universe, so you don't really need to read books 1, 2, 3 to understand.

Prologue

Around me, they are all cheering. Their faces are screwed up in malicious triumph, as I am strapped here to the cross, tears seeping into my eyes, despite my private mantra of: it's not real. This isn't real. The string that binds my wrists and ankles to the ebony wood is starting to pierce into my skin. I can feel the blood slowly oozing out, and I bite my lip, trying hard not to cry. I also attempt not to look up, knowing that everyone's attention is on me. It's not real. This isn't real.

Instead, my gaze is solely focused on the man – no, boy – standing in front, just a short distance away. His golden eyes, like the colour of the sand, are flat, emotionless, cold. I would shudder, if I weren't bound so tight. He heads toward me, in that familiar, awkward way, and the jeering gets louder. This is an illusion; I remind myself fiercely, it isn't real.

However, I can't dispel my doubts that descend onto me as he stops, facing me, his fingers grazing my chin. It makes my breathing difficult, it makes my heart start to pound, and I can't quite stop that whimper which escapes my lips, when he roughly yanks my hair. Strands of my hair still in his hands, Edward turns to his eager audience.

"Today," he announces, his voice rumbling around the arena, "We are brought to the execution of the traitor, Isabella Swan."