So, hi. I'm FableFanasticate, presenting my first Twilight story! Hopefully it will become what I'm hoping for. Anyway, the pairing is Jasper and Bella, my fave. Also, if you were confused by the summary, don't worry, I'll explain later. Well, hopefully you'll get it through the story, but if you don't, well, you know. I'll help you out.

So, after that, I'd like to leave you off here! Thanks for clicking! :D

Prologue:

The Cullen mansion had always been a grand thing, at least, that's how I remembered it. It was big. Beautiful. Stunning in its simple glory. I remembered it being a looming shadow of light in the distance, not even remotely resembling the creatures it housed, but showing what I knew they all held within them—a person, a human quality. The mansion testified that though they were vampires, they didn't need to be surrounded by black and dreary. That like everyone else in the world, they were stereotyped and misunderstood.

Now it stood remote in a barren land. It was a large structure, and the surrounding yard had always been huge to accommodate the vampires within, but now it seemed dwarfed by the space around it—the empty space. It was alone and tall, falling into slow disrepair, and yet still beautiful in its considerably abandoned state.

As I crawled to the edge of my seat and hopped out of my truck, a small tremor ran up my spine, my eyes welling again at the thought of going in there, the thought of being surrounded by the walls where it had all begun and had all ended. My pitiful amount of resolve began to drain away, and I felt my hand twitch with the fleeting thought to leave, but instead I forced my legs forward and up the steps to the front door.

For the first time since the idea to come here, I actually thought that they may have locked the doors before leaving this house behind. I'd had the old idea of the grand Cullen mansion, always open and welcome to my visits, stuck in my mind. And now, seeing it in this state, I was sure that was no longer the case.

I raised a hand to the cool metal of the door handle, and yet I couldn't bring myself to turn it. A part of me wanted it to be locked, wanted to be spared the sight of the place once so full of life and love—concepts almost foreign to me now. Another wanted it to be open, wanted to see the damage I caused, wanted to remember, wanted to feel again.

I closed my eyes and counted, turning the knob at long last. It clicked and opened. I had to gather my wits and wait for what meager strength I had to return before I could push it forward, before I could open my eyes. And when I did, I was less than satisfied.

The house had obviously gone unused. The furniture was dusty, the curtains were drawn. But there was no trace of what had happened the last time I'd been there, no trace that I'd ever been there at all. My eyes swept over the white floors, the wooden furniture, the large cushioned couch, and the piano. It brought no emotions forward within me, did nothing, and that was disconcerting. I'd been feeling detached, empty, ever since I'd been cut off from Jacob, and something as big as this reunion couldn't even bring something out of me. Was I truly losing myself?

I walked forward, my steps muffled by the carpeting, and ran one finger along the wooden surface of a nearby table. It was all still beautiful and still here, but it didn't help me. I couldn't remember them, couldn't remember anything.

I stopped near the staircase and let out an angry growl—nothing more than a sigh in comparison with a vampire's, but it expressed my dissatisfaction sufficiently enough. I'd expected this house to do something, to hold some great epiphany about who I was and what I was meant to do. I needed it to do that for me, but it fell short and I was left as empty as it was.

My nose began to sting and my eyes welled with disappointment. I slammed a fist into the nearby wall, next to a hole that I hadn't noticed until that moment. It was about five times the size of my own little fist, and as I looked down the hall I saw more of them. I turned and gazed at the living room, from which an odd cracking sound was coming, and saw that more of these curious holes littered the walls, as well as dents of other shapes and sizes. I stood still, feeling that I should know why they were here and what caused them, but came up blank.

After a moment, I realized that strange sound was still there, still growing stronger, and I flipped around, my heart thundering with hope that maybe I'd see someone here. See one of them.

But there was nothing, and everything seemed unchanged. Not a single thing had moved, been touched, and I continued to wonder what that distant, but growing sound was. I turned again, looking for something, when movement caught my eye.

It was simply a shadow, swaying back and forth, and I wondered what was casting it. I followed the movement upward as it scaled the wall to the ceiling, and felt my heart stop in my chest. I didn't really have time to realize quite what was happening before a sickening crack came from above me, and the ornate chandelier grew closer.

The first thing I could recall was pressure. It was pressing down on me, just light at first, but suddenly the amount of force behind it was crushing. After the pressure was the pain. The splintering pain all over my body, thousands of stabs as each shard cut into me. Then, there was red, burning red. It began to pour out all over me, my body lathering in a growing pool of blood. Each drop lost was painful, and each vein in my body began to burn as they rapidly emptied.

I tried to move, but only produced a small twitch in my muscles. And pain. There was so much pain, with every thought and move and breath it hurt.

So I stayed still, lying there alone, everything burning and throbbing. It wasn't long before my vision began to blur, bright dots of purple and yellow dancing in my eyes. The pain, however, didn't fade with my sight or strength. Everything was still a horrible, fiery torture as I let my head fall to the floor in defeat. This was over.

There was a strange sense of peace at that thought. With the ending of my life—which was undoubtedly happening, considering that no one knew I was here, and barely anyone knew where here was in the first place—came the ending of that emptiness and pain within it. At long last, I felt like I was getting the sleep I had been longing for—deep and restful, where I wasn't haunted with nightmares and screaming.

But then I thought of all I would miss—my parents, my small amount of friends, my whole future. It was fading along with me and I didn't want that. The greatest fear was that soon, everyone would forget me. I wouldn't be there to impact the world in any way, to do what I wanted with my life. Before, the road to my death was a long one, possibly endless, but now I'd taken a detour and soon enough I would just be gone.

I didn't want to die.

I struggled against the grogginess, tried to move my heavy limbs and open my eyes. But I was too weak at this point, and all alone. I continued to try and break free, but it was no use. I was alone and hadn't the strength to do more than think.

I just remembered that it was cold. I remembered reading about the cold vice of death in novels, but the way that I was suddenly enveloped in ice seemed strange to me, too clichéd. But I didn't get too far past that thought.