Disclaimer: I do not own, nor make any profit from, Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer, Summit Entertainment, etc. (Note: I will not be repeating this in future chapters.)
A/N: A brief introduction to a story that I (quite honestly) don't know where I'm headed with. But something about it stuck with me, so here we are.
Preface: After All
God has never seemed to be anything but the spectacular fancy of frightened humans in denial of their own mortality. A good and kindly being created for the ever-dying creatures who feared whatever lay on the other side of the steel curtain of death. Prayers were an invention of the diseased – those who knew death as inevitable yet hoped that some being, somewhere in the universe, was listening enough to answer their prayers with an extended stay here on earth.
When had my prayers ever been answered? Edward, my first and beloved son in this new existence, remained lonely and angry and frustrated for almost a century, no matter how much or how fervently I had prayed. God, were He real, would not be so heartless. And if He is not heartless, then why would He ignore the prayers of a tortured mother? It could only be that God does not exist.
I have not always felt that way. Even the haziness of human memories has not clouded that knowledge. In my untamed youth, God was so very real. He was the benevolent, all-knowing, all-loving, effervescent benefactor of the human race. The being who would surely destroy the earth before allowing my dreams to fall into waste.
But my dreams became lost in a world of unfeeling practicality and emotional rigidity. The hovering hope of romance and affection and love died within me, as did my faith in the almighty. Though my hope in the previous three had been renewed with Carlisle's venom and heart, my faith in the Almighty had remained obscured in doubt and pain.
A slip of a girl with no particularly exotic talents changed everything. For the first time since 1911, I began to feel something like hope. Hope that God might just be listening after all.
A/N: Short , but poignant, I hope.
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