"While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die." –Leonardo da Vinci

Chapter One

The platitudes say that life is unfair. That misery loves company. That it is better to have loved and lost. That the truth will set you free. These platitudes may adequately sum up the human condition, but they do nothing for death. They do nothing for the undead. I am both. And I require answers.

I am both dead and undead, one with nature and an abomination against it. I lived my life until I was seventeen, and then my life was taken from me, a new one established in its place. This was done without my permission, without my express consent, and I have spent every day since that fateful one lamenting my fate. Because as a seventeen-year-old boy, there was an end in sight. My life had run its arc. It was my time. And now, as a 107-year-old being, there is no end. There was no beginning. I am forever trapped in the middle. And I desire nothing more than a way out.

I cannot blame Carlisle for turning me. I was the first in our family that he turned. I would not be the last. On her death bed, my mother had begged the man to save me, to do whatever he could for me, and, when my condition worsened shortly after hers, Carlisle fulfilled his promise to her. He did what he thought was right. I respect him for that. But I lament my existence. For I should not be here. It is not natural.

The voices were there from the beginning. I cannot remember if they had been there when I was human, but I can remember them from the moment I was turned. Some were whispers, some shouts, some screams. I had been terrified. I had lashed out. I had blamed Carlisle, attacked him, accused him of driving me mad. Because the voices wouldn't stop. Wherever I went, they followed. I tried everything. In more desperate moments, I attempted to kill myself, but death does not come easily to the undead. And all the while Carlisle would be there, trying to comfort me, trying to offer me his strength. It took me months to accept my fate, and years to accept my curse, my gift. But Carlisle was always there.

Carlisle was an attentive companion. He taught me self-control and self-reliance. He gave me hobbies and projects, things to occupy my time, to distract myself from the constant thirst that plagued my existence. He taught me not to feed on humans. He taught me to be patient with them, to hide who I was, to stay away. The hypocrisy in the last lesson was tangible, as Carlisle was a practicing doctor who interacted with humans on a daily basis. Still, he had more practice than me. He could handle the temptation. I could not.

Most importantly, Carlisle helped me with my gift. He helped me isolate the voices, concentrate on what I was hearing. It was only then that I recognized his voice in my mind, and it was through this realization that we established that I was not insane but, rather, able to read thoughts. Though he tried to hide his feelings from me, Carlisle was delighted. He reveled in my gift. It made life safer for us, easier, knowing when people were suspicious, knowing how my actions affected others, and I could not blame him for valuing it. Still, it was a burden, and a heavy one at that. Though I have grown used to it over the decades, I still miss the time before this one… the time when I was human… the time when I had peace.

The rest of my family was assembled in an odd fashion. Carlisle found Esme, broken and dying, and turned her as he'd turned me years before. Together they found love. I went a way for a while after they got together. I did not wish to intrude on their happiness. They were so taken with each other, so devoted, so assured, and I could not be around that. I had never had those feelings before. It was intangible to me.

After Esme came Rosalie. Carlisle admitted to me later that he had hoped that Rosalie would be my companion as Esme was his, but I could hear her thoughts, I could see her soul, and I knew that we would never be together in that way. I grew to love Rosalie over time, but as a sister, not a lover. And then Rosalie found Emmett, and I went away again. It was not so much that I resented my family for the love they found in others. It was just that I didn't understand it. I didn't care to witness it every day. And being on my own meant that I could quiet my brain, listen to myself for once rather than those around me. I would travel to Africa, to Russia, to South America. I would get lost in mountains and feed on wild animals and climb to the tops of trees to watch the sunset. It pained me to return to my family after those bouts of solitude, but I always would, for they loved me, and I loved them. I had no desire to hurt them in that way.

When Alice found us, my life changed, for I had finally found a friend. Alice had a gift not unlike my own, and so she understood me and I her. She had visions of the future, of things to come, and though they were mercurial at best, she was still subject to forces outside of her control, and so we practiced honing our skills together. The day that Alice saw Jasper was the last day that I left my family. I had seen their connection, their love, their elation. I had felt it as Alice felt it, had watched her dance out the door to seek out her perfect match. I could not handle that. I could not go through it again. For my true friend had found another, and I needed time to mourn the shift in our relationship. I had not loved Alice in that way, but I had grown to lean on her, depend on her presence, her cheer, her way of life. And she had fallen in love. It would seem that everyone falls in love but me.

A/N: There you go. EPOV. This will follow the events of Eyes Turned Skyward, but not blow for blow. Besides, as so many of you have pointed out to me, you don't get much Edward/Bella interaction in ETS.

Thanks to Hannah for getting this back to me so quickly.

What'd you think? I've never written for Edward before. Do your worst…

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