And In Between, Lay a Meadow

by Bluelinote

Timeless prequel to canon. Little lost blood-drinking hellion missing a heart meets feathery-she out of the saintly ways, on the soft grass of a twilit meadow. In the middle flows a River and there's Music everywhere. VERSE-AU-OOC

1. PROLOGUE

BlueNote:

Hello, Lovely Readers.

Here is the REVISED VERSION of my ''Meadow''.

Exit...
... the long and tedious foreword. It will ultimately be posted, one day, as a "postface", at the very end.
New form:
The words have not been changed (or very little). I have just found it interesting to suppress the automatic changing lines, so characteristic of verse. So now, my Meadow has become some sort of poem in disguise, under the apparent form of prose. Or if you you look at it the other way around, some prose thing rhyming internally.
New chapter arrangement:
You will find several of my previous parts ( as many chapters) gathered under one chapter heading.
However:
I will post each new ''part'' individually as a poem until I get enough to gather them all under one chapter heading under the new "disguised poem" form.

I hope you, my new readers, will like it as you discover it, and that, you, who have already read, favorite-d and followed the previous version, won't miss it too much.
Want to bite me? Want to praise it? Appraise anyway you want, click on the review thing at the bottom of this page.

Thank you all.

Disclaimer:
(1) Any ressemblance with another original fanfiction, wherever, is purely fortuitous.
(2) Every recognizable character or situation in this story belongs first and foremost to Stephenie Meyer, my literary endeavour being my homage to her, our sire of sorts. I do not intend to usurp her Olympian throne, infringe upon any of her rights or plan to make money out of this.
This story is my humble pledge to our Twilight Queen, the bow I take in clumsy reverence.

AND IN BETWEEN LAY A MEADOW

- (| PROLOGUE |) - -

[Somewhere by B . Streisand]

EPOV

Somewhere, sometime, there's a meadow.

Yet, no soul now knows – and none shall ever do so where this place or when the time. And though no soul has ever laid their eyes upon the place in endless times, yet I do know the wheres and whens of that meadow. Yes I do know where lies this place I used to go. For I've been there before. I've seen this place of yore.

A younger self than I am now has come there on a random path. A self less alien than my own now has found there quiet after wrath. The body of the boy I was has lain and made a nest upon the soft mattress of its fragrant grass. The brooding head and sulking mind has once found there peace of a kind, and the dulled and forsaken heart so far throb-less and – oh! - so dark, one day, there, has found its Spark; another's beat for his own pulse to mark; a voice, a song for a newborn lark.

The voiceless heart could sing at last in the meadow, so long ago. The song-less lark could voice at last the hidden things his Spark should know.