The streets were dark, only lighted by the dim light of moon and the streetlamps. The little girl walked along the sidewalk.
She had a pale skin and long brown her. If you looked closely, you'd realise she was a bit thin and that she looked tired, but if you watched her form distance you could only say one thing: She looks like a porcelain doll.
It was clear she would be beautiful when she grew up.
The girl didn't really pay attention to the world around her, only watching her shadow move with every step she took. She tried not to think about her mom, knowing how that would hurt.
Her mom was nice, but she wasn't the greatest mom in the world. She was an alcoholic, a word that the eight years old girl shouldn't have known yet.
But she did know it, she could explain it's meaning better then anyone else. But the worst thing was that she knew the consequences of that word to the world around the alcoholic. And for her, the consequences meant she had to walk home alone from school and her ballet and karate lessons. And that hurt.
So she focused on her shadow, wondering why it always moved. She ignored the raindrops that started to fall, and faintly acknowledged the sound of the cars that swelled as they got closer, only to fade away as they passed her.
Until she suddenly realised one of the those sounds didn't fade away. She looked to her right, only to see a car riding beside her, so slow that it didn't overtook the girl. She was wary of it, remembering the lessons she had on school about talking to strangers. Then the car stopped, and she stopped walking as well, wondering what the driver had to say.
"Do you need a ride?" A woman asked, as she opened up the door. It was to dark to see the woman clearly, but her voice sounded nice. The girl thought about the lessons at school, remembering all the warnings. But the woman did sound nice. She wouldn't be evil. So the girl nodded and climbed in the car.
A man watched her from a distance. He didn't think much of it, expecting it would be her mother driving the car or something like that.
The next day he would see her face on the news and remember his choice at that time to continue his walk, but now he just looked at his dog, silently begging it to allow him to enter his house again.
And that was the last the world saw of Isabella Swan.
