I woke up to the faint sound of snipping as I pulled my eyes open to see an old-fashioned bedroom. I tried as hard as I could to sweep the fog away from my mind to figure out what I was doing in this strange place. And what that noise was, though it kind out sounded like….

SCISSORS.

Everything came flying through my mind at that moment: being forced into having dinner with a bunch of gossiping snobs. Getting angry with them because they kept pressing me for personal information. Running out of the door, towards the mansion on the top of the mountain, the same one I was residing in at the moment. Hearing that same noise in the darkness. Climbing up the stairs to the attic to find a man…with scissors for hands. I sat up and swiftly, but silently got out of the bed. I walked over to the window and stared down at the same man trimming the sculptures that littered the front yard. And I stayed there for what felt like hours, but in reality was only about fifteen minutes before I made my way down there to join him.

The front door made a loud creaking noise, but as I looked at him, it didn't seem to disrupt him in anyway. I stood on the front steps, afraid to stand behind him due to the fact that he might hurt me. I knew beyond reason that he wouldn't do it intentionally, but better safe than sorry. All too soon he was finished and spend a few more minutes observing his work before turning to face me. He jumped back accidentally cutting his face in the process. I gasped and ran over to him, that cut looked like it really hurt.

"Sorry." I apologized, pulling out a fresh tissue from my pocket and dabbing it over the cut. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." He mumbled.

"Does this hurt?" From some reason, I could feel my face heat up. Maybe it was because I was in such a close proximity with a boy.

He shook his head. "Why is your face red?"

That made my blush deepen. "No reason to worry about."

"Your not sick?"

I laughed awkwardly. "No." I looked around the yard, desperate to change the subject. "How do you make those?" I asked pointing the sculptures. No words can describe the anguish written all over his face as he held up his "hands". I mentally punched myself in the face for making him do that. I remembered feeling like a display object when those women asked me about my life. How bad it felt. Now I was the woman and he was the display. No way in hell would I ever want that. I hurried to correct myself while pushing back the tears that were threatening to fall. "I meant," I started pushing his hands down, "some of the creatures are fictional."

"Fictional?" He asked, the anguish replaced with confusion.

"Not real."

He nodded.

So me question is, how?"

"My father read me books. Some had pictures."

"So you create what you see?"

He nodded again.

I smiled just in time for my stomach to growl.

"What was that?" He asked, a little afraid.

I laughed a little. "It was my stomach Edward."

"You're hungry." It sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Yes."

He lifted one of his blades and pointed to the door, gesturing me to follow him. He led me to the cookie-making machine I'd seen the night before. He told me to stand by the end of a conveyor belt as he walked over to a switch on the wall, and with his middle blade, pushed it up to turn it on.

The invention roared to life as I watched the little egg fall into a bowl of pre-made batter, all the way into the oven, and back out to where I was standing. Each cookie fell into the little bin at my feet.

I took a star cookie and placed it in my mouth. The taste was magnificent, like all the other desserts in the world couldn't compare with it. Well, at least the ones that I've had so far, and I haven't really eaten desserts in a while.

"This is delicious."

"Thank you."

"You want one?" I asked, holding up another cookie.

He nodded as he walked over to me, but I could see a hint of embarrassment in his eyes. Then it hit me-He can't pick up a cookie, he needs to rely on others for help on the simplest things.

"Here, open up."

He opened his mouth and I placed half of it into his mouth as he took a bite. He moaned, I guessed it was because he hadn't eaten these in a while.

"How did you manage to eat after your father died?" I asked.

"Died?"

I should really start to think before I talk to Edward. He's so innocent that he doesn't even understand the concept of death. I should've known that. When I asked about his dad last night, he replied with "He didn't wake up." God I wish I could be that naïve.

"When he never woke up?"

"I attempted using my hands."

"Is that how you got some your scars?"

"Yes."

The poor guy, always having to hurt himself just so he can eat.

"Can I ask you something?" He mumbled, still chewing.

"No talking with your mouth full." I teased him.

He swallowed, and crouched behind his blades. "I'm sorry."

"I was just teasing." It was true, and it felt so good to feel so free again.

"I forgot my manners." He muttered to himself.

"Don't worry about it Edward. I don't care."

"Really?"

I nodded.

Only after a few more cookies was I full. Edward on the other hand seemed to want to eat everyone that in that bin. I didn't mind too much though, it gave me something to do. And with each passing second, I grew more and more fascinated with him.

"What was the first sculpture you ever made?"

He took a few minutes to chew before answering. "I started to do it the day after my father gave me my legs. It was the reindeer."

"Was a reindeer included in one of the stories your dad read to you?"

"It was the first one he read to me after I woke up."

"Was it Christmas time?"

"Yes." His voice seemed strained at that response. Maybe that was the time when his dad died some months or years later.

"Can I ask you something?" He asked.

I nodded.

"What does 'died' mean?"

That just tore at my heartstrings. The way he always described what happened to his dad, it seemed like he didn't fully understand the concept of death, and that his mind kept telling him that his dad will wake some day.

"Do you understand anything about death?" I asked.

He shook his head.

I sighed, trying to think of the best way to describe it without breaking his heart. Though I was pretty sure no such thing existed. Finally, I took both of his 'hands' in my own careful not hurt myself. I looked at his shocked face and began. "Death is a way of describing the end of one's life. To put in your own words, one goes into a permanent sleep."

"He's not going to wake up is he?" He sounded like he was sobbing and as I continued to look at him tears stared to rain down his face.

I felt like I was gonna lose it in that moment, but a voice in the back in my head told me that that wouldn't be a good idea. Without even thinking about it, I let go of his hands and wrapped my arms around his shoulders clutching him to me. I never once had to comfort a friend like this, not even when I was little. But I knew the pain of losing someone I cared about, and even though I didn't have one, I had no objections to being his shoulder to cry on.

He eventually calmed down and pulled himself out of my arms. "Can I asked another question?" He sniffed.

"Anything." I whispered giving him a reassuring smile.

"What happened to him?"

That confused me a little bit. "What happened to his body?"

"No. Where is he now?"

I knew what he meant then. "That's a tough question to answer."

"Why?"

"Because a lot of people have different ideas about that."

"What about you?"

I thought about that. I didn't really believe in anything having to do with religion anymore. But I do remember what I was taught in church. "In honesty Edward, I don't really believe in that stuff anymore, but I was taught something in church."

He waited patiently.

"When a person dies, their soul can either be sent to heaven or hell. And what determines which we are sent to depends on the choices we've in our lives and what we've done."

I nodded seeming to understand.

"Was your father a good man?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Did he do anything bad?"

He seemed to think about that for a second, but then his face twisted into a very anguished expression. "He created me." He whispered.

Words escaped me in that moment. I stared at him, my mouth agape. Trying to understand why he'd just said that. I could tell he was a good person with a kind heart and I hadn't even known him for twenty-four hours. How could he think otherwise?

Apparently, I took too long to try and respond because he turned and walked away from me. As he got to the base of the stairs he turned back to me and chocked out a few words. "I killed a man." And then he continued his ascend up the staircase.

I just stood there, my feet glued to the floor. I could tell he wasn't lying, but I also knew that he wasn't a cold-blooded person. When I was able to move again I followed him up the stairs and when I caught him, he was at the threshold to the attic. I gently put my hand on his shoulder and he stopped. I began speaking very slowly. "Why? Why did you do it?" He turned towards me and looked right into his eyes. "I know you're not a bad person, so why?"

"I was afraid." He strangled. "He tried to kill me, and someone I loved."

That was a scary coincidence. "I know that feeling. That fear." I felt tears run down my face I didn't care if he saw me. "I can't say what happened, but I know how painful it is. This isn't about me though. You're not a murderer. I can tell. You had a reason and were put in a position where you had no other means of defense besides murder." I paused to make absolute sure I was getting through his head before continuing again. "And for that reason Edward, you are a good person, and for that, I know your father is in heaven."

Fresh tears started raining down his face as he rested his head on my shoulder. "Thank you." He sobbed. "Thank you for saying that about me. Those people whom I'd considered friends thought I was a bad person after an incident and forced me back here. Back into this lonely place."

"All those people are idiots." I said, holding him in my arms stroking his knotted hair.

We stayed in that position for God knows how long. All I know is when we calmed down again, the sky was painted in various oranges, pinks, and yellows, but in that time I made a promise to myself. Edward had entrusted me with probably some of the most personal information in his life. Even if it killed me, one day, I was going to tell him what I had kept secret for nearly eight or so years.

Why does everyone get to hug Edward but me? ;O.

Now that that's over, I know that this was a little too fast-paced, but I wanted Trina to get even more comfortable with Edward.

Let me know when you think