(Author's Note: I do not own Twilight or any Twilight characters. Those belong to Stephenie Meyer, and this is a work of a FAN)

3. Cruelty

The snow is falling behind me, my feet growing faster as sobs—tearless—breaks through. I've never cried much in my life, but even then it was so, so much more different than this—this sob that courses through my body, making my chest heave up and down.

My stop is fast, feet halting in place. I'm also breathless and now crumple on the ground, knees up to my chest, arms crossed around them. This is what you wanted, I think sourly. You got exactly what rotten freaking thing that you wanted!

Another sob, another break, another crumple breaks free and I know that I will not be able to escape from this torture. This torture that is a fire, a blaze, coursing in a maze through my body, is worse than when Edward left me. Now that I remembered my life—before—I know exactly who this Edward character was—is. I know exactly the pain I felt when he left me in Forks to crumple. That, then, seemed almost unbearable, the only light—my shining sun—was Jacob. He was the one that helped me then, but now I will never be able to see my sun. But that torture is back, the whole in my chest—even though now it should be invincible—is back and worse than ever.

A wrecking ball suddenly plummets into me, making me stand up in a position. There was no words, no description of what happened to me in that second.

Like a wild fire, my throat aches with thirst, an eagerness that's not far from such violence. It's something that I awoke with but this smell—this lush, delectable scent that sends electric shocks through my veins—triggers it into something like the-monster-who-has-hidden-under-your-bed-since-you-were-five-and-is-coming-out thirst.

It hadn't even been a whole second—if even a quarter of a second—and my mouth is full of liquid as I formed the verdict. I coiled into a spring, bringing my body into a stance of pure animal.

Now two seconds have past and the scent—the blissful scent—is closer, like it's coming towards its death.

Never before had I been like this—this animal. Never before had I sunk to such an atrocity action. But my noble side—the small non-monster side—is drowned out because all I want is that blood.

I remember retching because of blood, which now seems funny. I remember getting nauseous at the red liquid seeping through one's skin, and now that seems more unlikely to ever happen. That scent is blood—I know—but it doesn't make me nauseous or make me want to puke, it makes me hungry.

Than that scent is in the circle of my arms, my tongue licking the throat of such a thing. I hear a gasp, and see the terror that builds up in this thing's eyes. But I don't care—as I noted, the noble side of me is washed away, gone, drowned in the bloodlust of a monster.

And then I hear a cry that's so—so fragile but so scared at the same time. It's a name, but I barely register this because my teeth are sinking into my prey's throat.

This scent was delicious and lush just to smell, but when my teeth slurp my victim's blood that "delicious" smell is turned into taste that more that "blissful."

This was heaven, a pure bliss that engulfed my being. Nothing would taste better than this blood that's feeding me. How was a succulent substance contained in this world of monsters? I drank deeper, pulling this thing's body closer to me.

I could say I could describe this taste, but I'd fail at a cost that wouldn't pay for itself. Drinking this blood was a perfect composition sung by angles, whose voices are sweeter than love. Nothing so alluring would ever enter me so fulfilling again. I knew that this blood was a once in a life time thing, so I drank deeply.

There's a hiss from a voice that's not musical and isn't sweet like I've come to know my own new voice. This voice is regulated into a dull cry of a sound that I can barely bear because it's so annoying. It's the same voice that cried out the name "Clary" and has an, oh so sweet smell too.

Cruelty I once said was a strong word, but now that's just what I was. The vampire part of Isabella Marie Swan ate the human part making me just Bella—and that's all I want to be. I once said to Edward—wince—that he did have a soul, but now I'm thinking he was right.

Cruelty is what I'd call what I am doing now. Cruelty is what I'd call someone in a movie that's doing exactly what I am in this very moment:

I grab the prey I already have throwing them into one of my arms, and then I grasp the person—a man from what I can tell by his voice—that yelled and put him in the other.

One person, this "Clary," should be enough to tie me over, but my teeth also sink into this man's throat. I don't care about anything but the taste…this heaven.

I was so in heaven that I didn't hear him approach. My mind was fully aware of nothing but this taste, set on savoring every inch of blood that enters my now damned mouth. But that quickly passes, and my fury that didn't exist before, is enraged as I realize that I am being pinned down.

I thrash and attack, bearing my teeth, at him who stole my heaven, my sweet love. This person is growling at me to stay calm, to realize that I was drinking a human's blood. But I'm much, much stronger than my attacker.

I manage to throw off my attack and lunge forward in assail, only to be pulled back down, pinned yet again. I was aware of the cries of man and woman becoming louder and I realize something that I always hoped would never happen.

I'm a murder.