Disclaimer: You know what I don't own. If you don't…what you doin' here, hun?

Summery: She is left to a life without her soulmate. She is left to a life with the Nightworld. She is left to a life as a hunted human. She is left to a life, only dreams of her soulmate to sustain her. Can she survive the darkness?

A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed; Incarnated Soul, Shane's Gal, and Annemarie Delacour. As always, they were muchly appreciated. I'm sorry if this is confusing, I really am, I just hope you can all bear with me. If you mention places/concepts/events which are a tad blurry, I'll try my best to clarify things in the next chapter. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy :).

"She found herself knowing exactly what it would feel like for him to graze her skin, so softly.…"

Life Rewritten – Such difference, such disruption

The present – 20 years later:

Char frowned down at the purple sneakers she was wearing, coming to the conclusion they were indeed the most frightening pair of shoes she had ever seen. She was at the gym, sitting on a bench, with her head between her legs; a vain attempt to disappear from the demonic force that was Rosemary Moss. The shoes had been a gift from her, and therefore, the obligation was there for Char to wear them and also, it seemed, at the same time feel like a certified idiot.

"You look like you've just seen a dead cow." Char looked up to see Roz standing above her, arms folded, and lips twisted into a smug smile. "Now get up, follow me."

Char groaned and slowly removed herself, adjusting her white crop top. Roz struck a pose in her own little red singlet top and rugby shorts too short for comfort, knowingly emphasising each elegant curve of her body, as a topless vampire walked past her, giving her the once over and smiling appreciatively. "God Roz, you may as well just run around naked."

"I'll take your suggestion into tantalising consideration."

Char rolled her eyes and followed her into the boxing room, eyeing the empty ring apprehensively. Last time she had gone into the ring with her friend they had both ended up surrendering; as fast as vampires healed, such aggression they liked to save for more deserving opponents. "Please tell me we aren't going in there again."

"Oh Satan no," Roz languidly replied, leaning against the ring's barriers, "I just wanted a smoke."

"You brought me in here so I could witness you smoking in a smoke-free environment?"

Roz reached into her sports bag and retrieved a cigarette and lighter, swiftly lighting up and inhaling. Char almost looked away; sometimes she wondered whether smoking was the equivalent to sex for Roz. "Yes, yes I did."

"Actually," she began again, withdrawing her cigarette, "I need to talk to you about Seb."

"Is he dead?"

"No."

"Then I don't care."

"He's getting married."

"I don't want to know."

"Her name is Cinder Redfern."

"What did I just say?"

"Do I look like I give a fuck, Char? Really, do I?"

She glared at Roz and gritted her teeth. "Maybe you should, because you're wasting your breath."

"Fine, you know what, fuck it. You come and ask me when it suits you; when you need to know."

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The past - 20 years ago:

Char numbly wiped her mouth, not caring to think too much about the crimson liquid she had just ingested with such zest. Her eyes drifted over the table to Seb; he hadn't stopped looking at her. But if she was honest, she had hardly stopped looking at him. She had wanted to die, not because she saw death as a cure to her pain, but because she had not wanted to be a hunter; she had not wanted to be a vampire. Char's eyes drifted to look out of the kitchen and into the lounge where Roz lay on the sofa, a bandage about her stomach, her breath coming short and shallow. Seb had almost killed his sister only to keep her alive.

"What have you done, Seb?"

He blinked. "I saved your life."

"I didn't want to be saved."

"Your judgement was and still is clouded by the death of Sade."

"Yes, because you know me so well," Char snapped, looking abruptly away from him in anger.

Seb placed his hand on Char's, stroking it softly with his thumb. "Yes, I do. Give it time; you'll thank me one day."

Char looked down at his hand on hers and thought of Sade; her hand was Sade's. With that she slipped her hand out from under his and abruptly stood, proceeding to walk over to the doorway. "Never," she threw coldly back, imagining she wasn't walking out of the kitchen, but out of his life.

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The present - 20 years later:

"What ever you're on about, you are probably dramatising it, as always," Char said, her eyes loosing their distant reflection to glance casually at her friend.

"Darlings!" both of the girls turned as Don Romano made a flourishing entrance into the boxing room. His appearance caused shock in Char's mind, amusement in Roz's; a change from his sweat decorated track outfit was a high fashion black suit. "It's Armani, baby, Armani."

"Well, Char, it would appear that parallel universes do exist."

"Don't deny it, darling, I was always sexy," he winked in her direction and Roz smiled invitingly.

Don was the resident parasitic sleaze and owner of the gym. His longish white hair and come hither brown eyes had been the cause of both many broken hearts, and many broken bank accounts. No one trusted him, but everyone needed him; he was the source. He was the gossip.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't touch you with a tree," Roz drawled, dragging on her cigarette as Don made growling motions, "now, what's with Armani you poor bastard?"

"I came into some money."

Char raised her eye brows, meeting Roz's blank stare curiously. "That's never a good thing."

Don smiled dangerously. "Now, now, be happy for me."

"You mean your bank," Roz murmured, stubbing out her cigarette on the boxing mat.

"Hey!" don yelled, rushing over to grip Roz's wrist, "I may have some money, sweetheart, but I don't intended to spend it cleaning up after chain smoking lamia."

"Cleaning up isn't what you'll be worrying about if you don't let go of me. Right now," Roz clipped, her hand hovering dangerous above his hand as her eyes burned into his.

Don quickly removed his hand from hers and stepped back. "You know what, you can damage my gym equipment any day, baby, any day. Just as long as it's my gym equipment."

Roz stared up at him emotionless, all flirtation gone. "I'll damage anything I want. Now leave."

Don backed quickly out of the room, an uneasy smile pasted on his face. "God damnit," Roz mumbled, reaching towards her bag for another cigarette, "I fucking hate it when people touch me without permission."

"Oh yes, before I forget," Char began, frowning as she took out her pony tail, "we have a possible answer to those increased vampire killings. Well, possible culprits, at least."

"Do tell," Roz uttered, lighting her cigarette.

"Conrad Lhar; a tiger shapeshifter. He's been in town about a week – arrived just as the killings started. He's also been seen with a vampire; Evan."

"Evan. So we finally have a reason to kill the asshole?"

"Kind of."

Roz narrowed her eyes. "Give me a reason."

"When we get a reason, he's mine. I believe it was my $100 purse he stole."

"Yeah, but you forget. Who was the one who ruined a $300 pair of shoes chasing after the bastard?"

"He's mine," Char asserted, putting a hand on her hip.

Roz nodded her surrender, inhaling and wondering what it was like to kill a shapeshifter.

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Char was walking home from the gym under the dark night sky. There was no moon, no stars; there was only a purple haze created by the lights from the city, the one which she was gladly retreating from. Roz had gone to visit her parents, leaving Char, to her relief, alone. She didn't know whether her friend realised it had been this day precisely twenty years ago she had become a vampire, unwillingly so. She didn't mind if she didn't; she would love to forget it herself. Char had had a few cold and short lived encounters with Seb since that day, but other than that, she was skilled at avoiding him at every turn.

The ground was wet, and with every step her purple sneakers caused water to slightly splash up and dot her baggy white yoga pants. She approached a street light and in a particularly large puddle she noticed her inky reflection, it wavered and then suddenly broke as she continued on her way, intentionally stepping in it.

She began to get a headache; the same headache. A headache not quite a headache. It was like a pulling at the back of her mind, a sharp tug, constant and determined; one which she had become resentfully used to. The dull ache it caused she could take, she could block it out, she could successfully ignore. But what she couldn't block or ignore was the thoughts and memories it found and unearthed, memories and thoughts of him; Sade. After twenty years without him she had not forgotten how she had felt when their lips had brushed, nor the image of how perfect her hands had fit in his that one day, that one day which seemed to contain everything.

But everything has changed now, she thought as she noted the slight rustle in the bushes ahead of her. Everything has changed.

A man stepped out of the bushes one metre ahead of her, the picture of a fool; fat, bald, dirty, presumably homeless, and harbouring a pocket knife which was really quite pathetic. "Your money, give it here." His eyes were shifty, and his hand shook with intoxication.

He reeked of alcohol.

Char raised her eyebrows and stepped quickly forward to kick downwards on his left kneecap, hearing a satisfying click and a scream of pain as the man crumpled to the ground, whimpering. She looked down carelessly at his body, and then stepped over him, wondering if she had been that pathetic when she was mortal.

Roz and Char were the controllers of Auckland city. After Sade's death, Nightworld activity began to increase and didn't stop; it became clear that the situation was going to need some interference. Nightworlders who came into Auckland posing a threat were quickly killed by not so mysterious means; the police turning a relieved blind eye to the bodies discovered, how ever rarely, with a stake through them. There were of course the big boys; but they seemed to behave after an encounter with Roz, an encounter which always remained a mystery.

She didn't know what she'd do without Roz; she had been the reason she still lived, both emotionally and physically. She'd trained her, looked after her, and told her to get over herself whenever she got too immersed in regret.

Char approached the flat, its lack of life looking dark and inviting.

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Roz sat at the dining table opposite her brother, both of her parents at its heads. She stared up at Seb through her eyelashes, resenting how similar they looked; both having chocolate brown eyes and the bronze complexion. She hated him. But unlike Char, she didn't have the luxury of making that emotion dangerously clear.

Roz knew that if ever she fought her brother, it wouldn't end 'til one of them was dead.

"So Sebastian," Mrs. Moss started, placing down her glass, "when are we going to be able to see this lovely Cinder of yours again?"

"Yes do tell; I found her stupidity just Charming," Roz drawled, beginning to play innocently with a lock of her hair, Seb looking severely in her direction.

Mr. Moss dragged on his cigar. "Rosemary."

"Father," Roz countered, shifting her gaze to him.

"Firstly, I can arrange for you to see Cinder sometime next week if you would like, mother," Seb started, still glaring at his sister, "and secondly, Roz, I would appreciate if you did not call my fiancé stupid."

"It has been a long time since I have cared what you appreciated, brother."

"Rosemary, Sebastian, please," their mother interjected sternly, "your drama is all too tiring."

Mr. Moss examined his wife; her hair was loose that night with its black waves flowing down her back, her dark gaze held a quiet anger. She looked into his eyes then and she calmed a little, taking a deep breath. They knew what their son had done to their daughter and they knew about Char; though Roz and Sebastian thought they were ignorant of the facts. Such incidents continued to be a point of disappointment and sadness to them both.

"Yes, I agree. You really should kill Sebastian," Roz said, sitting back in her seat and smirking, "he is a tiring and loathsome creature. Just imagine how perfect I'd be without him."

"Oh please," Seb interjected, taking a sip of his blood, "if they killed anyone it would be you, Rosemary. You never were quite right by any stretch of the imagination."

"I bet your imagination isn't the only thing you've tried to stretch." Roz noted the bulging of her mother's eyes and the raised eye brows of her brother and father as she pretended to innocently examine her red fingernails. They really did need perfecting, her secret was to put some clear layers over the-

"Rosemary, that is quite enough," Mr. Moss finally asserted, stubbing out his cigar on the glass ashtray, "this is not the correct environment for you to be making such comments."

"Devon!" Mrs. Moss scolded her husband, "there is no correct environment to be making such comments. Incorrect environment indeed."

"I agree," Seb stated, playing with the rim of his glass, "when are you going to learn, Rosemary, that such references are not fitting for a lady; even for one of your quality."

Roz narrowed her eyes. "Oh yes, you'd be one to know about quality. Quality over quantity I believe is what you chant to yourself as you fall asleep each night."

Seb smirked. "At least I fall asleep in the same bed each night."

"That is enough," Devon stated firmly, "you will stop and you will leave. Try not to kill each other one the way out; I hate stains."

"Certainly, Father," Roz got swiftly up and kissed both of her parents on the cheek, lingering near Seb. "Sweet dreams," she whispered, leaning down to brush her lips across his jaw. She delighted in the tension she sensed in his shoulders, increasing as she let her lips lower and linger beside his neck a moment too long.

"Goodnight, Rosemary," Sebastian clipped, and she straightened up, eyeing him smugly.

She quickly turned and walked briskly away, hardly wanting to cause a mess.

Roz got to the front door, but stopped her hand before it could touch the door knob. She could sense someone, or something, unfamiliar. Resisting the urge to go out the back door and let Seb deal with it, she swung the door open with her left hand, her right hand beside her weapon wielding thigh.

The stranger who stood on the porch, Roz decided, was perfectly devour-able. His hair was a mixture of strawberry blond and ginger, poking off in all directions; his face was sharp and distinguished; and his lips, she noted softly, as inviting as the amused hue in his green eyes.

Roz leaned against the door frame and began drawing circles on her thigh, slowly smiling. "Why hello, is there anything I could possibly do for you?"

He grinned. "Well, you could close the door and pretend you never saw me."

Roz allowed her smile to fade and blankness replace the flirtation in her eyes. "No, that's not how I do things." She stepped out onto the porch and into the crisp air of the night, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Well how do you do things then?"

"My way."

"What's your way?"

Roz began the long walk down her parents' driveway, deciding she would let Seb deal with him. Her and Char preferred to walk everywhere, they did have a car, but they hated it. It tended to malfunction at the most inopportune times. "You wouldn't like my way," she clipped, speeding up her pace as the stranger began to follow. He was Nightworld.

"How would you know?"

"Most don't want to die."

"But I'm not dead," he mused, matching her pace, suddenly beside her.

Roz stopped, and watched him carefully as he stepped in closer, allowing her hand to linger below her hip. "How observant of you. Now are you going to follow me home? Because if you are, I'll save you the walk and kill you now."

It was then that the stranger did the most unpredictable thing, and Roz resisted the urge to flinch. He raised his hand to linger beside her cheek. "Don't touch me."

"Why not?"

It felt as though he were touching her, though his hand was at least a centimetre away. And she found herself knowing exactly what it would feel like for him to graze her skin, so softly. "Because I don't want you to touch me. Don't make me shatter every fucking vertebra in your spine."

His eyes seemed to be in turmoil, torn between a single touch or a strategically broken spine. Roz even thought she could see a crack in their brilliant green surface. He lowered his hand. "You won't even let me touch you once? I'll touch your thumb; thumbs are most unexciting."

"No."

"I'll let you touch me."

Roz smiled. "You're an idiot." She broke into a steady jog, intending to keep it up until she reached home; trying desperately to dismiss the relief of avoiding his touch.

His skin touching her skin; so exposed.

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It was 12 am when Char heard the flick of a lighter out in the hallway, announcing Roz's arrival home. She was lying in bed, looking into the darkness, not really thinking, not really awake, and not really asleep. She was just absent.

There was a soft knock on her door, "Char, babe, are you awake?"

"Yeah, come in."

The door creaked opened and a body was suddenly jumping unadulterated onto the mattress, a graceless motion most unappreciated. Roz lay her head down opposite Char's and sighed; the lamia was exhausted.

"How did it all go?" Char inquired softly, the darkness complimenting the topic.

"Oh it went ok, and as usual. Petty insults, deathly looks, and threats were exchanged; Seb and I both coming out in one bloody piece, if not pissed off. Though, I did have an interesting encounter."

"Really?" Char perked up. She liked encounters, especially Roz's ones, they always tended to be interesting.

"Yes. I don't know who it was, but they wanted to touch me."

Char began to laugh, suddenly completely awake and somehow sensing the Roz was not even half as amused. "He wanted to touch you?"

"Yes. Would please stop asking stupid questions? Yes, I did have an encounter and yes, he wanted to touch me. Two idiots in one night, how inspiring."

"When did you, ah, encounter, him?" Char asked, ignoring her.

"About fifteen minutes ago."

"He really got to you."

"I should have asked you to stop being stupid, in general," Roz scolded.

"Not even Seb gets you this up tight; this really is quite an event. Anyway, continue, what else happened?"

Roz thought of all the different ways she could kick her friend. "He then said that he would let me touch him."

Char smiled gleefully. "This is so kinky."

"I'm tempted to proclaim my undying hate for you," Roz drawled, wishing she hadn't taken her stilettos off.

"Anything else happen in this encounter?"

Roz remember the thoughts which had materialised in her head with his hand that close to her skin, how she had almost-

"No."

"Alright then; go to bed, and tell me more when you feel like it," Char instructed, knowing that she was lying to her. Which disturbed her a little – Roz normally had no need to lie, no inclination to hide things. She was always control, and never allowed things to happen she didn't want to.

"Did he touch you?" Char blurted as Roz made a move to get off the bed.

"No one unwanted touches this, babe. Really, did you have to ask?"

Char frowned as Roz got up off the bed and walked out, closing the door conclusively behind her.

He hadn't touched her physically, at least.

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So now it's 20 years on; hmmm. Hehe. Comments and especially constructive criticisms are welcome. Hope you enjoyed :)