I Don't own Twilight or anything that I have not come up with, I do, however, own the sad, little old man that runs the motel, and Cassandra, and her mother (and the mean guy in the market) those characters are mine and I made them up myself. Now, without any further ado, on with the show.

Blood Requiem

Part Two: Something I Can Never Have

I still recall the taste of your tears
Echoing your voice just like the ringing in my
ears
My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore
Scraping through my head 'til I don't want to
sleep anymore

You make this all go away
You make this all go away
I just want something
I just want something I can never have

You always were the one to show me how
Back then I couldn't do the things that I can do
now
This thing is slowly taking me apart
Grey would be the color if I had a heart

Come on tell me
You make this all go away
You make this all go away
I'm down to just one thing
And I'm starting to scare myself
You make this all go away
You make this all go away
I just want something
I just want something I can never have

In this place it seems like such a shame
Though it all looks different now
I know it's still the same
Everywhere I look you're all I see
Just a fading reminder of who I used to be

Come on tell me
You make this all go away
You make this all go away
I'm down to just one thing
And I'm starting to scare myselfYou make this all go away
You make this all go away
I just want something
I just want something I can never have
I just want something I can never have

I had the dream again that night.

I was rushing through the dark streets at night, looking for Andrew. He was supposed to come see me hours ago. I had the sickening feeling that something was wrong. Terribly, dreadfully wrong. A cold chill lanced up my spine as I turned the corner into an alleyway. It was the alleyway Andrew often used as a shortcut to my house. I turned around another corner to the right, the constricting passageways between buildings were threatening, dangerous.

That's when I saw him; my blood turned to ice in my veins. I stood, frozen on the spot, quivering. There lay Andrew, mangled body strewn on the bloodied cobblestoned ground. Cold. Dead.

My Andrew. My love, my life, my salvation, was dead. Murdered.

I collapsed over this unmoving body, sobbing. I threw my head back and cried out in agony.

The year was 1929.

I awoke, sitting up swiftly. I was panting, and a cold sweat beaded on my forehead. Since Andrew's death, I pursued his killer, following the leads and cold chill up my spine, and it's led me here, across a dozen or more states and over half a century. And I finally have him within my reach.

Andrew was my salvation. Without him, when I died, I'd be sentenced to purgatory for what I am. Andrew was my only redemption, and now that I've lost him, I'll be spending the afterlife in purgatory regardless, I might as well settle the score before I do.

Purgatory. Just because of what I was born as. Well, it isn't like I'm not deserving of it now, but...before... It just didn't seem fair. I remember the day my mother told me...

"Cassandra!" My mother called from the house, a wary edge to her voice.

"Yes, Mamma!" I called to her from washing basin outside. I let the clothes I was washing slip back into the water, I wiped my hands on my stained, old pinafore, and ran into the small house. Our house was a small farmhouse out in the country. We lived in the french countryside in the year 1818, thirteen years ago, in 1805, I was born. Very soon, I would be spending my lifetime in a new way.

"Cassandra," Mamma began slowly, "do you know when I was born?"

I thought that was a strange question. "No, Mamma, you've yet to tell me." I drew my eyebrows together, tilting my head in bewilderment.

Mamma knelt down, and put her hands on my shoulders, looking at me straight in my eyes. "I was born almost three hundred years ago, Cassandra."

I laughed. "That's impossible, Mamma." Mamma couldn't be a year over twenty-nine. She looked too beautiful, too young. What she was saying was nonsense.

"It is possible, Cassandra, I'm a witch." My mother half-whispered as if she feared someone might overhear.

I gasped. "Don't say that Mamma, they'll hunt you down!" I grabbed the hem of my mother's dress and hugged her knees. Witches were burned at the stake, and hung as well, and drowned.

"Oh, but it is true, little Cassandra of mine." My mother whispered, hugging me. "And you are one too."

I pulled out of my mother's embrace to look at her face. It did not betray any hint of a lie. "But, Mamma..." I trailed off, then began speaking again. "But Mamma, what will happen to us?"

"It's all right, nothing will happen to us. I promise."

I sighed, and pushed back the covers of the bed, and stood up. I walked to the bathroom to splash some water on my face.

'Things did happen to us, Mamma.' I thought sadly.

The tap squeaked as I turned it; I gathered some water in my cupped hands and splashed it on my face. I grabbed a towel and dried off. I rested my palms along the counter top, fingers curling over the edge of the white, polished surface. I stood there for a moment.

Two years later, after my mother told me what we were, that's when it happened.

Mamma and I were at the village market; Mamma was buying a loaf of bread, and I was peering curiously at some chickens in wooden cages.

I heard a deep, male voice behind me. "Oi! Que faites-vous là, fille?" What are you doing there, girl?

I whirled around with a small gasp and saw a man maybe several years older than myself.

"J'étais juste regardant les poulets !" I protested in a small voice. I was just looking at the chickens!

The man scowled. "I hope you wasn't planing on stealing them, girl!" He growled in English.

I was going to comment on his poor grammar, even I, a girl, knew proper English Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and began tugging me away. I protested loudly, first in French, then in English. Only my mother in the crowded market turned to look. When she saw me, she looked on in horror. I saw that she was beginning to rush over to me, but it was too late.

My anger piqued intensely, acutely. My eyes narrowed to slits; my breath came out between my teeth as a hiss of air. My body began to tingle, sending a shiver through my body to my wrist where the tingling magnified and built up to an sharp heat. My skin grew hot, but I felt no pain; very strange. The next thing I knew, I heard the sound of the man gripping my wrist crying out in pain. He removed his hand quickly and his other hand grasped the injured one at the wrist. I could see it was very red, with thin wisps of smoke.

"Wench! You—you burned me!" He exclaimed. He pointed to me with his good hand. By now, people were watching. "She's a witch! Elle est une sorcière !"

Many people gasped, cursed, and called out. I looked around frantically in horror.

My mother had reached my side now, clasping onto my hand. "Courez Cassandra ! Venez avec moi, nous devons courir !" Run Cassandra! Come with me, we must run!

Together, Mamma and I fled from the square, running out of the village. Some people tried to follow us, but we lost them in the trees surrounding the village. We arrived back at our home and Mamma flew into a flurry of movement. She grabbed several burlap sacks and shoved some of my clothes in one, hers in another, and food in another; butter cream, bread, and salted meat.

"Mamma, que faites-tu?" I asked, even though I already knew.

"We need to leave, or they will find us." My mother responded. "I hoped this would never happen, but I am prepared. We must go to Paris; there, we will take a boat to America." Mamma smiled tightly.

"America?" I asked, shocked.

"Yes. America."

I sighed and stepped out of the bathroom. I grabbed my jacket and slipped on my boots. It was a bleak, grey morning. The sun's light muted by the thick cloud coverage. I locked the door behind me with the key.

I walked out across the short stretch of gravel to the Toyota Corolla. I climbed into the driver's side and shut the door. I stopped to examine the broken window in the driver's side door. Some of the jagged shards were still in the door frame, glittering and spiteful like teeth in the maw of a savage beast. Looking closely, I saw tiny amounts of dried blood on the sharp edges of the glass.

"Now that just won't do," I murmured to myself.

I spied a discarded clear-glass bottle at the edge of the lot. I left the car swiftly to retrieve it and returned to the car. I quickly glanced around to make sure there were no prying eyes. I placed a hand on the bottom and over the top of the bottle. I felt the tingling sensation flow through my body and into my hands. I brought my hands together, forming the bottle into a lump of molten glass. I shifted it into the palm of my right hand and spread the molten glass over the space where the window should have been. The glass melded perfectly into place—flawlessly— replacing the broken window. My fingers grew slightly numb, from the transference of energy.

It's all relative—you can't create something from nothing. Not exactly. You can manipulate particles—atoms—in the air, and make something else, but technically, that's not nothing.

I climbed back into the car, started it, and drove out of the motel parking lot.

Guess who's coming to town? And no, it's not Old Saint Nick.

Memories consume
Like opening the wound
I'm picking me apart again

You all assume
I'm safe here in my room
Unless I try to start again

I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
'cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused

I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I know it's not alright

So I'm
Breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight

Clutching my cure
I tightly lock the door
I try to catch my breath again

I hurt much moreThan anytime before
I had no options left again

I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
'cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused

I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright

So I'm
breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight

I'll paint it on the walls
'cause I'm the one at fault

I'll never fight again
And this is how it ends

I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
But now I have some clarity
To show you what I mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright

So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight

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