Okay, before you read this, I know my story is a bit wrong in terms of the timeline. (Thanks to those who pointed that out, by the way! =] ) But it'd be too complicated to change it, so... Hopefully you guys don't mind too much...?
I own none of the Twilight characters...
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It was raining. The fat, clear droplets fell like tears from the grey sky, splashing onto anything and everything it could possibly reach. There was nobody around. The road was quiet and empty. The only signs of movement were a stray cat shivering under a parked car, and a plastic bag sailing like some lost ship over the streaming road. A large road sign standing in the now-marshy grass which bordered the road read 'Welcome to Forks'. The words screamed small town. The sort of small town in which everybody knew everybody and everybody knew where they stood.
To say the street was entirely empty would be a lie. There was a figure, stood just before the sign. Not quite part of the town, but too close to not be linked to it somehow. The figure's clothes had clearly not been crafted to keep out yet. Her thin jeans were sodden, the sweatshirt upon her upper body was blotched with dark patches of ink-like wet, and curiously, her feet were bare. The hood of the sweatshirt was pulled up over her face so that features were partially obscured, but as she raised her head to once again peer at the sign, it slid back a fraction and her features were revealed.
Her hair was pulled back from her face by the hood, but a few strands had fallen loose. It was a pure, pale gold, the sort of colour that would darken in sunlight. Her skin was a ghostly pale, almost like the drained skin of a corpse – but it did not carry that waxy sheen. It seemed to shimmer with star-like beauty, even in the gloomy wash of colour painted by the overcast skies. Her eyes were wide, thickly-lashed, and a dark mahogany colour. The hue was sleek chocolate, but when the light hit it, flashes of red skittered across like bugs on the surface of a lake.
The girl looked around her mid-teens, fifteen or sixteen at the most. But she was, without doubt, completely and enthrallingly beautiful. Even with her body concealed by her clothes, she would make any grown man stop and stare.
The girl lowered her head with an air of finality, tugging the hood over her face once more. One might ask why she would want to hide such exquisite features – but the reason remained a mystery as the girl walked on past the sign and into the town of Forks. The town was pretty much deserted, just like the road leading into it. The girl did not stop, did not glance up from her feet as she walked. Her steps were fast, as though she was hurrying, but the rest of her body did not reflect this. She was not gasping for breath, or slumping forwards. She continued forward, her posture tight.
Her route did not take her down any of the little winding paths, which joined onto other snaking pavements and led into buildings. She seemed to be heading for a dark, foreboding bank of trees. The forest screamed danger in the form of animals, treacherous branches, roots, and whatnot. But still the girl walked on. There was no trace of defiance or determination in her step, but neither was there the panicked hesitation that belonged to fear. But there was purpose all right.
The girl left the path. Curiously, her bare feet made no sound on the wet stone, not even the usual slapping sounds that announced walking. A car trundled along the road, the eye-like lights casting milky beams of light onto the dark road. The driver slapped angrily at the steering wheel, causing a loud, shrill tone to shoot into the sky, shattering the silence as easily as a foot thrust through a mirror. The girl did not look up at the noise, though if you had been looking at her from the front you would have seen the corners of her eyes wrinkle slightly, as though the noise had hurt her ears.
The driver was winding down his window, as though to shout at her, but she had already drifted across the road like a spectre and disappeared into the trees. The girl pulled down her hood in the shelter of the trees. Her alabaster skin gleamed with wet. She pulled her hair from where it was tucked into the back of her sweatshirt. It swung free, a long golden waterfall which trickled down to nearly touch her waist. Her dark eyes reflected a mixture of emotions as she trailed her arms behind her. Only the tips of her fingers, long and as white as snow, showed from the overlong sleeves of the sweatshirt. She trailed them over the trees, her nails catching in the ruts cut into the rough bark.
Gradually, the girl's pace increased. Her arms withdrew, and she broke into a run as quickly and fluidly as any deer in flight. She ran at impossible, inhuman speed, a streak of lightning through the tall, willowy trees which looked on as if in bewilderment. At this speed, the forest was soon left behind. The girl slowly brought her feet back to a jogging pace, to stop at the edge of a bank of trees. A clearing stretched out before her. It was large, and not exactly round, but not square, either. And built in the middle of the glade was a house.
The house was large, and seemed to be mainly made up of corners. Most of what could be seen was white-painted or glass that allowed an onlooker to gaze inside. But the girl was not doing so. Her eyes were fixed on the wooden front door, tracing its every outline, every contour, as though her life depended on it. It took her a moment to move, as if she were digesting her find. But after this short amount of time has passed, she stepped once more from the shelter of the trees and walked along the strip of grass to the gravel driveway.
The sharp stones crunched under her bare feet, but she did not wince. The shards did not seem to be hurting her at all, not even breaking the skin. The rain fell steadily down her ghostly-pale face like tears, dotting her golden hair. But she didn't raise a hand to pull her hood up. She remained in the same position, walking at the same measured pace, as though she were thinking over her every move – all the way to the threshold.
When she stood there, her bare feet pressing damp footprints into the grey stone, the girl stopped. It seemed she had done all of her psyching up whilst stood under the cover of the trees' arms, for she lifted her hand without a moment's hesitation and pressed the doorbell firmly with the tip of one finger. The tone rang out serenely on the other side, sounding muted to her ears.
The expected lull before the door opened was obviously shorter than the girl had anticipated. It swung inwards around five or six seconds after she touched the doorbell. The person stood at the door was very small, but did not look quite so stood before the girl. Her hair was teased and spiked, and ebony in colour. Her skin was as pale as the girl's, and her eyes were honey-coloured.
"Hello?" The short girl stood in the doorway posed the words as a question, but they were oddly filled with excitement, as though she had been expecting a visitor.
The visitor herself looked down for a moment, and then raised her head as though somebody had forced her to look up. The emotion in her dark eyes was something akin to blazing determination. "Hello," she responded. Both girls had lovely voices – high-pitched and with a perfect rhythm, like the voice of a practised vocalist.
"What can I do for you?" Again, the pixie-like girl sounded almost impatient, as if she couldn't rouse quite enough energy to question the visitor thoroughly. She tapped one foot on the doormat just inside the house. The silver ballet shoe glittered with sequins.
The blonde-haired girl took a deep breath, though just a moment ago she had been utterly still, not even drawing air into her lungs. She swept back a strand of hair from her finely-boned face and spoke.
"I am looking for my father; Jasper Hale."
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Sorry for the short chapter. =/
I'm hoping the next one will be longer.
Thanks to all your nice reviews and helpful comments. I've tried to improve based on your advice. =] Reviews are welcome – they really help with muse.
Thanks!
