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one

Brittle was that fateful morning in December, during which I travelled by carriage along the treacherous paths close to the Carpathian Mountains. It was a wild path we chose, bordered by black shrubbery from which snarling roots seeped, as if sentient, to catch hold of the carriage wheels and tug us into black murky ditches.

The weather was gloomy. The dirt trails had frosted with dark sheets of ice, sheets which often caused the wheels to skid and spin at sudden bends. Indeed, several times the carriage had tilted and threatened to tip completely at a turn, whereupon I heard the driver on his perch crack his whip to settle his horses.

What a strange fellow this driver was!

So steeped in the superstitions of this region that it had taken double the typical sum to persuade him to undertake this journey with me. Had the driver asked for triple the fee, it would have been granted. For it was crucial that I crossed to the other side of this fine country. I had pleaded with him to take this shortcut which, I insisted, would halve the time necessary to travel. He was most reluctant. It was, he explained in his broken German, haunted by what he called the 'pale ones'.

A laugh had risen in my throat upon hearing it, but I had swallowed it for fear he would not take me at all if I released it.

Eventually, he relented and agreed to take me. His wife had draped him in silver crosses, kissed his cheeks, and whispered in the local language of which I had little knowledge. She offered me a silver-plated cross of my own. I could not begrudge her kindness, and so I had allowed her to place it around my neck, this thin chain which, supposedly, would ward off the evil of this world.

Evil, I scoffed. A childish notion paired with all this talk of pale creatures creeping about within the forests. I had climbed into the carriage without another thought for such fantasies.

But what did it matter to me what the local peasants believed in? I cared not at all, for grief spurred me onward.

My grandfather had passed.

Thinking of him then in the carriage, sorrow heavy in my chest, I pulled out and read the letter which my grandmother had sent. I was not particularly close with the rest of my family, and she had somewhat surprised me in writing at all. But it was a matter of great importance.

It was this letter which had set me into a flight as frantic and darting as that of any sparrow. She wrote of his decline, and how in his brief short moments of lucidity, he called only for me: Lydia, Lydia…

I returned the letter to the suitcase in which I had hidden it, tucking it beneath a dress before settling back against my seat.

I was restless, impatient. The silver necklace sat cold against my chest.

Once again the carriage was jolted by a stray patch of ice. I heard the crack of that whip and the hoarse shout of the driver cutting against the wind.

Yet it struck me that there was a difference in this shout. It was not a mindless urging of the horses to take heed and slow at this bend, but more an exclamation of some kind.

Rather than settle into a steadier pace as the carriage had done before when it had crossed a frosted path, it rocked sideways again, which caused my suitcase to tumble from its place and topple to the ground.

All of this excitement had unsettled me. I reached out to grasp hold of the handle on the suitcase, but it was then that some darkened shape passed the window at that moment and startled me.

Stranger still that this figure seemed to keep pace with the carriage, though there was no shadowy outline of a horse beneath it, no carriage of its own to explain the speed it maintained.

Then there was laughter - hard shrieking laughter, unmistakable.

I recoiled against the seat in fright, gripping uselessly at the seat for stability, for wildly, violently, the carriage shuddered and lifted, tipping, tipping.

I crashed sideways, only to bash my head against the cold, unforgiving rooftop of the carriage, which tumbled as if we had dropped into a ditch of some kind. We continued to turn, turn and turn and turn until all the world was blurred through that little window.

Finally, mercifully, the carriage ceased to roll.

How brutally my skull throbbed! I felt nauseated, disoriented. I patted around, for in all that whirling I had lost sense of whether the carriage had righted itself - whether I lay now on its upturned rooftop or its floor. Weakly, I sought out the window in the hopes it might better inform me of our position.

I found it, and saw that it offered little clarity, for the glass had cracked and snow had pushed itself into the carriage in a dense blanket; my breath slipped hot and trembling from my lips in white darts.

Hoarsely, I tried to call out to the driver, afraid of his condition.

All was still, silent. It occurred to me that even the horses did not whiny or cry.

Suddenly laughter sprung up around me. It was that same horrid laughter which I had heard before the carriage had crashed. It stilled me. I could not breathe but through staggered gasps, could not do more than remain entirely still, motionless, terrified that we had been set upon by bandits.

The carriage groaned, straining as if pushed by something grand, like a boulder, for its old frame creaked and strained.

My heart pounded thunderously at the sight of something silver twitching in front of me - it was the handle of the door, which had until then been lost in the semi-darkness of the carriage. I saw it - that handle twitching, turning.

But it seemed to me a teasing movement, like the person out there wished to frighten me all the more, rattling and rattling that handle, until I wished to cry out: stop, stop!

For it was a person, out there, of that much I was certain.

There was something wet upon my nape. I touched it with a trembling hand, only to find it was blood pooling against the collar of my dress. Great splotches assaulted my vision; I was sure that soon I would succumb to this thumping pressure within my head, and still I sought to push myself away from that door, afraid of what lay beyond.

In grasping at the ground, I brushed against a silver-plated chain - it was the necklace gifted to me by the kindly wife of my driver. I saw it had broken and fallen away. I took hold of it, and squeezed it tight within my palm, for I was certain I would need whatever strength it could offer me.

The handle cracked. I watched as the door was wrenched open.

No figure filled the frame.

Only a slow, mocking white hand emerged from between the gap, and slithered toward my ankle. I wondered if it were not the hand of Death, for how cold it was once as it clasped my skin.

Dimly, I thought of only two words: pale ones.

Darkness swelled around me, and all was lost.

x

Brief images flashed through the murkiness of my mind. I saw stony-toned clouds between branches overhead - heard hideous snarls like those of wolves - tasted blood and felt the cold iron clamp of a hand around my ankle -...

x

Upon regaining consciousness, I was startled to find myself in a comfortable bed, propped on several pillows. With what little strength was still in my arms, I rose up to better acquaint myself with my surroundings. Candles smouldered from iron brackets bolted against the walls, casting a delicious warm glow about the room.

Even with the glimmer of the candles, it was still too dim. I strained to make out the shape of the furniture around me, for there was furniture, I was sure. There was a grand wardrobe opposite the bed, whose rich wood showed such intricate carvings. It was accompanied by a dresser, adorned in the most wonderful golden trimmings.

My eyes wandered aimlessly, until I noticed a strange outline.

There was a dark shadowy figure in the room with me, which had until then been silent.

Fear, in all its brutality, pierced my heart as I realised that it was a man. I let out an awful, frightened gasp and grabbed hold of my sheets.

"Please," he said hastily, "do not be afraid of me. I mean you no harm."

He stepped forward into the light - almost stumbled into it, in fact, as if the mere suggestion of my fearing him brought him agony beyond measure.

Immediately, I was quietened. He aroused no fear in me.

On the contrary, he was of such divine beauty that it struck one mute to look upon him. Certainly it struck me mute.

Gold was the colour of his hair, split at the scalp to a length which reached his ears; some pieces fell forward, and only added to his appeal. Each strand seemed to catch the light in subtly different shades, which complemented the paleness of his skin, the broad front of his forehead.

All came into sublime harmony before one even considered his eyes, which shone with intelligence, compassion, and the brightness of all the goodness within this world.

"I am Carlisle Cullen," he said. "Might I know your name also?"

Faintly, full of distrust despite his handsomeness, I responded, "I am Lydia von Lothringen."

"You need not be afraid, I assure you," he repeated. "Your carriage careened into a ditch upon hitting black ice at a rather precarious bend in the road nearby. It is fortunate that I was taking a stroll through the forest which surrounds these grounds, and heard the commotion. The carriage had been upturned; the horses had been unleashed and ran in terror. It was a ghastly sight."

There was a rasp to my throat. "What of the driver?"

"Unharmed," Carlisle replied, "albeit naturally shaken by all that had happened. It was then that he informed me of your presence within the carriage, at which point we made great efforts to free you from its confines. It was a delicate business, for it is not wise to jostle about a person suffering from injuries to the head."

Confusion clouded me. I had seen a creature. What had it been?

Was it monster or man?

I tested him, asking, "Had the bandits fled by that time?"

He appeared startled. "Why, the driver made no mention of bandits."

The words balanced on my lips: there was something out there!

But then I had a presentiment of sorts. I stood out of my own body and slipped into his form as easily as if I stole his clothing from him. I heard myself speak, then, of a bizarre being which could run alongside a carriage and a pale slim hand creeping across a soft black ground to grasp my ankle. I imagined the stir of laughter in his breast, because it was that same laughter which had bubbled up in mine when the driver had described such pale creatures to me.

Carlisle seemed too well-bred to mock me. Like the gentleman he appeared to me to be, he would stamp down any spurt of fizzling giddiness at such a suggestion and show only a cool mask. He might even offer platitudes, hesitant to further excite his guest. But he would think me mad, of that much I was certain. He would wonder what bewildered, wounded danger he had permitted into his castle and fear his own safety.

So of these pale creatures I could not speak.

"I suppose that blasted carriage jostled me more than I first believed," I said. "How good you were to save what little brain matter I had left after it tossed me about."

However fierce a blow it might have been, its aftermath was of no consequence in comparison to the stupor which befell me upon hearing his laugh; a gentle breath of a sound, released in response to the light-heartedness of my comment in face of such a horrid accident. The sound sat like a warm blanket around me, bundling me, before it lulled me into a dreamy world, and he stood as its sole inhabitant.

Bewitched I was, and locked in a trancelike state each time he looked at me. Had I touched upon the truth after all? Had I lost all wit and wisdom in that crash? How else could I look upon a perfect stranger and think of him as a kindred spirit? For that was how I saw him, as an old friend whose presence brought comfort in its familiarity.

Then I broke from that soft cotton world which had surrounded me and recalled the subject we had been discussing before that dim veil clouded me.

"You mentioned the driver," I said. "Might I speak with him?"

"I am afraid he was unwilling to remain in this place a moment more," the stranger replied. "He insisted he return immediately to his wife. But he asked that I pass along his apologies."

Shame seared me like no other flame could. "On the contrary," I said quietly, "it is I who must apologise to that fine gentleman for his conduct. I treated him as would a brute."

"Forgive me," he said, "but I cannot fathom you in such a manner."

Rueful was the smile which spread across my lips. "You know me not," I retorted. "I shall pardon your ignorance and promise it will soon be remedied, for never a more stubborn and unrelenting person has before crossed your path. I should think it likely you will lament your graciousness in the face of one so persistent as me."

Again his laugh rang softer and sweeter than that of a songbird. "Is that so?"

"Indeed, it is," I affirmed. "If it were not so, then that gentleman would have never agreed to ferry me through such savage, untamed lands as these, in weather so horrid and grim."

"I admit," the stranger said politely, "that I was astonished that anyone had sought to travel in such conditions."

"It is a matter most urgent," I told him, "for my grandfather has passed."

"I am sorry for your loss."

And I believed that this stranger, who had spared my life, truly meant it.

"Thank you. He was very dear to me. I wish to attend his burial - I must attend -..."

Upon attempting to stand, an onslaught of dizziness overwhelmed me. All along, I had estimated this host of mine to be a man unruffled, such was his apparent tranquil nature.

Yet he startled badly at this endeavour to stand, dashing forward to assist me; until a pained grimace passed his features and steadied him where he stood, his ivory hands hardening to fists, his spine steel-like in its rigidity. From his lips came the most odd sound: something a wounded animal might emit, I reflected, as he bit his tongue between his teeth.

And his eyes opened, seeming a shade more opaque, to meet mine.

Whatever affliction had troubled him passed almost instantly. He rushed forward, reaching in a respectful manner to cup my elbow and conduct me to bed once more.

Unease lingered between us. It had been so unsettling a moment, to witness what unknown agonies assaulted him before he had helped me. I perched right at the edge of the bed, peeking up at him through eyes heavy and slow.

The room whirled around me. He, like a lighthouse, stood upright and firm amidst a thrashing sea. His brow was wrought with worry. His palm was flat against my forehead to measure the flush that I suffered then.

When he pulled away, his knuckles dusted my cheek.

"You should rest," he said stiffly. "I will soon return to you."

Without another word, Carlisle strode for the door, so swiftly it seemed almost as if he glided to it. Bewildered, I could do no more than settle against the bed with a small, feeble word of gratitude. He swept out of the room.

The door swung heavily, and sealed me into solitude.

On the bedside table lay the silver necklace I had lost in the carriage.

x