No, you've not gone insane; this is actually an update … sort of.

As I'm sure is obvious I took a giant face flop at the last hurdle of this story. The poor thing just seemed to suffocate in my head. But thanks to the reviews of some lovely, lovely people it's sort of come back. So, although this is not a real chapter in the sense that it doesn't really advance the plot, it is something. I just decided to try on write something, anything earlier and this is what came out. Call it stretching my legs, this is me getting back into this story and I though I might share it with you all.

Thanks, in overwhelming abundance goes to my great friend Sarah, who never gave up faith/bullying where it came to this story …. (Let's just call it an anniversary present huh, cappy??)

So, if there even are any of you wonderful people still reading this, here's what happened when I tried to resurrect the little Renesmee Cullen in my head.

Wish me luck for getting her back into the swing of things …..

Gina. x


I'd never given much thought to how I would die.

Truth be told, it had never even remotely been considered.

From the day of my birth death had been quite abstract to me. It was the only sure thing in the life of everyone other than those of our kind. The one thing, in all the unstable, changing world that could be relied on is that someday, from some cause, the journey would end.

I never had that surety.

Not even close.

Yes, I had always had a fascination with the idea. How could I not? It positively surrounded me. The composers of the dizzying pieces that would flow from the fingers of my Father as he tickled the keys of his piano were all long dead. Death was in my Grandfather's profession. He fought to keep it from those unlike us who fall so easily to its ultimate embrace. Death was a silent fear that ran through my heart. It was a truth that would see all the people of the world, all the people I knew, removed, while my family and I remained.

It was what would take my Grandpa Charlie and Grandma Sue away one day.

That had scared me, and I, a child of so much protection, was not used to being scared.

One night, beneath one of our linen fortresses, when I could have looked no older than seven I remember confiding in Jacob that I was sure when that did happen I would die too. I was sure that no matter what the lore of my existence was; if Charlie and Sue were to go, it would hurt so much that I would follow.

He'd smiled a sad smile, laughed and said that wasn't possible. That wasn't how it worked.

He said people didn't die from broken hearts.

I'd known that.

Hearts can break, literally. They can bleed and rupture and suffer violent tremors that could end human life. I knew that.

I'd learned all the ways humans could die with a strange fascination, and to me, not one of them seemed right. They didn't fit with me.

A knife to the heart could end a human life. It may even do me some damage had there not been a steal barrier preventing any entry of such a weapon.

So the fact that the beating a heart can take from emotional suffering can not have the same effect was a wonder to me.

I'd tried explain it to Jake then. Tried to put into words the thoughts that sometimes seemed too big for my pigtailed, childlike head. So, I related it so something tangible, the most tangible things in my world.

I'd asked him if death was only physical. I'd asked a question that stung to ask, but one that best formulated what I was trying to say.

I knew no knife to the heart could kill my Daddy. He could not drown. He would not get sick and die in one of the beds where Grandpa Carlisle worked. And he would not grow old and weak and drift away in his sleep. But what if something more painful, more powerful than all of those things happened to Daddy? My eyes had grown moist as the idea of something bad happening to my Mother drifted from my lips. And when I asked if that could kill somebody, if that could kill Daddy, Jake's expression fell into one of more knowledge than I could ever hope to attempt to coax from him at such an age.

Death was physical, and that was the conclusion I'd carried for most of my life.

I'd always known I was different to the rest of my family; not quite as strong, but I knew death would not take me anywhere near as easily as it took anyone else.

I'd known that as I felt my heart tear in my chest after I left my family.

I'd known that even though I may have wanted it to, it would not kill me.

So I, a child born into immortality, strength, and the most fearless, vigorous protection, proceeded with little thought of any demise in my future.

The soul cannot die. The soul hurts, but it will not die.

Only the cage it's carried in may die; a cage far too delicate and temporary for those of human existence.

My soul was held in an immortal shell, strong and cushioned.

I'd never given much thought to how I would die.

That was, until I stood in a burning cabin in the middle of the woods.