Hello (again)! I can't help but to come back to the horrible, wonderful world of Twilight. I loved it as a kid and I hate to love it as an adult.

This isn't my first foray into fanfiction, but it has been a while, and I decided to be a bit more ambitious with this one. Basically, I'm adding in more supernatural lore beyond vampires and wolves, fixing a bit of the problem with the supernatural beings being way too overpowered, and doing my best to get rid of all of Stephenie Meyer's Mormon influence on the story and characters (misogyny and racism, mainly).

Also, I just wanted to give a heads up that there will be mentions of religious abuse and trauma, and child abuse and child sexual abuse in the main character's past. It will never be written explicitly and there will be trigger warnings in chapters when it was mentioned. Still, I felt it best to include this up front, as I am well aware that kind of content is not for everyone. Please be kind to yourselves!

That all being said, thank you for taking a minute to check out my silly little fic! I appreciate your time and I would definitely love any feedback you have to give.

(this fic is also up on AO3 under radiumgreen/orchidwitch)

To most people, Forks wasn't much. In fact, to a great deal of people, Forks wasn't anything. A blip on the map, a place to stop and get gas on a long ride through the deep Pacific northwest, never more, and perhaps a little less.

To Delilah Porter, it was the exact kind of place she needed.

It was small, it was a world away from New Orleans, it was on the opposite side of the continent from Salem, it wasn't anywhere she'd ever heard of before a month ago when she frantically began to research places to go. It seemed, to her, the kind of place where witness protection could send someone to disappear. The people were kind and trusting, and they were all happy to have a new neighbor as long as they seemed normal enough, no questions asked.

It was also surprisingly cheap to purchase a small home in Forks. That worked out wonderfully for Lilah—she was far from rich, and she was going to have to drain her meager savings to start anew so far away from everyone and everything she'd ever known. She was able to buy a small fixer-upper on a winding country road with money to spare. Money that she planned on using to fix the place up, and, if she played her cards right, to build a sizable greenhouse in the yard that was enveloped by the lush forest that seemed so alive, as if it was watching her, almost.

Of course, that was her paranoia. The things in the forest that were watching her were not the things she was actually scared of. She'd watched over her shoulder for her entire cross-country trip she'd made in her 1993 Ford Taurus. She had been meticulous.

Still, old habits died hard. She would be paranoid for months, at least, before she could relax once more.

She tried to concentrate. Bowed her head, cleared her mind, and attempted to focus on the task at hand: cooking. Cooking. That was something she knew well.

She'd been cooking her entire life. She was the eldest daughter. It had been her, Luke, Ruth, Sarah, and Matthew. For as long as she could remember, she was the second mother to all of her siblings, doing almost everything for them that their mother would do. She dressed them, bathed, them, potty trained them, helped them with their homeschool work, held their hands on their walks to the discount grocery store so they didn't stray into the road, fixed their hair, brushed their teeth, so on and so forth.

She cooked for them, too. It was the only chore she'd had as a girl that she didn't completely hate. She could admit to herself that she'd loved her time in the kitchen with her mother and grandmother and aunts and girl cousins. There, she learned recipes that had been handed down in their family for generations. She was always in awe of her grandmother's arthritic hands, how they still so easily beat bread dough and folded pastry so elegantly. She couldn't believe all of the knowledge her mother and grandmother held in their heads—what spices went together, how long to cook things and at what temperatures, how to take basic recipes and make them work for an entire congregation of people—and yet they did, and in time, she did, too.

It was special. She felt she was carrying on a legacy whenever she cooked, because every time she did, she used a good bit of that knowledge she'd learned in that sweltering Arkansas kitchen. It made her happy, too. She liked giving people a good, hearty meal and seeing the smiles on their faces. It was one of the things she could manage to do that made people happy.

And so, getting a job at the lone restaurant in Forks, The Lodge, was a no-brainer. It was a small restaurant, with paneled wood walls filled with taxidermy animals and historical photos of the town, owned and operated by a local couple, Shelley and Pete Malloy. They were a very kind, welcoming couple. They'd run the restaurant for almost twenty five years and they didn't have any plans to stop any time soon. They had two kids in college now, and though they couldn't afford their entire tuitions, they'd do their damnedest to pay what they could and earn that money the right way, by serving the people of Forks the best food they had to offer.

The love the two had when the spoke of their kids hit Lilah deep in the chest. It reminded her of the love she felt from her adoptive mothers. The love she felt when Phoebe hugged her or flashed her a smile.

She couldn't think of any of that now. She was working. She was on her five-to-ten shift at The Lodge, working in the kitchen, aside Shelley, a woman in her mid-forties, with graying hair held out of her face with a tortoiseshell barrette that matched her glasses.

Lilah had only worked at The Lodge with Shelley for a few weeks, but she already respected her. She was quick and fast on her feet and she didn't tolerate any shit in her restaurant, not from the customers, and not from her employees. For that, she'd earned a special kind of adoration from the locals, who seemed to love her as much as they loved her wonderful homestyle menu.

"Looks great, Lilah," Shelley said. She whisked away the two plates of meatloaf that Lilah had prepared and put them up on the counter, ringing the bell to signal to Olivia, one of the waitresses, that she had an order up, and then turned back to Lilah with a smile on her face. "It's good to have someone around here who can keep up, and a fast learner, to boot."

"Thanks," Lilah said.

Her cheeks were blushing so hard that they were stinging as though they were frostbitten. She was not good at accepting compliments. She hadn't been allowed to accept any as a little girl, per her father's rules. Nothing of the flesh is to be praised. Nothing that people could do was worthy of a compliment, he thought, only the works of God.

Her found family, her adoptive family, her real family had tried, desperately, to get that out of her head. Lilah wanted to get it out of her head. If only it was so easy.

Shelley was back at the stove, flipping a row of omelettes atop the griddle. A gaggle of loggers had just returned from camp and they'd all ordered the big breakfast specials that The Lodge served from open to close.

"I can't believe you've never worked in a restaurant," Shelley said. Beside her, Lilah had made herself busy, filling plates with home fries, bacon, and slices of thick toast made from Shelley's house-made bread. "I've never had a new hire catch on so fast."

Lilah repeated her word of thanks, her lips in a tight line. Her body would not allow itself to smile. She cursed her father internally.

"I grew up cooking for a big family," Lilah said, though she'd said the same in her interview. She cleared her throat, and, feeling as though she could trust Shelley, added, "My father was a pastor of a church, too. I always helped my mother cook for the congregation when there was a big event…I got used to cooking for two or three hundred people. We did it a lot."

Shelley whistled through her teeth, sliding omelettes onto plates. "Just you and your mother?"

"My grandmother and my sisters when they got old enough, too."

Shelley paused and looked at her for a moment, her eyes flickering over Lilah's face. Then she laughed, a frustrated, short kind of laugh.

"Sorry," she said. She shook her head. "I shouldn't be so judgmental, I—"

"Let me guess, you think it's ridiculous that it was up to two women and a few little girls to cook for a whole church?" Lilah asked. Without pausing for Shelley's answer she said, "You'd be right. It was. Absolutely ridiculous. That's why I became an atheist."

The last statement was certainly a hyperbole, but Lilah was glad that Shelley laughed. It felt good, to share a real, genuine laugh with someone. At the same time, it made Lilah's belly ache with homesickness.

She gulped down her breath, hoping it would dissipate some of the pain. It didn't. She'd just have to deal with it.

"Door!"

It was Olivia, announcing that she was coming into the kitchen, except she only ended up sticking her head inside. She was young, still in high school, working at The Lodge on weekends and a couple of nights after school. She had bright blue eyes too, eyes that looked so much like Morgan's eyes.

Again, Lilah gulped.

"Is it okay if the Chief pops in to pay compliments to the chef?" she asked.

"Of course," Shelley said, wiping her hands against her apron.

Olivia's smile widened. "The other chef, actually."

Shelley feigned looking offended, and said, "It's that damned Coca Cola cake again, isn't it?"

Olivia nodded as Lilah found herself smiling ever so slightly. She had convinced Shelley that their dessert menu had needed expanding, and after bringing her some samples of her ideas, Shelley had agreed and two of Lilah's creations, sweet potato pie and Coca Cola cake, had gone on the menu. And she couldn't bake enough Coca Cola cake to keep up with all of the orders.

Shelley glanced at Lilah and then made the executive decision, and told Olivia, "Let him in."

Olivia stepped back, and was quickly replaced by a man who was about Shelley's age. He had dark hair, eyes, and a mustache, and Lilah instantly understood that he was quite literally 'the chief,' as the police badge on his chest said CHIEF C. SWAN.

"Didn't mean to intrude, ladies, just wanted to let the new chef know that she makes a damn good cake," he said.

He reminded Lilah a lot of her uncle, though he was significantly softer spoken, and he was smiling. She'd never seen her uncle do that.

"Thank you," Lilah said. A compliment, another compliment. "I appreciate that."

"Of course," he said. He stepped forward, just over the threshold into the kitchen, and offered Lilah a hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you, by the way…I feel bad, not having introduced myself earlier, but better late than never, right? Charlie Swan, or the Chief, as most people call me, though I have to say I prefer Charlie."

"Lilah Porter."

Charlie quirked a brow as he released her hand.

"Just 'Lilah?' Not 'Delilah?'"

Instinctively, Lilah scrunched her nose at the sound of her full name. Something about adding the 'de' in front of the 'Lilah' made it sound so completely foreign to her, reprehensible.

"Just 'Lilah.'"

"I'll make sure to remember that," he said. He was amused by her now, and he tucked his hands into his pockets. "My daughter's the same way…named her 'Isabella' but she wouldn't be caught dead going by anything other than 'Bella.'"

There was a bittersweetness in Charlie's eyes as he spoke about his daughter. It was not lost on Lilah. She did her best to give him a kind, warm smile, as it was all she could offer. She had an inkling anything she said in that moment wouldn't be right.

"Well, I'll let you two master chefs get back to work," Charlie said. "Have a good night, now…and Lilah, if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you," she said with a nod. "I'll make sure to remember that."

Charlie smiled. There was already something he liked about the new girl. Something in her sharp hazel eyes that let him know she didn't miss a damn thing. Like she'd be fine on her own, a single young lady in a new town, like he wouldn't need to worry about her.

Still, he would. He saw a little bit of Bella in any woman under the age of thirty. Or maybe he didn't, and he just projected his desire to be a father onto those poor women. He didn't quite know. But, for some reason, he thought Lilah did.

The Chief left the two women to get back to their work. Shelley scraped down the griddle, preparing it for another round of eggs, and a couple of hamburgers that the other waiter, Ryan, had just handed in. As she went to grab the ticket, Lilah leaned too far over the counter, and knocked over a stack of plates.

Shit.

Lilah didn't think, she only acted. She focused all of her thoughts and energy, and, just before the plates collided with the hard tile floor, they froze, suspended in midair, just in time for Lilah to snatch them up and put them back in place.

Her heart began to race. Really, it was trying to break out of her chest. She was kicking herself for being so careless, using her magic out in the open where a number of people could've seen her, all to save a stack of plates. A stack of plates. It was not worth compromising her safety over. It'd been stupid. She'd have to go back to Constance and tell her she fucked everything up in less than a month and start all over, all because of a stack of plates.

She stood up straight and saw that Shelley couldn't have seen anything. She was still facing the griddle, fully turned away from Lilah, focused intently on the food. Out the order window, she saw both Olivia and Ryan, and they were nowhere near the kitchen, meaning that they couldn't have possibly seen what she'd done either.

She started to relax. And remind herself that she'd have to be infinitely more careful in the future.

"Everything okay, Lilah?" Shelley asked, briefly glancing over her shoulder. "Can you throw some French fries onto a couple of plates for me, please?"

Lilah allowed herself to smile again. She took a deep breath and let her shoulders drop.

"I'd be glad to."