Preface (Skippable, nothing really important)
Many times while writing this I wondered if it was even worth publishing. Why was I even writing it in the first place? The lack of fics definitely helped, there's a serious need for more good ones. I don't know about you but part of the grieving process after I finish a good book is finding quality fics to satiate myself.
But alas, the story simply wouldn't leave me and I had to exorcize it like a demon.
At first I planned to rewrite the ending of L&D but Visser2315 did a great job of it and I don't feel a need to reinvent the wheel, so for all intents and purposes it's canon to this story. If you haven't read any of his fics I sincerely recommend it.
If at least one person does like this, then I won't regret it. If nothing else I may get a couple of reviews telling me why it's bad or saying its good. I prefer the latter but I'll take what I can get. I want this story to be good.
The first couple chapters are gonna be mostly ripped from New Moon, it is a bit redundant but it helps me get into the characters headspace which makes the parts not plagiarized a lot easier to write.
Twilight is not perfect, far from it. I still liked it though
I felt that Life and Death could've done more to fix the problems I had with it. Edythe's possessiveness and overwhelming need for control is a genuine flaw, one that she will have to overcome as will Beau and his low self esteem and idiotic Martyr complex. He'll also be taking a more active role in the story, for better or worse.
Stephanie Meyer was right in her preface to L&D, it is difficult, when your protagonist is the only human in a story to write them taking an active role in events. When actively doing anything would get them killed almost immediately. Difficult does not mean impossible, however.
The Volterra will not be in this story, but they'll definitely be in the next one, in a way that you probably won't expect, I hope.
If I haven't scared you off from reading the story, I hope you enjoy it. Please review so I can make the story better and follow and favorite because me want number go up.
As a treat for reading this, or skipping it, that's fair, it's one big ramble. Here's an intentionally vague dream that either convinces you this fic is shite or intrigues you enough to keep reading.
The setting sun cast an orange glow over the city, ushering in the impending darkness.
A boy crept into an abandoned house, clutching a large container of gasoline in each hand. Each step sent dust spiraling into the air, and the ancient floorboards groaned under his weight, as if warning him to turn back.
Ragged coughs escaped the boy's lips as the wooden floorboards soaked up the noxious liquid. The overwhelming stench of fuel made his eyes water as he descended to the basement, twin streams of gasoline dripping down the steps.
Carefully stepping over a tattered mattress at the bottom of the steps, he splashed gasoline on the walls and empty shelves. He finished just in time, tossing the empty containers onto a pile with several others.
Their meeting was at dusk. If he missed his chance to attack now, he'd be an idiot. There was no turning back.
Back on the main floor, he checked the wire line by the door, pulling it taut one last time to ensure it was set. A normal human might trip over the sharp metal wire and cut their leg. Luckily, it wasn't a human he'd set the trap for.
Satisfied with his setup, he went outside to face his almost certain death.
A man waited for him outside, his eyes like blackened orbs of obsidian. Thank God, he thought, relieved that his plan hadn't fallen apart before it even began.
Words weren't necessary; there was nothing left to be said. What happened next was all that mattered.
The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife, its polished steel edge glinting in the dying light. The inscription read 'Tis always darkest before the dawn.' The irony wasn't lost on him, though he didn't feel much like laughing.
The man eyed him curiously. As the boy backed away, raising one arm above his head. He knew running from a vampire was futile—they both did.
In a flash, the knife dug into his skin. A fountain of blood sprayed from the open wound, dripping down his body and arm.