Our house was a charming storybook bungalow with three cozy bedrooms and two neatly tiled bathrooms in a quiet neighborhood. It had been in my grandparents' possession for decades, where they raised their two children, creating countless memories within its walls.

On my first day, I was fortunate to have Matt and Vicky by my side. They were incredibly friendly and eager to lend a hand, making the day a bit less overwhelming.

I decided to take refuge in the room that once belonged to Renee's brother; her room felt too tied to her presence, which was still palpable and nostalgic. On the other hand, my uncle's bedroom had a more inviting atmosphere that resonated with my style.

I was immensely grateful to the movers for assembling the bed. I collapsed onto the mattress dramatically, feeling its softness envelop me, and my thoughts drifted to Charlie and Renee—or, more accurately, to the reasons behind their departure from Mystic Falls.

Forks, Washington, had a reputation for being more perilous than Mystic Falls; the scariest incident there was when bears attacked a few homeless individuals in the dense underbrush of The Goat Rock Wilderness. It was a place where the wild met the uncanny, and nature's raw power was unmistakable.

In The Goat Rocks, a number of animal attacks occurred, primarily involving vulnerable homeless people and wandering

drifters. Charlie never shared the details of those bear attacks with me; they were reserved for Renee as if he wanted to protect me from the harsh realities of that untamed terrain.

I couldn't help but wonder—did Mystic Falls experience similar horrors?

I found myself intrigued at the thought of delving into the archives of the Mystic Falls Police Department. Perhaps they would allow me to review old police reports. Charlie occasionally shared his more mundane reports with me, giving me a glimpse into small-town law enforcement's curious and often bizarre world.

Time seemed to zip by in Mystic Falls; before I knew it, it was the day before school.

There would have been about 700 people in my grade in Arizona, and in Forks, around 357. I couldn't help but wonder how many students would be in my grade here.

I wanted to check out the town but didn't want to run into Elena Gilbert, so I spent my day curling up with *Wuthering Heights* instead.

I did like Vicki and Matt, though. I was looking forward to hanging out with them more.

I headed upstairs to my room when the couch started feeling too stiff. After picking out my outfit for tomorrow, I lay in bed and read. I could feel myself drifting off, reminding myself to make bed when I woke.

As I fell asleep, I had this bizarre dream. I was standing behind Elena Gilbert, sitting in front of a mirror, brushing her hair.

We talked about something I couldn't grasp, but I knew we didn't see eye to eye.

Then she turned to me, and that was when things got weird.

Our reflections in the mirror didn't turn with us.

They stared back at us, looking way more stunning and terrifying than the real us.

Their eyes were glowing red, with dark veins visible under their skin, and they showed sharp, pointy teeth—fangs.

I tried to get Elena to notice and see what I saw, but she just shushed me with a finger to her lips.

Before I could react, she grabbed me by the neck, mimicking her reflection, and lunged at me.

I spent the last few days immersed in the world of both Elena Gilbert and Isabella Swan, two enigmatic figures with lives intertwined by tragedy. During my observations, Isabella, the one with the delicate beauty, caught my attention most profoundly.

Her complexion was ashen and translucent, almost ethereal, with an innocence that bordered on ghostly. She had a heart-shaped face, her broad forehead framed by dark hair cascading around her shoulders, accentuating a striking widow's peak. Her nose was elegantly thin, while her cheekbones stood out, perfectly centered and high, giving her a unique allure. Most captivating was her extensive, widely spaced chocolate brown eyes; they held a depth that could ensnare anyone's breath if she chose to wield them with intent.

Whenever she bit down on her lush lips, it stirred something primal within me. Those lips beckoned me, tempting me with the promise of their sweetness.

In contrast to Elena and Katherine's more pronounced beauty—a beauty that dazzles and captivates—Bella's was soft and fragile, like the petals of a flower threatened by the looming storm.

Both Isabella and Elena shared a haunting history; each had suffered the loss of their parents in tragic accidents. Isabella's parents died in a car crash, lives claimed in an instant, while Elena's parents succumbed to the drowning waters. The details of their tragedies differed—Isabella's parents were consumed in flames while the water engulfed Elena's.

It was a peculiar twist of fate how their lives mirrored one another.

With her vibrant spirit and support from a loving community—friends, a devoted brother, and a much younger aunt—Elena seemed to find her footing amidst the chaos. In stark contrast, Isabella was left with only the frail comfort of her elderly grandmother, whose frailty rendered her a ticking clock.

This potential loss lingered in Isabella's heart.

Isabella was a stranger in this town, an outsider, much like me; perhaps that sense of alienation fueled her deep-seated unhappiness.

Her struggle drew me in like a moth to a flame.

Whereas Elena thrived in the company of others, basking in the warmth of social interactions, Isabella remained an enigma—reclusive, quiet, and often insecure. Elena filled her days with diary entries, weaving her thoughts into words, while Isabella found solace in the pages of books, particularly one worn volume that served as her escape.

Each evening, as darkness fell, I turned my focus to Isabella, who seemed to shine brighter against the night. The scent of her essence was intoxicating, guiding me effortlessly to her presence.

The night before the first day of school unfolded with a quiet intensity. After Isabella prepared dinner, she ascended the stairs, her steps unsteady.

A tempting idea crossed my mind—what if I knocked on the door and compelled her grandmother to let me in? I could then rise to the upper floor, gaze down at Isabella, and compel her to remain silent as I drained her vitality.

No, Stefan! I admonished myself, shaking off the reckless thought.

Suddenly, the rhythmic drumming of fingers on something upstairs captured my attention.

I climbed a nearby tree, my heart racing as I settled among the branches to gaze into Isabella's sanctuary. There she was, in a moment of unguarded vulnerability, undressing. I saw her in a plain white bra before instinctively turning away, respecting her privacy. Her slender figure, reminiscent of Elena's softer form, almost compelled me to look again. Looking back, I found her struggling in a dark green shirt as she stumbled out of her pants.

I couldn't help but suppress a chuckle, wondering if Isabella could ever navigate her space without tripping over her own two feet.

She moved over to the desk in the corner, retrieving her treasured book, a volume worn with use and filled with her intimate thoughts. She flopped onto the bed, opening the book like a portal to another world. The title, Wuthering Heights, was visible, and I realized she had a penchant for the classics—a rarity in a world increasingly devoid of respect for literature.

Eventually, Isabella succumbed to sleep, though her rest was anything but peaceful. She tossed and turned, her brow furrowed, and I dismissed it as a typical nightmare.

Until…

Until she muttered Elena's name, her voice barely above a whisper. Why was she dreaming of Elena Gilbert? And what distressed her so profoundly?

Isabella jolted upright, her body tangled in the sheets as she crashed to the floor, knocking over a clay pot in her panic. "Sorry, Jesse!" she mumbled in a daze, just as footsteps echoed briskly up the stairs, drawing closer.

'Bella?' Called her grandmother.

'I'm fine. I'm fine!'

'I heard glass break.'

'I broke Jesse's pot.'

'Again?'

I had to smile at the accidental admission as Isabella began collecting the clay shard.

Isabella Swan.

Beautiful bird girl.

After Isabella collected the shards, she placed them in a box and took out a dreamcatcher.

She put it on the wall behind the headboard and returned to the box. She rummaged through her belongings, taking out photos and cards.

Isabella looked through them slowly; she went to sit down but, in typical fashion, missed the bed and fell flat, sending the photos flying.

'Nice going, Bella.' She groaned.

After collecting them, she returned them and stood as the wind chimes jingled.

'Nice going.'