Prologue

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight. I do not. I simply like to toy with the wonderful gifts she’s given us. No copyright infringement is intended.

Also, before you ask, the title translates to "Seize the Night & Let There Be Light". It's kind of my own personal spin on the "Twilight" through "Breaking Dawn" transition, but, well, in Latin.

Night brings our troubles to the light, rather than banishes them.
- Seneca

EDWARD

There is nothing pleasing about the mystery of the unfamiliar. Acclimating myself to new surroundings, new people, new lies has becomes an age old tradition of mine, one that’s been burned into my brain, a common formality of the life I lead. I crave comfort and stability, but, really, that is just a pipe dream, a fantasy that begs me to loosen my grasp and let it fall by the wayside. Ever changing, never the same, but, still, always the same and never changing at all.

This specific point in time is new but it teeters on the border of the old familiar. The last time my life intersected with this point, this place, was so many sleepless nights ago, it might as well have been another life entirely. Though, really, they were all different lives. Each place that brought me a new character, a new cover, was another chance to get it all wrong, before moving on to a new place and new events to mar my memories, fill my head with failure. This place allowed me that so many moons ago, but, in the endless circle of my life, it was inevitable I would return. There was only so much ground to cover and The Olympic Peninsula was simply far too good, too easy to pass up. So, as I knew I would, I made my way back, leaving the bitter cold of northern Russia for the icy rain and ambiguity of a life among trees in western Washington.

Under a deep blue cover, with the candles of the sky shining down upon my shoulders, I crossed the Clallam county line, barely feeling the soles of my shoes give way and turn to nothingness. Cold, hard feet slapped equally cold, hard ground and nothing felt better. In a life where living was subjective, nothing made me feel more alive. Step after step, I carried on tirelessly, avoiding boulders and trees with an effortless grace, waiting for the lush greenery to part and give way to the next town I would call my home, build my careful life of lies. A few more strides and there it was; the break in the trees, the dirt turning to pavement, and I had to bring myself to pause. This was it. This was home. At least, for now.

Welcome back, Edward Cullen. Don’t fuck it up this time.