A/N: This story has been stuck inside my head for a long time, since before I ever even heard of Twilight. I adapted it to fit these gorgeous characters (in human form, of course) but it's definitely Alternate Universe and out of character for the most part. It'll be predominately Bella & Edward POV, and I must warn you in advance that there will be some violence, drugs, sex, illegal activities and all that other crazy stuff in it.

Disclaimer: The names of these amazing characters all belong to Stephanie Meyer but I'm guessing she never imagined her Cullen's acting as they do in my story.

Emancipation Proclamation
Prologue

"This is a world of compensations; and he who would be no slave, must consent to have no slave. Those who deny freedom to others, deserve it not for themselves; and, under a just God, can not long retain it.” - Abraham Lincoln

Sixteen years ago today a girl lay on the damp ground, in the middle of a dark small shabby barn that smelled faintly of hay and manure, and gave birth to a premature baby girl. She was desperately frightened, for herself and her baby. She endured the best she could, gritting her teeth and remaining silent despite the severe pain, pushing through it and welcoming the baby into the world all alone. She cut the umbilical cord with a pair of garden sheers and swaddled the baby girl with rags she found, doing the best she could to keep her warm. She knew it was too soon for her to be born, knew there was no way it had been 9 months already. The baby was tiny—she wasn’t sure how much she weighed but it couldn’t have been much more than 5 pounds. Her cry was weak, her body slightly blue, but she refused to give up on her daughter. She held that tiny baby all through the night, rocking her and shushing her, trying to feed her but having absolutely no clue how to get her to latch on to the breast.

The afterbirth frightened the girl, sending her into a panic attack. She had no clue what was going on, horrified at the thought of having twins. She still hadn’t figured out what she was going to do with the one she had as it was, had no idea how she was going to raise a child.

She was still a child herself, only sixteen and utterly naïve. As she held that baby through the night, gazing down into her scrunched up face and stroking her tiny hand wrapped around one of her fingers, she imagined a world beyond the one she lived in. A world where her baby girl could flourish. Where she could go to school and have friends, a world where she could fall in love and marry. A world where her daughter could have her own house, her own career, her own family. A world where her daughter had choices, freedoms.

Because the girl had none. She was a slave, at the mercy of the people who owned her. She was kidnapped as a baby, both of her parents murdered. The kidnappers knew they could get a pretty penny for her and auctioned her off to the highest bidder, not caring what they wanted her for or what would come of her.

She’d gotten lucky though, for the most part. She knew she could’ve ended up in a pedophile ring somewhere but she hadn’t. She was purchased as a present, a child for a woman who desperately wanted a daughter but couldn’t bear her own anymore. She’d already had a son, his birth traumatic and leaving her barren. They couldn’t legally adopt, as the husband had an extensive criminal record and they would’ve never been approved. So they bought on the black market.

It didn’t go over very well, the girl's presence backfiring. Instead of filing the void the lady had, she merely reminded her of her inability to ever have her own daughter. She had been pushed aside, cast off. She carried their same last name but she was no more family to them than the next person. As soon as she was old enough to walk and talk, she was left to fend for herself and forced to help take care of their needs.

The family was powerful. She wasn’t entirely sure what they were involved in, but she knew it wasn’t good. They owned a few slaves, and over the years she’d seen more than one murdered at the family’s hand when they tried to flee. There was no escaping. You’d be found if you even attempted it, and you’d be killed in front of everyone to send a message to the others. They owned you.

She didn’t see their son much, as he was off in boarding school throughout the year and usually spent summers traveling with the family. She was always left behind while they vacationed, but never was she left alone. There was always someone watching her.

The fall the girl turned 15, the father fell ill. Their son came home to help his mother while his father was out of commission, so-to-speak. He was eighteen at the time and was volatile, but he wasn’t too harsh to her—he didn’t threaten her or beat her as he did the others, and he wasn’t demanding of her. He ignored her for the most part, barely even noticing she was alive. But after a few months it all shifted and he started sneaking into her room at night, laying with her and touching her, hovering over her and pushing himself into her.

She wasn’t educated but she knew the facts of life. When her period stopped coming, she knew what that meant. She wasn’t sure what to do, who to tell or what to say. She’d finally grown brave enough to confess to her mistress that a child was growing inside of her, when the son came home and announced to the family that he was to be married to a local girl from a well-off family.

She knew then that she couldn’t say anything. They were counting on the merging of the families for their livelihood and the fact that she was pregnant because of their son, despite the fact that she hadn’t instigated their contact, would be blamed solely on her. They’d blame her for ruining their future, for ruining their plans.

After awhile the father recovered and the son moved out, leaving her back to being overlooked. She kept her pregnancy a secret, hiding it the best she could. No one paid her much attention anyway--no one noticed.

So as she sat in that barn, rocking that tiny baby, she allowed herself to forget the way she lived. She allowed herself to dream of a better world for her child. She allowed herself to dream of her child having a future where she could shine.

She kept the baby hidden away for a few days, the baby surviving and surprisingly thriving given the conditions. But she couldn’t keep her a secret forever.

The mistress faintly heard the baby crying one evening and walked out to the barn, where she’d been hiding out with her. The mistress was shocked to say the least. The girl was so frightened, afraid they were going to sell the baby or even worse, end the baby’s life. She'd seen slaves get pregnant over the years, seen their pregnancies terminated and babies disappear. But the mistress surprised her. Because as the mistress gazed into the baby’s face, she saw her son’s features shining back at her. She knew the baby was her blood.

She wouldn’t accept the baby as family, refused to acknowledge it out loud, but she allowed her to keep her. And for sixteen years the girl did the best she could, been the best mother she could’ve been. She couldn’t escape the life she had been sold into, but she held hope that someday her daughter would find something better. And she did all she could to prepare her for a better life, despite the fact that she knew very little about the outside world herself.

The baby grew into a beautiful child. The slaves doted on her but the family ignored her for the most part. Occasionally they’d catch the mistress staring at her, smiling when she didn’t think anyone was watching. It gave the girl hope that maybe her child would be freed. They didn’t treat her like the others either, didn’t beat her or work her too hard. There was some kindness there, under the surface. Compassion for the bastard child their son created.

The summer before that child’s 12th birthday, however, everything changed. The mistress and master of the house got into a car accident, dying upon impact. Instead of being freed, as they all hoped, the son stepped in and took over. The son had turned into a harsh man, his hostility growing as he aged. He had not an ounce of kindness inside of him, no compassion what so ever.

He still had a soft spot for the girl he had impregnated, despite the fact that over a decade had gone by since they last had contact. After he took over he started sneaking into her room again at night and having his way with her. She never fought back, knowing fighting his advances would mean death. He owned her and she got off easier than most. All she truly had to endure was a few minutes of his panting sweaty form hovering over her at night—the others were beaten bloody.

The man wasn’t stupid, he knew the child was his daughter and he didn’t like it one bit. For four years the girl was abused and tortured, and her mother protected her the best she could while still protecting herself. She knew she’d be no help to her dead and had no choice but to sometimes sit back and allow her daughter to endure it.

The wife eventually figured it out, realized that the child slave was her husbands illegitimate daughter. The woman had been unable to carry a baby to term, all of her pregnancies ending in miscarriage. She was infuriated and wanted the child gone. She demanded her husband dispose of her.

That girl, who birthed that tiny baby alone in the barn, was my mother. And that baby, who survived despite the odds stacked against her, was me. My name is Isabella Swan, and today is my sixteenth birthday.

It would surprise people if they knew the world I was born into even existed. Abraham Lincoln delivered the Emancipation Proclamation in 1862 and declared the ownership of other human beings should be outlawed, but it didn’t end there. It didn't even end two years later when Congress passed the 13th amendment, official declaring slavery illegal. People were still bought and sold today, bound to servitude, stripped of all rights and privileges. I was born in 1989, well over a century after the government abolished slavery. Slavery exists in every in corner of America, the slave trade in and out of the cities and suburbia kept secret. With enough money, you can buy anyone.

It’s the year 2005… and today I’m being sold.