For I've Seen Twilight- Chapter 1

I closed my dead eyes, as she turned the music on. And as soon as the music hit my ears, I lost all control over my body, feeling only the emotion running through my body, not the actual movements that I contorted in during my dance. Instead I focused on what the music wrought upon my memories. My memories of him, and what he left behind when he walked out the door on my life, haunting me with every graceful movement as my eyes begged for release of the salty proof of my pain. As a rule, I always danced with my eyes shut. Which although might seem strange to other people, came easily to me because of my newly attained photographic memory. Unfortunately, that same gift was also my worst downfall because of the fact that I could never forget his face. The beauty in his eyes as he looked down on me with nothing but love, which I had discovered, was nothing but lies. Everything I saw in his beguiling eyes was a show, much like the way I was living my life. After he left, I finished my last year of high school and left for Boston. I could not stand the thought of Washington without him, whilst memories repeated themselves over again and again. When he left, I became hard, unforgiving and cold. Never trusting what my eyes saw in the world around me. Also I was no longer the clumsy fool of a girl he used to know. I was graceful and confident, on the outside. I also learned to stop thinking of him, and his family whenever I saw things that would have reminded me of that blissful time in my life, well at least I would no longer burst out in tears or a panic attack.

I was so naïve before he left, but now I was a woman with wisdom in the ways of the world. No longer innocent little Bella Swan. He would have been so surprised if he ever came back. Although I continued with my life, it was as if my life was stuck on pause, and the moment that I was stopped at was the very moment he looked in my eyes and said no, he didn't love me. I went to University of Massachusetts Amherst, and majored in English and got a minor in art. Since I had become very graceful I decided to take up ballet, and the moment that I found that I was good at it, it became my life. I threw myself in to my dance, simply because it hurt less to dance than it did to live. So I went on through my life dancing, silently dying a little more every time I woke to find I was still alive. My life was a paradox; I lived only because I knew that one day I would die. I danced because I knew that it was the one of the things that instead of making me happy, gave me the least amount of pain. I cried out in pain every night because I would have to cry out in false happiness everyday for the world that was watching me. I kept living not ever really alive, because I did not know how to stop. I became a famous ballet dancer, dancing at the most beautiful places in the world, just trying to make it through one day at a time, not noticing or appreciating all the luxury that I had "stumbled" upon. Not even thinking for one moment that my beloved would even take notice of a famous dancer that looked so disgustingly familiar. So I shouldered on dancing through my life becoming more bitter and wicked with every passing day until I had become known as "The Ice Princess".

"Bella? Have you heard the news?" My manager asked me timidly. I was tying my ballet shoes before I began rehearsal for the show tomorrow.
"No, I have not. What is it?" I replied robotically, voice forever empty.

"The ballet company says that if all goes well in the show tomorrow they will be asking you to move to London for lead role in their company." She was clearly excited for me but knowing better than to express it. As of late, I tended to shy away violently from happiness.

"That is excellent news. Excuse me, I need to begin rehearsal." I said as if in a trance, as I stood and walked onto the stage. That night was just the same as any other, and I danced very well. But I did not notice, instead I was busy trying to clear my mind of a most disturbing scene. One certain portrait of a 17th century England in a certain spectacular study belonging to a certain doctor who had lived in the very place but more importantly unsuccessfully erasing the image of his beautiful son.