P r o l o g u e
Lying there, in Edward's arms, I could not truthfully say that I was safe and warm. A chill far fiercer than his own was creeping up on me, and my hands were a deep red, covered with my own blood. I couldn't feel myself anymore, and his voice was distant. All I heard were his dry, ragged sobs, and the sounds of chaos all around us. Yet, I didn't feel panic. I felt relief. Was this it? Was this... Death?
I could've laughed. I used to think of death as a horrible thing, something terrible and unavoidable, yet devastating all the while. And, then, when I met Edward, I didn't think of death at all-- because I knew I wasn't going to die. How ironic it was that I sat there, watching the people turn to shapes, turn to blurs in motion, my breath caught in my throat, listening to his sobs fade more and more with every passing second. And then it hit me. I was going to die, and these were going to be my last, final moments.
I caught his eyes. His beautiful, beautiful eyes, filled with tears that would never be shed. I could tell he was calling my name, over and over, yet, I didn't respond. Something inside of me clicked, and I suddenly didn't want to die anymore. I wasn't calm anymore, I was rampant, hot tears forming at the back of my throat. "Oh, Edward!" I whispered, gripping his hand with whatever force I could muster. And, then, Death's doors closed upon me.