Sorry guys. The hiatus definitely weakened my reflexes.

The 200th reviewer is...Aunt Elles. Thanks everyone! I never knew The Photograph would receive such honour; of course, I expected half the readers to go bye-bye once I killed the Twilight protagonists. Glad that you guys stuck around to find out. :)

And oi, thanks for the feedback. I read all of them, and it's greatly appreciated.

For those people confused about my Emily, I apologise. Emily is only a very minor character, a plot device, if you will. I initially started that chapter in Edward's point of view, with him wallowing in guilt, self-blame, and concern. But I didn't want it to sound obvious, to sound whiny. I already knew I was going to stick in the Dr. Seuss excerpt in there, and the most probable character who would bring it around would be a child. Hence, Emily was born.

That was when I changed my POV, thinking that it would be the best way to portray Edward's feelings. If in a child's eye, Edward was as sad as they come, then what would it be if it was in his point of view? Emily's life was thought of really fast; I wanted Edward to talk to the child, to realize what would happen if he was Emily's father, if he died, and how the child would feel. I wanted her to be incredibly young, not to know what's really happening, to be naive to the point that she thinks going to a hospital at 3 am in the morning was of normal occurrence.

And I wanted the readers to figure out what's going in Edward's head. What was he thinking before this child came in, only trying to cheer him up, not grasping that reading him a simple story would make up his mind.

Hope THAT wasn't too confusing.

Anyway, here's the next one. It's been a while since I came back to the present (2019), with Violet.


Disclaimer: I don't own any Twilight characters. I'm only allowed to torture them until it says "The End" at the bottom of the page.

Chapter 15 Part 1: Lonely Solace


I lifted my head slightly, enough to be able to flip my soaked pillow to a drier side. I buried my face on it, trying to physically worm my emotionally tortured self to the soft cotton of warmth. I want to escape...escape whatever madness I'm experiencing. But hell, I know I can't. Now I'm afraid that I'll never be able to.

There are many questions in my head, but at the time of confrontations, who can really remember any of them? I've only had eleven years to mature this noggin' of mine to its extent, and it really quite demoralizing that those questions will remain exactly so. Just questions.

Have I ever done so much wrong that now I'm being punished for? I should've really befriended that mean girl from fourth grade, then. How I regret that moment now.

But... How many times have I asked them? How many times have they avoided answering me?

Mom...who are my real parents? Why did they abandon me so? Why do you keep insisting calling them good when they left me?...

They left me.

And there's nothing really left to say.


I walk down the stairs, watching the shadows of my feet imitate my movement as I descended each step, the morning rays wafting to my pale bones from the corridor windows. I've always loved this house; Grandma has the simplistic style that I prefer. Mo...Ali..well, she had a quirkier viewpoint for everything.

I always wondered why we barely have common interests in all things materialistic.

I must have stood in front of the hall window from quite some time, observing birds as they passed through the windows like cars by streets, chirping their familiar honks. Signs declared spring inevitable, April showers about to begin. Too bad my heart was not set on the upcoming season change; the winter of my discontent.

My Aunt Rosalie stood leaning by the island, expertly cutting a strawberry for breakfast as I rounded the corner to the kitchen. Right, of course; that was for me. She looks up and tries to feign that she didn't notice me there. It hurt too much to tell her that she should stop babying me. I could make my own breakfast.

Hurts. Tiny hurts that shock my fingertips; the whole night, the hurts subsided to tingles. But I was sure I favoured the pain.

I didn't meet her eyes when it tried to read mine; I look away.

I turned and headed to fridge and opened it, not feeling better when the chill hit my face. I took out the carton of milk, leaving the door to softly close by itself. With my other free hand, I nicked the cereal box by the breakfast counter.

Maybe if I ignore her, she'll go away.

Before I could get a bowl, my hands shook and ache shot through my whole body. The carton and cereal box slipped through my barely gripped fingers and in some slow set motion, I gazed as they both made their way down to their doom. The milk was saved by blonde blur as she took hold of it; the honeycomb shapes from the box weren't rescued, however; the kitchen floor was now scattered with them.

Aunt Rosalie never uttered a word, and only looked on as I broke down in front of her eyes. Tears materialized from nowhere covered my cheeks with their saltiness. My figure dropped to the ground I sat, hunched, mess around me, cereal crunched under my leg.

I refused to look her way, but I felt her intently watching me.

Sweat and heaving sobs racked up my body for a long time. Along that moment, I might have heard a faint murmur of my name come out of her lips, but I couldn't tell. Silently, I felt her presence beside me and opened my eyes in time to see her crouched down on the floor as well.

And that's what we did.

"Violet." I hissed out my name, repeating. "Violet."

"They...wanted to name you after..." Her voice cracked, trying to answer. "It was a flower your mother really liked."

I closed my eyes at her response. Mother...of course.

I bit both of my lips, trying to hold it together. My body rocked a bit, at the weakened foundation. I whispered. "How could could all of you...?"


"No!" I had trouble saying the words. "my real parents."

Her response was short, but her gaze was long, and begged with beseech. "We would never, ever forgive ourselves."

"I've never even seen them. Their...tombs..cemetary. I've never even seen them."


END CHAPTER 15: Part 1

Credit: - "Winter of our discontent..." - William Shakespeare

Argh...I know it's really, really short. But this chapter was supposed to be part of the previous chapter, before I decided it needed its own space. I'm afraid there was just too much angst in each chapter, so I really wanted to even it out and shtuff...yeah.

But I have, and concurred with fellow friends, that this will not be the end of this chapter. Call this part 1 if you will. I just needed to post this up for courtesy with you guys waiting and all that. I'll have part 2 very soon.

Thanks for everything, again.

Questions from Chapter 14:

AtlantisCat101: this sounded like its from hide and seek?

It does? I actually, never saw the movie, but do tell me if it's too much, and I'll credit it.

iwantyourjeep: I don't get all the Edwards, sorry.

I just needed to put that there for grammar's sake. Parallel structure; but don't you think it has some kind of appeal? :)

edwardsXXtrueXXlove: why did they die? what is wrong with you? those 2 are supposed 2 be together forever and i mean FOREVER!

Right. I wasn't really sure if you were venting your feelings towards not liking the story or why the heck did this cuckoo author kill the lovers. Nonetheless, I chuckled at your comment, so thanks for that. I'm sure there are many things that are wrong with me...I'm just super weird. Having Edward and Bella just fulfilled their destiny, their status as star cross'd lovers. Romeo and Juliet died...and I guess I wanted a twist on this one, too.

And I, personally, believe that E and B are together forever. They're still together in the afterlife of my imagination, and will continue to be. But (shameless promotion here) if you read the outtake I made on this story called Heaven's Mentality, you might understand where I'm coming from with the whole, being forever linked.

Thanks for reading long enough and reviewing your thoughts, though!