My favorite emo twins from Twilight. I've always felt sorry for Alec and Jane. Perhaps this story will give them some peace ^_^. Please read and review! I'll write another chapter if I get positive feedback. Thanks!

Chapter One: Twilight and Shadow

Alec POV:

"It's your fault she left," he growled.

I tried not to look at the face of my tormentor, but he grabbed my chin and thrust my head aside so hard I thought my neck must have broken. But I didn't feel anything. No pain, no sorrow. After months and months of abuse, my emotions had bled out of my body. I felt nothing.

I was forced to look into the eyes of the person, no, the creature that I hated with a passion.

Fat clung on like tar to every inch of his body, disgusting ooze that leaked over the sides of the couch that he lay upon in near perpetuity. The reason for his morbid obesity was evident from the assorted debris that laid at his feet like a burial mound- a mountain of crisp packets, crumpled beer cans and mangled dinner trays, upon the top of which a pair of short, corpulent feet extended into equally corpulent legs.

"Your fault! And your stupid sister too," he rambled drunkenly.

And after years of hearing nothing else, I had begun to believe it. Jane and I had known no other existence, but one of servitude, and oppression. And if we had, it had been washed clean out of our minds by years of endless brainwashing. We dared not leave, for we had nowhere to go. He had been especially careful in cutting off our relations with any family we might have had. Slowly, but surely, our aunts and uncles, cousins and friends had been severed, as cleanly as slicing string with scissors.

He had backed us into a corner, dangling us over the precipice of oblivion, with absolutely no hope of escape from the void.

And as much as we were loathe to admit it, he was our stepfather.

With a mighty swing of his arms, I was thrust out of the room, reduced to a quivering heap by the force of his blow. Only after I heard the blare of the television drowning out his inebriated slurs did I dare to crawl back to my room, doubled over in pain. He hit hard, even harder than a man of his immense mass should rightfully be able to.

I remembered how once, he had used his strength not for subjugation. The recollection was weak; the memory from so long ago that it seemed ethereal. He would hoist Jane up in the air with but one hand, and me in the other, while our mother watched from the side, laughing together with us as we tumbled back to earth and landed in his warm, comfortable arms.

This had been before she had abandoned us, and he had begun his metamorphosis into a demonic tyrant. We'd never figured out what had happened to our mother; why she'd vanished one night, without explanation. We'd just believed the lies that he told us. Just like everything else he'd lied about.

Both their names were a taboo between Jane and I. Through unspoken agreement, the refusal to speak their names, perhaps we'd be able to heal the wounds.

*************

Jane had already returned to our tiny "room" by the time I mustered the strength to return. Her eyes, sparkling violets, saddened visibly as she saw my newly inflicted wounds. I tried not to let the pain show, but we knew each other too well for that. Sighing, she beckoned me over, and I lay down for her to tend to my wounds.

We'd long ago learnt that bandages were pointless, since any reparations would swiftly be destroyed by a renewed wave of assaults the next day. Instead, we settled for washing the wounds with tap water and trying to keep it sterile. No mean feat, considering the state of the room in which we were imprisoned when not being his slaves.

It was a tiny room, with hardly enough space for the two of us lying down. A tattered bed of newspapers lay in the corner, its print rendered unreadable by a fungal rot, next to a pile of whatever rations we had managed to spirit out from the kitchen. He, of course, did not feed us.

Yet, despite the dust and decay, this tiny room behind the kitchen was our sanctuary, our only refuge in this entire madhouse, where we felt safe and secure. In my mind, behind the layers of broken will and shattered hope, some spirit lingered, a part of me that thirsted for vengeance.

I would make him feel all the pain he had inflicted upon my twin and I over the years. Or… Perhaps I could make him feel nothing at all.