Author's note: And here's where things change, I'm sure you must realize by now that I don't like Twilight and am going to change the plot up tremendously. I'm terribly sorry if you wanted the usual nothing to happen, because that's what the original book is. A plot full of holes.

Thank you to readers, reviewers. And to Sanctuary! Because we are still on those lyrics. By the by, this chapter was not beta'd as it has been pretty well a year since I've updated. If you notice any spelling/grammar errors please be so kind as to point them out. Hopefully not in a scathing review.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, thank god.

"Bella this is Jacob Black, you remember the Black's don't you? We used to go fishing with them." Charlie turned to introduce his glum daughter with clear hesitation, she stuck out her hand awkwardly to the Native American boy waiting for him to shake it.

"Jacob… holder of the heel." She stared at him with curious dark eyes causing Jacob to twist backwards, "In Hebrew." She clarified as if for his benefit, he nodded dumbly waiting for her attention to turn somewhere else.

To put it mildly Isabella scared the shit out of Jacob Black, he looked to his father for help but the crippled old chief only shrugged and smiled at Charlie. Hadn't he seen the girl's eyes, dark like a demon's? Jacob would have given anything to run off in the other direction if he had any choice.

"Am I scaring you?" she asked bluntly still scrutinizing him with a faint smile. Did she scare him? The answer to that would have been hell yes she scared him. At first he only noticed the fact that she was a looker, he was a teenage boy what else was he supposed to notice. But then her pale skin pigment struck him, she was pale as the moon, as the snow covering the mountains. She had been wearing an old fashioned long dark skirt, a turtleneck sweater and a rosary. Her dark hair had been held in a simple, long braid falling down her back. She looked as if she had just attended someone's funeral.

"Just a little bit." He replied watching her eyes light up in amusement, they weren't really black more a very dark brown. The sort of black that people often mistook for his own hair and eye color, but his eyes had never looked that cold.

"Charlie didn't tell you why I came to Forks did he?" she asked abruptly, looking as if she were going to tell him some horrible secret. Some secret he didn't want to hear about any time soon. Jacob shook his head quickly, trying to convey the fact that he just didn't want to talk to her anymore.

"I hate this place Jacob, I hate the people here, and they hate me too. But it was better than being in Phoenix, besides Charlie is my legal guardian. It was only natural I come here, it was going to happen eventually." She sighed slowly, staring at the trees waving in the breeze. Jacob didn't like Isabella, he could tell her that much. He didn't care if she was good looking, he didn't care if she was his father's best friend's daughter, he didn't care if she went off and married his own best friend. He never wanted to see her again.

"And you hate me too, don't you Jacob Black?" her voice pierced through his thoughts, leaving him with nothing to do but nod once more and pray she left him alone. She smiled and turned back towards her house, away from her monster of a truck and into her lair. He sighed in relief and swore to himself that he would never come near her house again.

But sometimes he found himself thinking about her, in the middle of the night while staring at the sky. He wondered where she had found such dark, cold eyes underneath the desert sun. Then he would blink and the thought would be gone with the sight of the moon. Because to some people Isabella was no more than an idle thought, and not an obsession.

Bella premunt hostilia

Our enemies besiege us

Isabella Swan only had a glimpse of her end, she saw him approach the silver car, his pale face concealed beneath the wide brimmed hat and dark scarf, a single garnet eye unhidden. He was not tall, nor was he particularly menacing, he seemed to fade into the snowfall despite the shadows he clothed himself in. An extension of night overlapping into the morning, a wraith of smoke hidden beside the silver breath of snow.

The demon boy paused, his eyes growing wide, fear upon his face unnoticed by the mob of people surrounding them. Witnesses, she reminded herself diligently, only a fool would strike with a witness present, with their human eyes watching. A single glimpse and the stranger was gone, lost in a snowstorm of doubt and fear. A blink of her dark eyes and he had disappeared from view, out of thought, out of mind.

Later that night in her room, surrounded by her research and paranoia, she would glance over the stranger his dark clothing blending into her subconscious, his single garnet eye forgotten in her remembrance of another set of charcoal eyes, a demon's eyes she had said once, the eyes of a monster worse than death. Azrael gone mad, the blood dripping from his mouth, wings stretched skyward, the chord of death hanging limp from his pale hand.

It was the one that she did not see, the one she had not prophesized and prepared for, it was the man like smoke that orchestrated her demise, his gloved hand outstretched toward her, his gaze beckoning to her, his face hidden from her farseeing mortal gaze.

She did not have a chance to glimpse her last human sunrise, to see the great bleeding orb which streaked down into the heavens, the great dying sun, spilling over the trees and clouds in great cascades, rapidly bleeding to death. Her life ended far too soon for such a sight.

The waning moon hung low in her window as her eyes drifted shut, her paranoia dwindling into nothingness, burning itself out in one last spark. Even in sleep she knew something in her was dying. But she couldn't bring herself to watch the falling star.

Da robur, fer auxilium

Give us strength, bring us aid

He stood before the wooden cross, his crimson eyes roving over its surface, his mouth set into a grim frown, his hands clasped behind his back as he examined the religious carving. Finally he turned to the coven, a sigh on his lips, his eyes narrowed. "I did not come to start a war," He said finally, his voice softer than the moonlight which fell upon their immortal faces.

And yet the cross still watched, it's wooden eyes older than the earth, he wondered what man they had set screaming against its polished surface, what man had his wrist's hammered into that carved surface. The wooden eyes of the Christian god stared down upon him, his hands covered in the blood he had never asked for. The chanting of the priests rose around him, the voices calling towards the heavens, and him standing in the shadows…

"I did not come for Volterra, I did not come on any errand of theirs, but rather one of my own. Such a pity my plans always go awry, in the end I will always be a servant of the trinity, whether I like it or not. Fate is a cruel mistress." His words were bitter, sharp as silver cold as blood, he could see them behind their façade of humanity. The golden family looked horrified at the sight of him, the reminder of what they truly were behind their human clothes and impersonations.

Which of them he wondered carved the cross all those years ago? For it was an old device, he had not seen them in Rome, he had not seen them in the crowds. But what did that mean, for it seemed as if the whole world had been there, staring at the blood of the criminals dripping down towards the unsoiled earth. All the world claimed to be there, but who else but him had tasted the blood?

He held the picture of the girl in his mind, her dark hair swinging as she walked away from him, the accusation and hatred in her black eyes, her pallid complexion making her seem a child of mist rather than flesh. He had not come for the girl, he had come for his own reasons, it was fate who had a different plan in mind.

"She doesn't know, I swear we never told her, she doesn't know." The boy was desperate, his golden eyes wide with fear. It was his mind that had produced the image of her, laughing, staring, a ray of sunlight in a dark desolate night. And for that Daedalus managed a smile.

Such innocence was not easily found in Europe. That was the Americas mindset in him. A vampire of the twentieth century, full of such optimism, such hopes and dreams they held in their pale hands. A child of the enlightenment, spreading his ideals through childish golden eyes. Such beacons of light did not last in the shadows that swathed the old world.

"Perhaps not now, but I am old. And you, for all your denials, are still only a child. If you haven't told her then she will find out on her own, how long can you run from her eyes? You'll find that they can see quite easily behind your mask. We aren't nearly so clever as we think we are." The bright wings of sunlight were fading in the realization of his folly, the wax began to drip, and there he was, Icarus falling to his grave and his youthful ambition with him. A golden child falling from the heavens, a dream of a raven lost in his heart.

He remembered the flight, watching the child fall with the golden wings. Ambition had been his folly, but it was youth that had betrayed him. Why was it always the child who bore the consequences? Why was it always the boy who bore the golden wings?

"You're wrong you know," and again the vision of darkness, the girl and her black eyes which burned into the soul. She lingered in his mind, knowing what he must do, and he damned her for it. For there was no choice, nothing for him to do but act. For his people, for his conscience, for the girl. How he hated them all.

"It does not take a seer to know the path that you have made for her. You have lead to her destruction, you will destroy her with your mere presence. Suppose I leave now and I never return, Volterra will know, they will see you with their crimson eyes. And what will you do when they come for her? My people make no exceptions, not even for children." He began to pace, the crosses malignant gaze trapped upon his back, the eyes of the watchmaker looking down upon him. The Volturi would not let the girl go, because she had the power to defy them, with her brown eyes and her secluded mind she could destroy them. And the gods were never willing to take such a chance.

He paused breathing in the night air, the moonlight, the darkness, the scent of the innocent and death on their tails. A window into the indigo sky and the stars that kept it aloft, it had been years ago that he had believed in such pinpoints of light, but now they were being drowned out by the living and the dead were washed away in blur of color. He knew their end was coming, he could feel it in his bones, he had come for the oracle not for the girl. And yet the girl is what he received.

He had seen a vision of madness, of ash falling from the sky, he had come in faith. And yet now it was a vision of the human with her bitter eyes and dark smile, the girl with the mind closed off to the world that remained in his thoughts. The desire that was his and not his, the need to be close to her, to here the soft edge of her voice. To be ruled by the desires of another, such was always his fate, the ambitions of lesser men. His own dreams consisted of the snowfall of ash and the blessed silence as the empty church bells rang.

"No you can't do this, doesn't she even get a choice!" The boy was screaming, a child whose fantasies have been stolen from him, reality shoved in his face. That was what he got for meddling with humans, for wearing their faces and dancing with them in the paved streets, the undead were not meant for the light of the sun.

"Were you given a choice?"

The boy paused, stalled, his golden eyes widening in realization and then hardening like flint "Yes, I was and I don't regret it."

"Do you still believe in the lies you feed yourself?" A pale mask, hovering on the edge of his true features, wavering into the darkness and then his face stilled and calmed, the ripples vanished. "Not everyone is so lucky to be as gullible as you."

The child broke into, his face crumpling under the torrent of his anger, the injured pride crying out in his chest. "And you wonder why people hate the Volturi," He gave a choked laugh, before shaking his head and continuing to speak. "You wonder why they spit at your feet when you pass by…"

"I've never wondered about such things, I may wear the cloak of the death but I am not a fool." The cross hung, the eyes of the Christian god staring down upon him as they had always done. It had been a long time since he was free of those omniscient vengeful eyes. "Pray your god has mercy on our souls,"

Sit sempiterna Gloria

(May you always be praised)

Through the fire she heard a voice, like the whistling of the wind through the branches it's low tone haunts her through the torment. "Forgive me," it said through the internal flame, through the torture and the screaming. But the screaming drowns him out and she couldn't see, the flames were so bright.

(The closet is so dark, the clothes sticking to the sweat on her skin, and the crack, the one sliver of light and the demons peering in. The stifiled screaming, it is so loud, but she must be silent or they'll find her. The blood, the blood…)

She floated down a river of torment, the Styx remained dark even through the fire in her limbs, she was screaming yet no one heard for Hell is a lonely place. Her limbs were being torn apart and her mind with them, she felt nothing and everything, her skin was burning.

(Abandon hope all ye who enter here…)

All thoughts fled in the torment, time escaped her and yet it hung upon her shoulders, pressing down upon her mortal limbs. She wandered through the inferno, her mind straying to images it had near forgotten, her mother's face, the blood, so much blood, dripping from their hands…

The demon boy, the boy with the black eyes, and then the smoke drifting away into the distance. New images appear, the shadowy figure carrying her away, Hades dressed in cloak and scarf, down the river Styx like the ways of old…

(The angel of death had no wings, and in his hand he carried no scythe or cord…)

She was dead with her eyes open, for she saw the colors of the world rushing by, a flash of light, the reds sweeping over her, the shaking limbs and the fire burning away at her wasted flesh. She had always wondered what death felt like, to be ripped limb from limb, but never had she imagined the fire.

The thoughts were fleeting, drowned in the sea of flame, in the pain that engulfed her. She was the pain, sweeping, crashing, folding in on itself. She lost herself to the immenseness of it, and yet her heart still beat so painfully, and all the while the screaming continued.

(The closet, trapped in the dark, their bodies lying alone, the blood seeping from their torn limbs. The silence, she screams to fill the silence, because there is nothing there but the blood and the torn arms. Her mother's hand, she could see the golden ring, stained with the crimson blood…)

The images flashed before her, the world behind a blind man's eyes, she saw everything behind those closed lids, she saw the forest waving goodbye, she saw the sunset in the desert, the bleeding orb blending into the desert sand. Red eyes, crimson eyes staring down, the screaming, the fire burning bright.

(The closet door was painted white, the handle was silver. But stepping out everything was red, a streak of paint across the door, a splatter, the whiteness stained with blood. Like a candy cane, it came in stripes, the scarlet liquid dripping down towards the floor. The door was stained with blood, the door was stained with blood…)

She reached out for something, her hand trembling in the black abyss, something held her back. The silence, she fought against the silence and the flames. It was so very dark in the closet, trapped beside the sweaters and jackets, so very dark. All the color is outside and she cowered before it. She didn't want to open her eyes, to see the flame and fire, the blood painting the sky. So dark, so very dark…

The silence sounded like the clanging of church bells, the unsung requiem, the rose petals fell from the sky, white tears of heaven. Someone was dying, a star was falling, someone's soul was departing. The little girl with the matches, striking away at them, one by one.

The bitter flame, so small against the cold, the cold was burning in the darkness. The little match girl with the brown eyes, the eyes of the forest forgotten. Only one match left, burned away in her hand. Only one left, and then… The star falling away into darkness.

It was the twilight which remained.

Author's note: Forgive me for taking so long to update, as you've no doubt concluded I am not a Meyer fan thus I find it hard to be inspired by… Twilight at all. I saw the graphic novel recently, and I am disgusted. That aside major plot point here where we completely diverge from the set plot. From this point on it will take us quite a while to get back to well known characters. Sorry bout that.