Disclaimer: Twilight and all of its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The plot is mine.




The act of dying; termination of life.

The state of being dead.

The cause of dying.

A manner of dying.

Often Death, a personification of the destroyer of life, usually represented as a skeleton holding a scythe.

A. Bloodshed; murder. B. Execution.

The termination or extinction of something.

There are many definitions of the word. Each one as truthful and as painful as the last.

The word held me in a vice-like grip—constricting my chest and preventing fresh air from entering my lungs. Each definition pertained to myself and described my life with eerie detail.

I knew death had found me when my knees buckled and I fell to the forest floor that day—the day I died.

The state in which I now lived was that of a zombie. All humanity was gone—only my basic needs were met. Only to prevent my biological death. Not that I would mind if that happened too.

The cause of my anguish was a brief conversation with an angel. Ironic the angel of death would come to claim my soul shortly after the end of said conversation.

The manner in which my life ended was brutal. Physical pain would have been far better—at least, the kind that did not derive from emotional pain. The only kind that I felt now.

A small amount of blood was shed and it did lead to this death. And it did lead to my execution.


A term of unparalleled beauty. A term that in my life…had become extinct.