Not Mine. Thanks to KTBass for all her hard work to make this story the best it could be. Thank all of you for reading a story resoundingly outside the Twific norm.

History has never been kind to those that wield its power. From the peaks of their conquests they fall, tumbling down to meet the same inevitable end of all those whom they had tread upon. Whether they could trap it for a moment or a century, it always slipped away, blinding them with its headiness, until one day they realized it's no longer there. That perhaps it was all a trick of fortuna, and never belonged to them in the first place.

Power giveth and it taketh away, and my tenuous contract with it had expired.

I had failed and because of it I lost to my only natural match.

She had unequivocally given herself to me. She had been pushed to the brink of madness, rivaling even myself in her disregard for others. She was the paradigm of existentialism; she had found herself and her place as she lost everything.

I couldn't stand over her until she returned to her nothingness.

In that bed I left my self-assurance and my pride.

I left my power and my control.

I left what had become my everything in my nothingness.

The mangled and broken body lay limply, closer to death with each shallow respiration. Her heart slowed with each beat, and little blood leaked from her shredded neck.

My demolished will power could not watch my penultimate defeat.

And so I left her to die.

Night and day bled together, fusing into an endless wasteland. No purpose defined me, no blood lust betook me, and so I sat very still. Weakness weighed down my limbs while my brain lost itself in a haze of self-doubt. Never moving, never eating, I resigned myself to an endless existence of memories.

I had returned to the estate I shared with my supposed siblings, in the wooded outskirts of Portland. While they amused themselves with lost hunters and stray tourists, I savored the remnants of her taste. I drowned in their voices and recalled her fragmented mind, stuttering in stops and starts as I broke down her barriers. Visions of her innocent exuberance as she begged to belong to me replayed ad naseum while I listened to my brothers savagely fucking my sisters. Disgust and contempt defined me, and would ever shall.

I hated them for their games and their mates. For the bacchanalia of blood they shed and shared. For the revelry they exuded while their victims plead for mercy. They were ignorant fools drunk on their misbegotten conceptions of power.

No omnipotence could be obtained when Death could tear it from your hands. When he sucked her dry and left you eternally alone.

We were puppets without a marionette and nothing meant anything.

Just as she was now, I too was nothing.

"Your eternal hissy fit is fucking with my empathy. Time to get over it."

I didn't deign Jasper with a response, and sat staring out at the dead woods around us. He had been particularly attentive since his precious Alice had been conspicuously absent. If any feeling remained, I would have been amused at his predicament. My utter disdain rebounded into him with every victim he brought to the house. Biting into their flesh made him as nauseous as his thoughts made me. No one would ever taste as sweet or ease the burn and the thought of ever sipping from another made me ill.

While I was around, Jasper's empathic powers prevented him from any enjoyment, and in turn projected the same into the others nearby. They would suffer as I had, putting a dent in their ceaseless blood-fueled orgy. It was almost enough to make me smile again.

"I don't see why he's punishing us because he fucked up. He's the one that killed her and left the job unfinished. It's not the first time he's failed to follow through...."

The original harpy, darling Rosalie had entered the fray, contempt rolling off her with every word. Not once since her change had her fury abated. I had made no secret of my desire to leave her to die in the streets, choking on the knowledge that her insipid vanity had killed her. Since then she had felt it her duty to irritate me every day in her hereafter. To this day she only killed beautiful women. She couldn't stand to let any beauty go unpunished.

"He's an impotent waste of flesh. Leaving her father and a whole town alive who knew her. Perhaps you should go visit, you can all wallow in your guilt and share your precious memories..."

Deep in my insides the growls began, rumbling up my abdomen and reverberating in my esophagus. Snarling and heaving, my body shook with the force invading me. The paltry anger toward the wolf was nothing in comparison.

I had left her with them.

I could envision them gathering around her grave, shaking their heads in affectation. Snide whispers would pass between their lips, murmuring that at last she was at peace, while they said their thanks to God that she was gone. Flowers would be thrown upon her body to rot beside her, diffusing her sinful scent with the sickly sweet smell of musty decay. Media crews would tell the tale of how one girl had brought death to their town, and pan in on the false tears of those who were left. The Chief would be surrounded by well-wishers and would wallow in their condolences, justifying his actions. He would break down, begging them to tell him where he went wrong, while never admitting that he had thrown her away. He would be revered as the father who was in an impossible situation, and who had lost everything because of it.

Forks would be united in her death; in their ability to finally sleep easy at night and know that the girl who brought this upon them was six feet below.

Dead. Buried. Forgotten.


There would be no relief. No respite. No redemption.

I would tear out each of their posturing bleeding hearts and offer them to her. Lay them upon her grave and let their blood bathe her in their sorrow. I would tear off the Chief's head and lay it at her feet. His afterlife would be spent ever gazing at the daughter he had denied.

The chair shattered, the violence emitting from my body too strong for it to endure. I fell into a crouch, and distantly felt Jasper and Rosalie do the same beside me. His power was out of his control; the resolve and fury ran straight through me into them. They would follow, as would their mates, unable to reign in the savage need for retribution racing through their long dead veins.

I turned on them, snarling so thickly the venom leaked out my mouth, leaving spittle on their faces. With one hand, Rosalie's hair was wrapped around my fist, the other gripped Jasper's throat. I held them in the air, and made myself abundantly clear.

"I don't share. Ever. Go play your trivial games elsewhere, but stay the fuck away from Forks. It and everyone inside it is mine. If you come near it I'll tear you apart with all the rest."

I threw them against the far wall, cracking walls and furniture as they crashed against them. I ignored their smug smiles and satisfied thoughts, and left.

I had a town to burn.

A foreign smell invaded my senses the closer I came to front of the house. Familiar undertones intertwined with something deeper and darker; something deliciously forbidden. Days old dried blood was apparent, but no heartbeat hinted at to whom it belonged. Their thoughts were present, but a mass of disorganized chaos, never lingering on one thing long enough to betray them. A terrible need rose inside me to learn who was knocking. It pushed aside all prior plans, crushing them with this inexplicable magnet drawing me closer.

Trembling with anticipation I opened the door to find no one there. Feverishly I scanned the horizon, scenting the air for the smell I couldn't possibly have imagined. It was maddeningly close, engulfing me with its delectableness. I could see no one for miles, and so I stepped out to follow it. I had no choice, I would track it to the ends of the world and back.

My foot brushed against an oval object and sent it rolling in awkward unbalanced circles. This was the source of the blood; it was caked in filth and coagulum. Picking it up, I felt the soft curves and hard angles, the wiry protrusions, and tangled mass. An uneven bottom, torn and mutilated, had dried into a gelled substance of viscera, with only a jagged shard jutting out. I turned it around until I found its front.

Charlie Swan's head blindly gazed back at me. The fine hair on the back of my neck rose and sent a shiver through me as cool breath blew against it.

I spun around, and there stood Bella, covered in blood and filth; a bright mark the shape of my teeth glistening against her skin. A sweetly innocent expression softened her marble brows and crimson lips.

"I brought you a present."

Trick or Treat...