What do all of our favorite characters have in common? They were once human. They were normal people with lives of their own that were somehow interrupted by a change. A change that would make them immortal. This is a story that looks at what the circumstances were surrounding each 'changed' character from The Twilight Saga. Life has presented them with a different way to live, whether it is after waking up, phasing, or being born. Some chose the way of life, but most did not. They are changed forever.
In this story I have taken what little facts we know about each character before, during, and after their change of phase, and put together my version what happened. It is written in canon and I have tried to be as Stephanie Meyer and historically correct as possible.
**SM OWNS ALL**
A HUGE thank you to my beta, Rain-It-Shall...she encourages me, keeps me creative, works quickly...and sometimes she even puts off her homework and stays up late to read the inner workings of my mind =P She is the best!
Includes appearances by: Carlisle. Jasper. Edward. Esme. Rosalie. Emmett. Alice. Sam. Jared. Paul. Embry. Jacob. Quil. Leah. Seth. Colin. Brady. Renesmee. Bella.
Read, Enjoy, Review.
Carlisle - 1663
It was over. He sucked in a violent breath, his eyes flying open after being squeezed tight in agony for...how many days? One? Two? Five? He couldn't be sure.
All that mattered was the fire was over. The searing, glowing hot embers that had flowed through his body causing bone crushing agony had ceased.
His blurry mind sped and fought with itself as he tried to put together what had happened to him, but everything now moved so fast he couldn't hold onto a coherent thought for more than a second. Sucking in a breath of stagnant air, he winced at the dryness of his throat….it almost burned.
He was in a cellar, buried under something rotten; his nose told him that much. The normal stench of the London streets where he lived were only intensified by the rotting food scent that permeated the dense air in the cellar. He held out his hand to push whatever was on top of him aside. He was surprised to feel that they were vegetables and that even though they had felt so heavy while he was burning, they now fell away as if they were no more than dried leaves.
He thought back. Something wasn't right, he was sure. Retrace the steps…..
Wrinkling his nose at the stench of decayed food, he brushed more debris off of himself and tried to think. He looked up at the cellar door that led to the outside – was that how had had ended up here? Yes, he was sure.
He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Yes, it was all coming back to him now.
The crusade to catch Satan's spawns that had long haunted the streets of London was a difficult yet valiant one. Originally the idea that a creature of the night had been responsible for all the murders had perplexed Carlisle; normally, he would have been a bit more careful in the process of elimination. Why had he gone on the dangerous hunt for the awful creature, a poor excuse for a man?
Father. Father wanted me to lead the hunt to go to his lair, armed with pitchforks and blades…as if that would have helped me…
Carlisle shook his head at his father's misconstrued belief that a rusty pitchfork would have done him any aid when faced against the stone-like creature. More memories started to flood his mind.
His father led the angry mob through the main sewer of central London. Carlisle had a feeling that their plan was flawed from the start. However, he never tried to second guess his father, Simond, and his masterfully crafted ideas. Carlisle led a group of scared, young men through the other side of the sewer by the entrance where he had seen the creature. His conscience told him that allowing his father to know the location of the hideout would be the end of the killings in their city, and that is what drove him forward. Their plan was to meet in the middle and take the creature by surprise, bind it down with silver chains, and set it on fire.
Carlisle now laughed bitterly at the very thought of that plan ever succeeding.
They had them cornered now; there were three. They had grown weak and feeble during their time in the sewers. The rampant hunts for their kind throughout the city were led almost every other night, the religious martyrs driven like the hounds through the alleyways and sewers. And now they had been found.
Carlisle led the mob of young, driven men to the place where they were, and the creatures did not overlook the fact that it was indeed him who was the leader. But they had been wrong. Hunger had not lessened the speed of the devils; they attacked with vigor and unrelenting fervor. The strongest of the three had grabbed Carlisle's blonde hair and twisted his neck back, wrenching it into an unnatural position.
"It should pain thee to realize that thou shall soon understand the fire that drives us," he had whispered in his ear before sinking the razors of fire into his throat. Carlisle recoiled immediately as the vampire dropped his already writhing body to the sewer floor.
He had burned for only a few minutes before looking up to see the madness that they had created. Bodies flew up against the hard walls, cracking and falling limp as they were drained and disposed of. The screams of the lucky few to escape were echoing in his ears, which were now pounding with the sound of his franticly beating heart.
Fully sated, the three of them had turned into the main sewers to run rampant and strong throughout the city. He was alone.
He began to crawl on his hands and knees, the white hot fire spreading rapidly throughout his body. He made it to the outside of the sewer, sure that his skin was burning like the fires of the torches he had yielded only moments ago. He barely registered the sounds of the screams of the now terrorized men that had fled, their howls echoing in the distance. Pulling himself to his feet, he resisted a scream as he tried to straighten his charred body, looking for a safe place to hide. His only fear now was that the devils would return to seek the rest of their vengeance on him.
Putting his hand to his throat, he could feel the blood from the wound bubbling down his neck, the cool liquid soothing his burning body. The cellar door was the first chance he had to hide, and he willingly took it. He stumbled in, trying, although in agony, to be quiet and resist the urge to scream as the flames licked at his body.
Once he was huddled in the safety of the small, dark cellar, the fire had only worsened. He hunched there, praying for death to find him swiftly.
But it didn't.
He lay there, begging for the end and feeling every bit of agony as the fire continued. It never seemed to end.
Time ceased as the flames raged hotter.
But finally the burning, searing, crippling pain began to lessen, a fraction at a time. He felt some small relief as the fire began to wane in his arms and legs, and soon it receded completely to his heart.
All the days of his short life flashed before him as he lay there, his singed body growing hotter and hotter the more concentrated the fire became. Then the pounding, frantic beats of his heart brought him back to present time. His heart sped and pounded as it tried to find relief from the flames, but to no avail. Carlisle breathed and panted heavily, trying to find some solace in the hell that had enveloped him.
And then suddenly, the last beat of his heart was ringing in his ears, and everything was silent. He lay, frozen with fear that the searing heat would return, but it did not.
The fire was over, and he was able to open his eyes and suck in a deep breath of relieved confusion.
The life that he had once known had already begun to fade away.
He knew he had been bitten by the creature that lurked in the sewers; his mind told him that the area on his neck that had been mauled should be tender and sore, most likely infected by now. Moving his hand up to feel his neck, he frowned, feeling the skin that was already healed; it was smooth under his fingertips as he ran them along his jugular.
He squinted at a beam of light the shone through a crack in the cellar doors. So it was daylight. Would people be looking for him? Where could he go for help? His mind could faintly recall the group of men he had been with to find the creatures that lurked in the London sewers.
Father must have put together a search party for me by now…surely they knew I was missing?
Sitting up, he frowned as he took a mental inventory of his body. He didn't feel hungry or sore or tired at all – he felt like he had been pulled apart and remade with the finest materials of the gods. If not dead, I should be in pain, I should be hungry, and I should be torn into pieces!
His eyes darted upwards towards the floorboards above where he now sat upright in the cellar; he had almost no recollection of this place or how he got there. The squeaking of the wood floor above alerted him to the fact that he was not alone in this house.
"Agard, this bread is stale! Been rotten nearly three stinking days!" a voice rang out above him. Carlisle recoiled slightly, the clear sounds of their voices startling him – they sounded as if they were standing right beside him and speaking in his ear, not upstairs on another floor.
"And what do you suppose I do about it?"
"Fetch me the yeast from the cellar, I'll make another," the first haggard voice rang out in Carlisle's ears.
The cellar? But I'm in the cellar! He thought to himself in a panic. He listened with his strange, attentive new hearing as the two people on the floor above him shifted about the room.
Two people? How did I know there were two people above me? One sounds like he is heavy set by the garble of his voice…the woman is younger, definitely smaller build by the sound of her light gait…
Carlisle paused slightly, his brain calculating the strange noises above him when another part caused the wave of panic to come rolling over him. He knew something wasn't quite right with him, and he didn't want to alarm these innocent people by scaring them in their own basement.
He was suddenly aware of a hot, burning sensation that was growing in his throat. His nostrils flared, his eyes darting around the dark space. He noted that he could see every angle, every grain of wood on the crates, and every spec of dirt that covered the potatoes and turnips that lay stacked where he now crouched. Laying a hand on his stomach, he noted that he did not feel hungry whatsoever, even after he had burned for days. The food around him did nothing to hold his interest or even tempt him. Instead, he had the oddest sensation in his body and mind and throat to go approach the two beings upstairs.
The floor above him creaked and groaned again as the smaller, younger woman approached the crawlspace where the cellar door lies on the floor. Carlisle shrunk back into what he could tell was the furthest, darkest corner of the tiny space. He began to say a silent prayer to God that whatever she was looking for, she would find it quickly and be gone.
He was starting to think the entire thing was a dream until she pulled the latch on the floor open, and he was suddenly aware of one thing.
A thudding, pumping, gushing heart.
Not a second after the sound hit his ears did he begin to picture the dark crimson liquid that was surely flowing so quickly through the organ that tempted him so. At the same moment a foreign, slightly bitter yet sweet liquid pooled in his mouth, causing him to swallow rapidly. The heart continued to beat furiously, pounding in his ears as he hunched in the corner.
The short, slightly round woman stooped over as she entered the cellar, her breath wheezing in her throat. Squeezing his eyes shut as the burning in his throat intensified, he listened as she rummaged around in the wooden crates for what she was looking for. Finding a row of crockery a few feet away, she began to scoop out the wheat for the fresh bread. Her body movements caused the strange yet delightful scent of her aroma to waft towards him in waves.
He grabbed his ripped shirt collar and smothered his face with it to block out the smell, but it didn't help. His sensitive nose quickly picked up the scent again and again, and he couldn't escape it.
Suddenly, his eyes flew open. It had all become perfectly clear.
His heightened senses. The burning after the bite. The fact that he wasn't hungry, at least for food, after almost three days.
The creature that had bitten him had infected him with his venom. He has made me a creature of the night! A creature of Satan! The kind of creature that my father and our congregation hunt!
His mind screamed at him as his throat continued to burn with a white hot fire as he debated what to do. The urge to tackle the stout woman began to overcome him, and he fought with every ounce of his reserve to hold his breath, as that seemed to be the only relief he could find.
"Agard, we need to go to market! These blasted rats been at the wheat stores again!" the woman screeched, her hot breath resounding off the bare dirt wall of the cellar. Carlisle squinted his eyes shut as the white hot fire in his throat seared unrelentingly.
It was painfully apparent that something was wrong, and he knew what it was. The bite had changed him indeed.
After what felt like an endless eternity of sheer torture, the woman finally found what she needed and returned up the steps. A quick glance out the cellar doors let him know that the daylight had finally faded into the darkness of night. He knew he needed to leave and figure out what was going on with his seemingly strange new body. He exited the cellar doors and crept into the dark night, only to be bombarded with a plethora of smells and sights. He hadn't noticed the change in his eyesight in the dark cellar, but he could now see and sense things that he never could have before. Sucking in a breath, he was jolted from his fascination by the return of the white hot fire that had smoldered his throat earlier.
Blinking rapidly, he rubbed his eyes and tried to concentrate. He knew that he had to find his father and explain to him that he was alright, but his mind could not seem to recall anything about where exactly he could find his home. While one part of his mind contemplated this, the other half of it snapped its attention to a drunken man, stumbling in the alley way behind him.
His head whipped sideways, his eyes quickly zeroing in on the large man staggering from the back of an inn, reeking of ale and sweat.
How could I know what he smells of from all the way over here? Carlisle pondered, his mouth once again filling with the bitter, sweet liquid. Why do I crave this man so?
He barely had time to finish the thought before his feet began moving and he was hovering behind the intoxicated slob, who was now teetering down the alleyway.
Carlisle swallowed the mouth full of liquid and tried to restrain himself before the man saw him and questioned him. Just when he thought he could turn away and run, the man exhaled loudly, unbuttoning his thick coat slightly as the liquor he had consumed caught up with him.
Carlisle didn't even have time to blink before he felt his hands rip the flimsy fabric from the neck of the coat, spitting it to the ground. His hands wove their way into the greasy hair as he ripped his head back to expose his pulsing jugular. Carlisle's mouth dripped with anticipation as he bared his teeth and prepared to sink them into the flesh below them. The man cried out in muffled surprise and fear, his heart beat thrumming in the still of the darkness.
"Ahhhh!!!" he cried out. "I do not wish to die by the way of the demon of the night!" he cried, his screams muffled by Carlisle's arm as he held him steadfastly against his chest.
His cries soon grew louder as Carlisle paused, his teeth exposed and ready to bite into his skin, which had grown clammy with sweat in his panic.
"I do not want to die!" he cried, shaking with fear.
What am I doing? I can't harm this man! I'm studying to be a man of god! I cannot do this! His mind screamed at him. Suddenly, Carlisle snapped his mouth shut. He stood, startled, in the silent alley as the man struggled against his iron grip. Releasing his hair and neck, his eyes stayed locked on the pulse that vibrated in his throat. The man stumbled back, his eyes wild with fear, straining to see him in the black night. Carlisle held his breath and turned to run, darting away.
He didn't notice how far or fast he was running into the darkness. He held his breath, for that was the only thing that seemed to temporarily relieve the fire in him. Habit told him he needed to take a breath, but necessity did not make him as he ran, increasing his speed with every bound.
He stopped suddenly, a scent catching his nostrils all at once. Wood...incense…wine…the smells invaded his senses and he was overwhelmed for a moment.
He was home.
Carlisle stood in front of the doors of the church for a few moments, shocked that he had finally remembered where he lived. Its coming back…perhaps I am not what I fear I am. I am home.
His comforting thoughts weren't able to stay in his mind long; the tempting, unknown smell he had associated with humans made his mouth water and fill with the strange, sweet liquid. Normally he would have shifted in discomfort, but his stone body stood still as a statue as his mind was flooded with images.
He could now remember the small wooden chapel that was next door to their living quarters, which was meager at best. His father, a man of the church, had never been one for fancy things as he believed it set a greedy example for the church. The two of them had lived there since Carlisle's birth. He winced at the thought of his lonely life with his father. Yes, more and more memories were coming back to him now.
Suddenly he remembered.
He recalled the pressure to join the church and lead as a member of the clergy, never to have a family of his own. He had studied religion since he was a small boy at the hand of his father, spending many nights in his small room studying the bible by candlelight. He remembered the solitude of being a young boy growing up with a father who was still mourning the loss of a wife and mother. He remembered lashings he had received from his father's leather belt when he could not recite the scripture properly.
Glancing to the side, he noted that no one was on the darkened streets. His ears could pick up no trace of movement along the cobblestone streets in front of the church as he slunk to the side and moved towards the back door through the chapel.
When he went to open the door, the hinges threatened to squeak under the rust of the bolt. He pursed his lips in frustration and debated what do to next. Looking up, he noticed the window to his father's office was slightly ajar, about twenty feet above him.
He reached up tentatively, grasping onto a stone that stuck out enough to wedge his fingers into. Pulling himself up, he was suddenly jolted by the strange sensation of sand filling the hand that he had placed on the stone.
His hand had crumbled the stone to pieces.
He pulled it away to stare at each individual grain of sand that fell from his hand as he turned it over to empty it. Frozen, he could barely suck in the panicked breaths as they came, faster and faster.
His stomach turned and twisted with this knowledge of his new found strength. His hopes that he would be able to return home a normal young man of the church were becoming slimmer and slimmer.
His hopes that he hadn't been dammed by a creature of Satan were also growing slimmer with each passing second and with each new horrific discovery of a change to his body. The speed. The strength. The burning fire in his throat that caused him to almost attack two people in a matter of hours.
Clutching his chest, he doubled over as his eyes began to sting with the familiar feeling of tears. He knew it wasn't right for a man to cry; it showed weakness and frailty, neither of which his father would stand for.
How would he face his father now that he knew what he had become? He couldn't. He simply couldn't. He clutched his chest tighter as the realization hit him that he wouldn't be able to go home again. Ever. The pain increased as the thoughts of where he could go to hide flooded his mind.
Suddenly, he gasped. His heart that had beat inside his chest for almost twenty four years, was still. He had no heartbeat. He was indeed a monster.
Glancing up at the window to his father's office, he had made his decision; he would leave. He would go up into the dense forests that overlooked the foggy city, and he would dispose of himself to that he wouldn't hurt anyone- ever.
He momentarily embraced what he was and collected himself so that he could say his goodbyes. Jumping up, he silently scaled the back of the church, placing his hands gently on the stones as he pulled himself up enough to peek inside the window.
The burn in his throat increased as he laid eyes on his father's upstairs office. The room was simple; wooden floors, a small fireplace, and a modest desk in the corner where his father sat to study and compose his sermons. His father had always insisted that the two men live simple, uncomplicated lives; he believed it brought them closer to God to be with the fewest amount of possessions possible.
Carlisle held his breath and winced as his father entered the room with their family friend, William. He shrunk back below the window, just out of sight, perched easily on the side of the stone side of the house.
"Is it as we feared, William? Can you not find my son anywhere?" his father asked. Carlisle winced as he realized that his father had actually been looking for him. Losing his focus, he sucked in a pained breath before realizing something horrible: his own father smelled absolutely mouthwatering to him.
He winced, squeezing his eyes shut, and tried his best to listen to the rest of the conversation.
"I am sorry…I regret…that there is no trace of him anywhere."
Carlisle heard his father think for a moment, his teeth grinding as he thought. "You saw him be bitten? Of that you are absolutely sure?"
There was a pause from William. "Yes, I am sure. From what we saw before we fled…he was attacked brutally, I regret to inform you. The monster attacked him first…they are not slow thinking creatures. He knew that dear Carlisle was the leader of our quest."
Carlisle heard his father shuffle some pieces of parchment on his wooden desk, the motion sending his delicious scent wafting towards the window. He gripped the stones that he clung to below the window, wincing again as they became shards of sand in his fingertips. He clamped his iron jaw shut and tried his best not to breathe as he waited.
"Then it is…certain that …my son is dead."
Carlisle heard William nod, and the two men began to stir as they prepared to leave the office. Not that it mattered, he had heard enough. His father thought him dead, and to him, that was better than knowing what he truly was.
Glancing up at the night sky, he feared that daylight was soon approaching. He would need to get out of the city before something else horrible could happen. Flames of torture licked at his throat as he ghosted through the cobblestone streets, careful to hold his breath and avoid anything that moved.
His newfound speed was a sick, masochistic joke. It only made it more tempting for him to want to sneak up on an innocent human and kill them that much faster. He continued to grind his teeth together as he ran to the outskirts of the city, much further than he had ever ventured in his old life.
The hideous burning in his throat continued as he ran. It was like the sicknesses he had gotten as a small child that caused him to cough up blood and have a sore throat for days, only a thousand times worse. His throat was the only part of his body that still burned like he had for days in the horrid cellar.
He came to a halt once he had reached a row of carriage houses that were on the outskirts of the city. Still holding his breath, he looked around at the paddocks full of horses and mules that were used to pull carts and work in the fields. Their throbbing hearts were taunting him as they pumped blood through their large bodies, and he closed his eyes in pain as his throat was racked with flames.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound of the large, beating hearts called to him, making his ears ring and his mouth flood with the strange, bitter liquid as he stood, fixated on them. His feet began to move forward against his will.
No! Stop! Stop this! His mind screamed at him. Blinking his eyes several times quickly, he hoped to steady himself. He exhaled sharply, his throat searing with pain once again as he tried to regain his control.
Suddenly, something glimmering in the moonlight caught his eyes. Before he could even finish the thought, he was at a trough where there was water for the animals. He cupped his hands together and filled them with the rancid smelling water. Paying no mind to the smell, he began to drink. He drank mouthful after mouthful, stopping finally to see if the burning had decreased.
But the fire raged on.
He let out a tearless sob; nothing would make the fire go away. He had to get away from the city before he did something that would put another life in danger. His mind had been made up. It was time to leave London.
Dragging himself up, he took one last long look at the edge of the city before turning towards the hills and running. He ran and ran until he was certain he was far enough away not to be tempted to harm anyone.
Turning back, he saw the faint lights that lined the cobblestone and dirt roads of the city he had grown up in and lived his entire life.
Hanging his head, he let his body be wracked with another tearless cry. That life was over. He was living a different life now. He was damned.
He wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, staring at London from a distance when the sun began to rise over the far hills to the east.
How ironic that the sun decides to shine on the same day that I wake up as a creature of the darkness… he thought bitterly to watched as the sun's rays began to awaken the city, crawling over it inch by inch as it made its way to the center of the sky. The clouds nearby threatened to cover it as they usually did in London, but the light shone through.
When the sight of his abandoned city became too much, he turned and began to walk slowly through the hilly woods. He closed his eyes as he walked, blinking slowly as he tried to decide what to do with himself. He was suddenly distracted by several beams of light hitting the leaves on the plants and trees around him. The sunlight poured through the thick foliage where he walked, allowing small rays to hit his skin and warm it.
Carlisle stopped suddenly, holding up his hand into a beam of the sunlight. His skin shone in the light unlike anything he had ever seen before. The millions of facets on his stony skin shone brighter than the jewels he had seen adorned on the ladies at court. One glance at his skin would put their prized diamonds and rubies to shame.
He was horrified.
The reflections bounced off of every flat, green surface around him, making the sunny forest look like it had been coated with diamonds and emeralds. He gasped loudly, touching his face and arms, trying to see if it could be washed away.
His throat burned and tightened again, making him recoil violently. The reflections bounced and gleamed on the leaves around him as he broke into a run. He had to hide himself, and fast. If anyone caught sight of him, they would know he was a monster for sure.
He darted through the forest, trying to find a place to hide himself from the sun and from any eyes that might happen to be out in the forest. He ran and ran, growing more and more panicked with each second that went by and he wasn't protected from the light that made him flash like a warning light to everyone around him.
Finally, he found it. The secluded cave sat behind the rocky waterfall that he had located near the mouth of a river, far from the sunlight. He had been there for days.
He sat in the darkness, hanging his head in silent prayer as his throat burned on and on. He had lost count of how many days he had spent in the solitude of the dark cavern, the only sound around him the rushing water that flowed quickly over the entrance of his hiding place. He listened to the sound of the water flowing over the jagged rocks and falling into the pool below, wincing as the sound mocked him. The water he had greedily consumed by the horse troughs had done nothing to quench his thirst; in fact, he was fairly certain it had made it worse.
The stale liquid had sat in his stomach for days; he could feel it. He had wretched and coughed to get it out, and it had been a painstakingly slow process that he did not enjoy. In the sunless days since he had found the cave, he had made several discoveries about his new body, and each one more horrifying than the other.
He couldn't drink, he couldn't eat; his body no longer passed anything through it. And worst of all, he could not sleep. He never grew tired, he never was uncomfortable, even on the rocky floor of the cave, and he never felt his stomach turn with hunger.
The fire in his throat still raged on.
He winced as he thought of how positively singed his throat felt. Raising his hand, he cupped the outside of it, feeling it slowly. It didn't feel hot or charred like it seemed like it should.
His eyes fell on the remains of the wooden stake he had crafted from a piece of driftwood he had found in the corner of his dark cave. He had carved it carefully and painstakingly, making it as sharp as he could by rubbing it for hours against the granite rocks of the cave walls. Carlisle cringed at the memory. At the end of the first day he had attempted to drive the stake into his heart, only to find that it splintered into dust upon impact against his skin. He had looked at himself in disbelief; not even a mark was on his ivory chest.
When that had failed, he had submerged himself into the cool water on the other side of the waterfall, hoping to fill his lungs and drown in the depths of the pool. After almost an hour of trying, he swam to the surface and coughed up all the water that he had inhaled.
His last attempt at suicide had failed the most miserably of them all. Waiting for nightfall, he followed the river down to where it met the sea to find tall cliffs that rose above the crashing waves. He had easily scaled the sharp rocks and dove off the highest peak, only to land like a feather on the ground below.
He snorted to himself as he lay against the walls of the cave. Had he been a fool to think that he and his father could have killed the creatures that lurked in the London sewers? Yes. Every single way they had planned to kill the creatures had been proven useless by his fruitless attempts at suicide. He couldn't be killed. It was hopeless; he was damned to this fiery, torturous life forever. He couldn't even end it himself.
Looking towards the entrance of the dark cave that had become his home, he saw that darkness was falling on the day once again. He sat, still as the stones that supported him, and stared lazily into the bleakness.
Suddenly, the wind shifted and brought with it a scent that made his mouth water and his throat go up in flames even more than he thought possible. Surely it was singed black from the heat by now, but he couldn't think of that. The only thing he could think about was the smell that was floating though the walls of the cave where he sat.
He couldn't' take it anymore.
His body took over his brain and he barely registered that he was flying through the cave and through the water, crashing into the waterfall.
Beating hearts had traveled too close, and for that, they would meet their demise. He lunged towards them and attacked.
He couldn't think; his eyes couldn't see; he couldn't breathe. He couldn't do anything but give into the thirst. His mouth was positively dripping with fluid-which he decided by now was venom- making it hard to think about anything but the beating hearts that pumped blood through the veins of the creatures in front of him. He had one thought, and it stood out in his clouded mind like a beacon of light in a hurricane.
As soon as the thick, delicious smelling liquid hit his lips, he quickly drained the squirming body that he held clenched in his hands. His ears barely registered the sickening crunch that the bones beneath his hands made as he drained body after body, his senses overpowering him. The smell was too much to bear, and soon nothing else mattered but the scarlet liquid that was quickly sating him and cooling the fires that had raged in his throat for days.
Relief, at last.
No…no! This is wrong! I can't do this…I'm a demon….
Once the fire in his throat had been put out, his eyes glazed over in panic for what he had just done. He squeezed his eyes shut and retreated back to the cave, streaking into the darkness to hide once more.
He cowered there, his jaw clenched and his hand covering his mouth tightly. Pulling it back slightly , he winced again when he saw the traces of blood that lingered there.
He was a murderer.
He had done the very thing he promised himself he wouldn't do.
He had fed.
Carlisle covered his eyes in despair. It was three days later, and he hadn't moved from his position of cowering in shame on the stone floor of his cave. He rubbed his eyes and looked up towards the entrance, noticing that the sun had shown itself once again.
He exhaled sharply as he felt his throat again. After he had committed the murders, one after the other and fed, the fire had been put out. He no longer suffered. But at what cost? He had brought death, plain and simple.
As if to remind him of his heinous actions, the shining sun beat down on the rotting carcasses of his victims outside the cave. The smell of the dead bodies rotting and decomposing had tortured him for almost an entire day now, and he was sure that it would only get worse.
They deserve a proper burial…I owe it to them, and to God, even if I am damned.
He paused, asking God silently for the strength to do what he knew he had to. Rising up, he slowly exited the cave and stepped into the waiting sunlight. He winced at the bright light and sucked in a last breath as the horrid stench of his victims hit his nose.
He walked to the shores of the water where he had fed and slowly raised his eyes, bracing himself for the sight of the mangled, drained bodies.
But there were none.
He frowned in disbelief as his eyes found nothing but deer carcasses. Deer. Only deer. A heard of eight of them lay scattered on the shores of the river, their bodies mangled and drained, just as he had suspected.
They must have come to the water's edge to get a drink…and I…drained them…I drained deer, not people, he thought, looking around him in bewilderment. He grasped his blonde, messy hair tightly, the feeling of his fingers breaking him from his shock.
He had committed a murder, but it was none more terrible than he had done in his human life when he had eaten veal and other animals. He cowered away from the rotting animals slightly, still ashamed for what he had done, but he was mainly relieved that he hadn't done what he had feared.
He had not killed a human.
Looking up at the sky, he ignored the rotten smell and fell to his knees in silent prayer. As the sunlight hit his skin and made him shimmer and sparkle, he prayed to God. He prayed for the strength to continue resisting humans; he prayed for permission to feed on animals, and most importantly, he prayed for hope.
He would not be able to return to his beloved city ever again and risk being seen – he knew this for sure. He would have to go somewhere far away and start over, avoiding humans at all cost. It was going to be a lonely life, indeed, but he was sure that he could do it if it meant that he wouldn't harm anyone else.
His mind had been made. Staying to the woods, he would be able to stay away from temptation and near the animals that would satisfy him and make him not want to harm innocents.
Raising his face to the sky, he inhaled quietly as he made his promise to himself. Slowly, he buried the bodies of the drained deer, patting the damp earth over the shallow graves he had dug for them. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he stood and brushed the dirt and soil off his hands before taking a look around the pond and cave that had been his safe haven for his first lonely week as a vampire.
The word still made his stomach turn with fear and uncertainty, but, as he looked to the sky and muttered another silent prayer, he secured his resolve to only do good. He began to walk further into the woods, clenching his razor sharp teeth in determination for this new goal.
His mind was made up, and his promise to God had been made. To wander the world and kill at random was not in his nature, vampire urges be damned. He might be immortal, he might be a monster, and he might be eternally cursed, but he still had hope.