Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
Let me know what you guys think, okay? Review! Pretty pretty please? I want to whether or not you guys think I should continue this story. The story line just...smacked me in the face about a half an hour ago. (That's me apologizing for the extreme shortness. Then again, it's the preface.)
·§ Love Kills Slowly §·
"Unbeing dead isn't being alive."
– E.E. Cummings –
April 6, 1917
Third Person POV
The day was peaceful. Clear sky, although there was no sun. Birds chirping, although none could be seen. The war always in the distance, a constant disturbance in the background.
The perfect day for a funeral.
The mourners were all dressed in black. Some were sobbing, while many still had tears streaming down their faces. The loss of an impeccable family had devastated the town. The priest hung his head low, his eyes closed.
"Let us commend Isabella Marie Swan to the mercy of God."
After the tragic scene had been discovered the past November, the police could only account for six bodies―the three of the killers and the three of the family. However, there were four family members total. Everyone had hoped, everyone had prayed, that at least she had survived.
Last night, their hopes had been crushed, their prayers left unanswered.
One of the few remaining search parties had apparently found the body of the missing girl.
Some had half-heartedly argued that she was still alive; the body had been badly burned, so the doctors had based their assumption on body size. The police had wanted the case, no matter how cruel and heart-wrenching, to be closed. There had been no hard evidence that the body was that of Isabella Swan.
Then again, there had been no evidence that body was not hers, either. It had been a long winter; impossible for anyone living in the woods the whole season to survive. It was only logical to assume the body was hers.
And so, the town had grieved over the losses: a successful but modest businessman, a welcoming and sociable woman, a newborn baby girl, and of course, Isabella, the flawless child.
"We therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life."
At the end of the service, some went home. Others went to the houses of their fellow friends for comfort. Still others stayed to try and grasp the reality of what had happened.
No one noticed the young lady in the shadows.
No one noticed how she kept her distance from the rest of the mourners.
No one noticed how she hadn't shed even one tear.
No one noticed how behind the dark veil masking her face, she was smirking at the priest's choice of words.
No one noticed that the young lady stayed in the shadows because she had to.
No one noticed how she kept her distance from everyone else because otherwise, she would be putting them in danger.
No one noticed how she hadn't shed any tears because she couldn't shed any tears.
No one noticed how she was smirking because of the irony in the words the priest had said.
It was what everyone dreamed about, what everyone wished for. But it was something nobody truly wanted or needed.
When you can live forever, what do you live for?