Please note: This story is complete. Subsequent postings will be on Tuesday's and Thursdays when time allows.

It is God who suffered them, though He restrained them

they landed with horror, with lofty deed,

in their cloud of mighty combat of spectres,

upon a mountain of Conmaicne of Connacht.

Without distinction to discerning Ireland,

Without ships, a ruthless course

the truth was not known beneath the sky of stars,

whether they were of heaven or of earth.

Lebor Gabála Érenn - The Book of Invasions

Chapter 1: Lost

Weeks dragged by.

Time stretching and twisting over endless days and nights of dull monotony until it ceased to exist in her mind. Hour after hour, sitting in an old chair, watching the ever present rain lash against the window, obliterating blue sky and bright sunlight. Dull, gray and cold. An outward reflection of her inner turmoil.

Pages of the calendar turned.

Holidays passing, school exams, the inevitable push into the New Year. She muddled through it all. Speaking when spoken to, hearing but never really listening to the world going on around her.

Cold.

It was all that stood out in her mind. Always cold. The air, the sky, the feel of her own skin betraying her. All a silent reminder of him. The feel of his cool lips brushing against her own. Icy fingertips that traced the line of her face. The damp forest floor when he left her alone. The raised scar on her wrist that shimmered in the moonlight.

The broken pieces of her heart stabbed and bled without warning. A moment of weakness, a flash of silver driving by, a soft melody trickling from ivory keys. These were the things that caused her chest to split wide open, forcing silent screams from her mouth.

There was no peace to be found in rest. In quiet slumber, the promise of dreams betrayed her. Brightly colored, the wish of happiness. Love within her grasp. Bright blue against a carpet of green. A canopy of trees that gave way to their secret hiding place. It was there that he waited for her. Arms extended, hands outstretched to reach her. She would try and try, but always failed to meet him.

The image would shift, fading into darkness and twisting into a brutal nightmare of truth and despair. A young girl. Broken and bleeding on the damp forest floor. Shattered beyond repair. A flood of tears when warm arms slipped around her body to carry her home. Warm instead of cold. Savior instead of angel. Red instead of white. Friend instead of lover.

Lost.

Bella Swan was lost.