Full Description:"If I'm going to be Bella Swan, I'm going to be a kickass Bella Swan. No one - vampire, human, or otherwise - is going to be able to control me. I am my own person."
Isabelle Janet Queen was just an ordinary girl who grew up into an ordinary woman who had an ordinary death. What happened next was the extraordinary part.
After dying, Isabelle woke up again - this time as a 10-year old Isabella Marie Swan, a character in a book series Isabelle had previously hated. Needless to say, sh*t's gonna hit the fan.

Hello! I'm the Setting Swan, but you can call me Anastasia - or just Ana. You know, if you so prefer.

You may have read the fanfiction I posted earlier, Midnight, before I deleted it, and if you have, I imagine you're wondering why I deleted it. Well, I didn't really understand the character and the writing was kind of lackluster. I may repost it later, edited, or I may not - I don't know yet.

Okay, so, anyway, I had this this idea after reading a mix of a couple of SI!OC fanfictions, like Twilight'd and Tossing Stones on this website and False Dawn on Archive of Our Own - I read plenty more, but those are the ones that immediately come to mind. But, basically, I wondered what would happen if someone like me, with my own . . . unique personality, ended up as Bella Swan.

Hopefully you guys enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I, the Setting Swan, do not own Twilight. What I do own is Isabelle Queen/my version of Bella Swan and my changes to the canon of Twilight. That's all mine - except for the ideas I borrow from other fanfiction writers. That's not mine (though I wish it was *sigh* oh, well).

Warning(s): Isabelle/Bella kind of has a potty-mouth (like me) and so she will curse every so often. More so when the story actually starts. Just a forewarning.

Swan

Preface

"She died-this was the way she died;
And when her breath was done,
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.
Her little figure at the gate
The angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side."

― Emily Dickinson, Selected Poems

I hadn't given much thought on how I would die previously.

At first, it was because I was young, and it was just so impossible for the young to die- we had so much potential, so much life that would be wasted if we were to be struck down early. That belief died when my younger sister, Alice, did. She was only 14 when she died, and I was devastated - to say the least.

My second reason was that I was busy. With being part of the management for the marching band team (we were going to State if I had anything to say about it, dammit! [and as part of Leadership, I did]), preparations for graduating high school, preparations for registering for college, preparations for entering college, my creative writing, my friends, and my family, I was so busy I didn't have time to think about death.

As I grew older and things started slowing down, though, things started to change. My family, my precious, precious family, started disappearing. First it was Alice, then it was my grandmother, my great-grandfather, my cousin, my aunt, my uncle, my mother, my brother, my father. Everyone seemed to be disappearing, leaving me all alone.

I won't lie - I considered suicide; I seriously, seriously thought about it. And just when I thought I would do something about the desire, make the plunge, I met Edmund.

Oh, I know. Old-fashioned name and clearly similar to Twilight.

God, he and I both hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate that series. He and I, while going out on dates, would always get snide comments about how similar our names were to the "star-crossed" lovers of the Twilight Saga. Needless to say, we weren't too happy about any of it.

But Edmund made me happy. He made me really, really happy.

I stopped thinking about death after I met him, and we got married a year and half after we first started dating.

The only regret I have is that my family wasn't able to come to the wedding, that my father wasn't able to walk me down the aisle.

But he and I were happy, and just when I thought that nothing could ever tear us apart, something did.

I died.

At 36, nearing 37, due to complications with giving birth to our daughter, I died.

I know I died.

The entire time, through all of the agonizing contractions, I could feel my strength slipping away, I knew I would not survive past giving birth. But, still, I forced my way through; I would not let my precious baby's life be forfeit because of my own weakness. I would persevere, if for no other reason than to ensure that she can live when my life is over and done with.

I squeezed my husband's hand and prayed to whatever deity there was out there that I would survive to see my baby girl's face.

I didn't.

I slipped into the darkness just before my baby girl had slipped from my body, and all feeling was left at the door. I tumbled, head-first, into the mind-numbing nothingness that is Death and reveled in the peace that I had last been greeted with. But just as I had gotten comfortable, everything changed.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up. Not as myself, but as a 10-year old Isabella Marie Swan.

Fuck.

Next time on Swan:

"I'm Renée - your mom."
I shook my head. "You . . . You can't be," I said and, by chance, I looked away from the woman who looked about to lunge at me in a hug and looked into the reflective side of a hot dog stand.
Staring back at me was the spitting image of Kristen Stewart at 10, with waving brown hair and chocolate brown eyes slightly too large for her heart-shaped face. Blood oozed from the spot on her temple that my pain originated from, and I reached up to touch the spot, watching in disbelief as the mini-Kristen Stewart mimicked me; my fingers came away red.
Then it all went black.

My 'cancer stick' (as Charlie and the others have always called it) is burning low, the fire nearly at my lips, so I pinch it between my index and middle fingers and take one last drag. Once finished, I flick the butt away from me and grind it into the pavement with the heel of my high-heeled combat boot. I sigh and lean back into the concrete wall of the grocery store, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Does your dad know you smoke?" Mike asks from his position a few feet away, perched on a green, plastic table with his feet propped up on the seat. He has his arm thrown over Jessica's shoulder, and they both look pleased with their proximity; she's leaning into his embrace, and he has his chin propped up on the crown of her head, his face nearly buried in her dark, wildly curly hair.

I pretty much had my shit together.
Little did I know, that was about to change.

"You guys ready for school to start again tomorrow?"

. . . more laughter sounded than I was expecting. Beautiful laughter, too - like bells.
I tense and turn slightly.
Climbing out of the car . . . is an absolutely stunning woman with an equally stunning man, both pale as death.
I know the two instantly. How couldn't I? Like me, they look exactly like their movie counterparts - although they look ten times more flawless . . . Esme and Carlisle Cullen.
My eyes meet orbs of perfect gold, and all I can think is: Oh, shit.

And done!

I'm not really happy with how this turned out, but oh, well. The internet at my house malfunctioned and deleted more than half of a chapter than I was working on, and I'm still not completely over it. I'll probably edit this later, but, for now, I feel like I kind of owe you guys something - so here it is.

Feel free to let me know what you think, but I'd appreciate it if you aren't an asshole about it.

Bye!