Disclaimer: I reject credit for this. Credit goes to Stephanie Meyer, et al.

Afterlife

Chapter One

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow-- sorrow for the lost Lenore--

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me-- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,

"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--

This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you"-- here I opened wide the door;--

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--

Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--

'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning-- little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door--

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered-- not a feather then he fluttered--

Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before--

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of 'Never-- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of a bird, and bust and door;

Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee-- by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite-- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-- prophet still, if bird or devil!--

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--

On this home by Horror haunted-- tell me truly, I implore--

Is there-- is there balm in Gilead?-- tell me-- tell me, I implore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil-- prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us-- by that God we both adore--

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting--

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!-- quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted-- nevermore!

"You're here early. I was just reading some poetry—'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe; have you read it?"

"What are you doing here?" I asked, annoyance laced within every syllable I spoke.

She looked slightly put out. "Why wouldn't I be here? It's your dream."

"Why would I be dreaming of you is what I'm asking. I'm not stupid, you know," I snapped defensively.

"Hmm. That is a good question." She seemed to muse to herself for a moment. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"I don't have anything to say to you."

Silence lingered between us before she prodded another question. "Are you feeling guilty about something?"

"No," I said bluntly, and she chuckled softly. I made sure to shoot her a withering glare and demanded, "What's so funny?"

"Well," she said, a devious grin forming on her face. "Take our lives, for instance. You and I come from completely different worlds. Who would have ever thought that we would be here right now, having this conversation? We're coming from two different realities here."

"Dreams have a tendency to bring together two inherent realities, you know. It's not exactly a news flash."

Her smile slowly faded. I fought the urge to reach out and gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, no matter how mad I was at her. I used to only do this so that I would have an excuse to brush up against the soft, smooth skin of her face as I pulled my hand away. It didn't matter that the amount of contact was miniscule; I could still feel electricity running through my veins whenever I touched her.

"I have to go," I stated abruptly.

"But you just fell asleep," she countered, her bottom lip slightly protruding.

I gave her a knowing look. I wanted to stay. Really, I did. But I was so mad at her I could feel my skin trembling. I didn't want to fight anymore.

"You have to let me go."

"No, I don't," she said simply. "I can't."

"Whose dream is this, anyway?! I don't have to listen to you lie anymore." Before I could wake up, however, my attention was drawn by her expression. It had changed from amused, disappointed, to...pained.

I watched in strange fascination as her pain visibly spread throughout her body, down her limbs and to her fingertips. Her once fluid movements became jagged before she collapsed to the ground. Her body lay in a heap, and I stood frozen in indecision, not knowing what to do or how to help, if I even could. My first instinct was to simply leave her there, and allow her to deal with it herself, but she was staring at me, pleading with me to aid her discomfort, to assuage her pain as if she were constricted by some unseen force. Her breathing grew ragged.

Giving in to my meager conscience despite my prejudices, I moved swiftly to her side and knelt on the ground. I extended my hand to touch her, but recoiled as if I had been burned by scalding water. Caressing my imaginary burn, I let out a ragged breath of my own before reaching to touch her once more. My senses were waging an internal war—should I aid her? Could I do anything if he tried? What good would it do in the long run?

And then, she was gone. Nothing could save her now. She was lifeless. Dead, because I had waited—vacillated between whether or not I should save her. Dead because I couldn't get over my grudges and prejudice.

I woke with a start. Gasping for breath, I let my eyes searched my surroundings blindly. I was on the ground, dewy grass dampening my fur. I was not alarmed by waking in this surrounding—waking up in my own room hadn't been a frequent thing since…well, a long time. It appeared as though I'd just awakened from a bad dream—the same one I'd been having for the last few months. I waited until my racing pulse had returned to normal before getting up; suddenly I wasn't so tired anymore.

The fact that I was outside of Bella Swan's, or Bella Cullen's, father's house didn't alarm me either. I'd made a strange habit to sleep walk in my wolf form lately. I couldn't help but wonder what the others thought—they must've been sleeping, because their thoughts were peculiarly quiet right now. I was thankful for that.

My dreams—yes, my dreams of her—were never pleasant. They varied slightly in the beginning, but invariably ended with her collapsed and dying on the ground. I would stand idly by, torn between what I knew, or thought, was right...and what I simply wanted to do, which, of course, resided on the wrong end of the moral compass. And so, every dream always ended in the same fashion. But now I wished with a sudden and surprising sense of regret that I had chosen to just help the leech-lover.

"Oh, come off it! Get a hold of yourself. You've done nothing wrong. It was a stupid dream!" I yelled incredulously into the darkness.

I proceeded to follow through with the same old routine I made when I would wake up outside of Bella's old window: every time I'd have this dream, I'd wake up, orient myself, transform into my human form, and climb up the tree outside her window. From there, I would extend myself on the branch and pause at the window, listening. Of course, I would never hear anything. Sometimes I would stop at the window, then leave after a minute of softly banging my head up against it. But this time I placed a hand on the sill and lifted it.

Her room looked the exact same way it had a few months ago. Her bed was neatly made and topped off with a couple of frilly pillows and a teddy bear. On her nightstand were a few framed pictures of her and the other two members of her friendship in high school. I couldn't recall one of the girl's names, but I knew the other was Jessica. In each picture, they were smiling and laughing. I scowled down at the picture and wondered if she ever glanced down at the picture herself and noticed the way her bloodsucker boyfriend was looking at her—as if she were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Well I'll be damned, I couldn't help but think bitterly. The leech probably did love her after all. I grunted and placed the frame back onto the table. I picked up another one, similar to the one I'd just set down. So many of the pictures scattered all over her room were of them; only a few were of her and her father, or of her and some other random classmate. I figured the framed picture that sat directly in the middle of them all was of her mother, though I had never met the woman. I sighed. She had so many pictures scattered everywhere, of so many people who were near and dear to her heart. It was no surprise to see that there was no picture of me anywhere, but it still hurt nevertheless.

I sat down on her bed, picked up the stupid teddy bear and scoffed. A grown girl with a teddy bear. I would've loved to have known she'd had this; I could've made fun of her for it. She'd probably slept with it every night, pretending it was Boy Wonder she was holding in her arms. At this thought, I threw the teddy bear across the room as hard as I could. It slammed up against her dresser; the force of it knocking one of her precious framed pictures onto the floor, shattering the glass. Feeling guilty about my sudden fit of anger and fearing I might've wakened Charlie, I picked the picture up from the floor. Despite the fall, the Golden Couple was still smiling and laughing and acting as though they did't have a care in the world.

"Damn you, Bella," I spat. I could've sworn that when I spoke, the girl in the picture looked directly at me. The greatest thing about pictures was that they could be kept for eternity. Well, so long as it wasn't destroyed. But until then, even if the girl in the picture was gone, you could always remember the way she looked when she smiled and blinked and gave an exasperated look. You could always remember the way she looked when she was looking at you.

"Stupid girl," I said to the picture. "Stupid scrawny, pale-faced, leech-loving, bookworm." I let out a sound that was a mix between a sob and a laugh as I gently placed the frame back where it belonged, and got rid of the shards of glass. I picked up the bear and held it out in front of me.

"So you're the lucky guy who got to spend every night in bed with her," I said, chuckling. I sat back down on her bed, placing the bear in the exact same spot it had been moments before. I was ashamed of myself. I had come into her room in the middle of the night and practically desecrated it. She would have greatly disapproved of my behavior. She most likely would have scolded me for it, and then continued to lecture me about respecting other people's things.

Damn, I missed her so much.

The most wonderful thing about having the luxury of transforming into a human was that I could sit here, like I was now, and succumb to the emotions that racked my entire body without eavesdroppers. I could separate the coalesced thoughts of the tribe. I had been taught growing up to bottle up all of my feelings and to never show the world my weaknesses to help strengthen the tribe. But alone in Bella's bedroom, where everything reminded me of her, those feelings were too strong to keep inside. I felt that if I were to keep them hidden away, my heart would explode in my chest.

So I sat there and for the first time, I cried.

Bella's bed became quite inviting after that. Exhaustion was sweeping over me. Although I had managed to receive four hours of rest before the dream took hold, I desperately craved more, but knew it would be utterly fruitless to even attempt my luck. Four hours was pushing it, and the images of Bell—well, her—lying cold and still on the ground were still burned into my retinas. I knew the best way to avoid seeing them would be to stay conscious, though my eyelids quivered at the idea of not being granted relief until morning came. It felt like it'd be eons from now. That blasted ray of sunshine would fill the room the moment I finally felt like closing my eyes to sleep, prompting me to start a new day instead.

It came before I expected. I must've fallen asleep after all. Glancing down at the ray of sunlight that was peeking through the curtains and shining across the bed, I groaned. It was morning already, meaning it was time to start the new day I thought was going to take years to come. Today, I realized, would be the same as it was every day. Things still hadn't quite gotten back to normal yet, despite the fact it had been months. Edward and the Cullens managed to drag themselves into society every day (I'd been keeping tabs on him), though just barely.

I'd been keeping tabs on Edward for no other reason other than that I wanted to kill him. So desperately, so passionately and wantonly that it took my whole tribe to stop me. They had talked me into waiting, and we had a plan set out to take our time and kill him. He had broken the treaty.

I knew, and for once I knew there was absolutely no possible way that I could relate to the vampires.

Placing the teddy bear back onto the bed exactly where I'd found it, I mustered up all the energy I could to leave the room and return to the tribe to make some rounds.

I left her room without looking back. I still felt ashamed of the way I'd acted last night, and I wanted to try and forget about it for right now. Like every other day for the past few months, I told myself that today was going to be different. Today, I was going to put everything behind me and move on—forget my anger, and my love. And like every other day, I knew I was lying—because today was different. It had been exactly three months ago today that my world had been torn apart and ripped to shreds, exactly two months ago today that the only important thing in my life had been violently taken away from me.

It had been exactly three months ago today that Isabella Swan died.