She glared down at me in empty concentration as I simply stood there, frozen in my eight-year old fear. She looked gorgeous; same as always. Her long mahogany hair fell in an intricate wave of curls to the midst of her back. Her eyes shone a soft yet so cold honey gold as they remained glossed over in her steep concentration. I was afraid to ask why she was staring at me as I had only been playing a game of Jacks in the back. She constantly did this; she seemed to follow me wherever I went no matter what and she would just stand and she would just stare at me. I could be miles away or even visiting my grandmother in Ohio and she would still simply find me. It scared me to a point where I couldn't even talk. It wasn't even the stillness in which she stood; more of the emptiness that I saw in her eyes. I would always believe, no matter what, that she did not love me.

I turned back to the ball and mass of spiky Jacks, knowing that she would simply stand there until I went inside and she would not relent until one of us got tired and fell asleep. My father would always say that she loved me; that I could never find a way to make her stop loving me. But sometimes I saw the doubt in his expressions; I saw that he didn't believe his own words. However whenever my mother would look towards my father, her face, as angular and as flawless as it was, would soften and she would give this heartbreakingly sad smile. We never did discover why her smile was so sad.

I picked up the ball and Jacks, turning to get the soft velvet bag to put away the toys. However a hand stopped me from reaching the bag, clutching onto my hand with such a frosty grip that I instantly saw my hands begin to turn red with the cold. If she had held on much longer, I was sure they would turn blue. I did not ask why her hands were so cold. I turned to my mother, the one I knew only because of the biological connection, and narrowed my eyes in confusion, feeling my cheeks hollow as I pursed my lips in irritation. I had always found a way to be irritated and scared all at once, what with my German/Irish heritage.

I looked nothing like my mother, even in the youthful year of eight years old. I always looked like my father with angular features and the dazzling green eyes. My hair fell in a way that was positively stick-straight rather than my mother's curls and far more bizarrely orange rather than my mother's mahogany. And I had never been thin, never been willowy like my mother or tall. I was always short and stubby-like.

"What now, mother?" I managed to hiss at the woman as she released her grip on my hand. She narrowed her eyes in my direction yet her eyes drifted into yet another glossy gaze. "I would advise you to not use that tone with me, little girl." My mother announced, her tone empty and ever so monotonous. I frowned blatantly at this, the irritation fusing with anger inside me.

However I said nothing.

Six Years Later…

Donna clutched onto my hand as I dug my opposite hand into the vinyl of the padded bench beneath me. Not a sound came from the room as Donna and I waited outside, her patient and yet me not. I was terrified that the child hadn't made it and that somehow my mother's cruelty had reached into her insides and elicited a stillborn. I was terrified that quite possibly this child might turn out to be like my mother in all of her cruelty and all of her evilness. However Donna constantly placed a comforting arm around my shoulders, claiming that this baby, this child, would be the best thing that ever happened to me. To me that sounded a bit pathetic but I suppose it would have to do.

My hair dropped to frame my face at mid-neck length, framing my features in a delicate ring of dark highlights and red-orange locks, as I placed my head in my hands and my elbows rested on my knees. "Sim, everything will be alright. Your mom will be fine and so will your little whatever it is." Donna attempted as she placed her hand at the center of my back. If I was to be honest, I was hoping that this child would make it through and my mother wouldn't. She held no love for anything other than my father and I had no doubt she would be just as cruel to this child as she was to me as I grew older. By now, the age of fourteen just barely resting on my shoulders, I had lost all fondness or love for my mother. She was nothing but a blank slate and a harsh piece of metal that only ever softened for my father.

The doctors' voices echoed from the hospital room as I attempted to shut everything out and fantasize what life would be without my mother. I prayed silently for that woman, that harsh cruel evil woman, to die in birth and leave us alone. I had never prayed for anyone to die, never thought about anyone dying with such a fondness. And I believed that many others had also fantasized what the world would be without my mother in it.

I could only wish that my grandmother had been alive to see this new birth. My grandmother had been a very kind, very gentle soul. She had always told me that my mother had been going through a "rough patch" when I told her my doubts in my mother loving me. My grandmother had always comforted me when I had woken in the midst of the night to my mother standing at the foot of my bed at her house. She had always told me that my mother had simply missed me and had come to watch me sleep though I constantly knew that she disbelieved her own words and was quite scared of my mother's stalker-esc tendencies.

At this moment, my grandmother would inform me that my mother would bring a good soul into this world and that I must be grateful for that. She would tell me that my mother would always love me and this new child. However I could never believe her.

I only became aware, yet again, of Donna's hand on my back and the pause of the doctors' voices when I heard the crack of a baby crying, elicited from the hospital room in which my mother had taken residence in. I whipped my head in the direction of the door as I heard it begin to creak open. I turned to find my father, gowned in his mint-colored scrubs, swiping away sweat from his brow and pulling his hands free of his latex gloves. He opened his mouth to speak, the scruff of his stubble parting for his mouth and his eyes glinting in a brilliant green light. You could just barely note the orange-like tendrils, seeping from the bandana on his head and his skin seemed so tan. That appeared to be the only difference between my father and me; our skin seemed to contrast in shades. His skin would always seem so tan whereas mine would always appear a snowy white. Then there was the difference in which I was a girl.

My breath caught as I awaited the news of my mother's and my new sibling's well-being. My father took a deep breath and swallowed before he announced to us the news. "Your mother is fine; she's just resting right now." My father began before his face broke into a fresh grin. "And the baby…." He trailed off for a moment, his eyes glazing over in a daze of new fatherhood. "Well, he's a boy!" My father finally exclaimed. Despite the news of my mother's well-being, my lips parted in a wide grin, allowing all to see my delight in having a new baby brother. I stood from my seat on the bench, Donna following in my every movement before finally I turned to her and grinned.

I could feel my gaze begin to drift in my own haze as I began to imagine everything. My new brother…I would take care of him no matter what and I would do everything in my power to keep him safe. "I have a new brother," I dreamily sighed as Donna took me into a tight embrace. I hugged my best friend back with every fiber of my being, dreaming hazily of my new life as an older sister. Donna squealed from behind our hug as I clutched onto her.

Something is wrong.

I woke to the pitch dark of night, my room emptier and warmer than it had been for several years by now. This could possibly be from the absence of my mother at the foot of my bed. Though I enjoyed the warm feeling of the room as I lay beneath the thick comforters, something felt off in the house to me. Something seemed to be bad in this house; worse than my mother's presence.

I pried my body from the sheets and comforters, pulling my legs to the ground. I attempted at walking without making the sounds that are called for with the wooden floorboards however they still creaked. I stepped into the hall, noting that there was one single light that streamed throughout the entire hallway. I followed the stream of light, coming to a close at Tim's nursery. I frowned as I tapped on the door, opening it with the slightest nudge.

I peered inside, shielding my eyes from the brighter light and forcefully looked to see what had come into this room. My stomach churned in anticipation and horror before I even saw what had come to happen among my younger brother's nursery. I leapt forward, gripping tight onto my mother's arm and hoping to pry it away from the pillow and away from my dying younger brother. "Natalie! Stop it! You're gonna kill him!" I screeched at my mother though she showed no signs of looking up. No emotion was drawn to her eyes, no tears of longing not to do this; nothing was inside my mother. Nothing lived there.

I was terrified by the lack of screaming coming from my younger brother as I tugged and pulled with all my feeble strength to tear my mother's arms away from my smaller brother. Finally I felt my mother's arms give way from the pillow though not by my force. The tears began to come in assumption that my baby brother, a mere month old, had passed through murder by his own mother. I peered up only for a moment to see that my father was holding my mother back by her arms, staring at her in a strange emotion I would ponder on later. I took forward to my brother's crib, stomach clenching in terror and horror, before I finally heard a relieving noise that would haunt me to one day; a hiccup. I stretched my arms into the crib, prying my brother in all his awareness from his sheets and pulling him close to my chest, cradling him in my arms.

As Tim began to cry in my arms, pulling closer to my chest, my breathing came in ragged gasps; terrified for my brother's life. I glanced up at my father, that strange emotion still in his eyes and still painful to see. He held my mother close to his body as if in an embrace though his arms pinned my mother's arms at her sides. She simply looked up at him with that sad, sad smile that disgusted me at that point. I only turned away from my mother's disgusting smile once Tim's cries turned into screeches.

I shushed my brother in my arms, my own tears dried and my body becoming heavy with exhaustion and exasperation. I gave my father a nod quickly, assuring him that I would care for Tim and he could take my mother away from the nursery and away from my sight. My father took this as a sign to drag my mother out, her arms still pinned and her smile still in place though only for him. I stopped watching in disgust when I heard the door slam to their bedroom. My father would take care of her, possibly. I had no clue how and I didn't believe I wanted to know.

I continued to shush my baby brother as I turned to the rickety rocking chair and sat, calming my brother's cries to a wheeze then to a breathy snore. That was the night we discovered just how far gone my mother was.

2 Years Later…

My father stood at the post, his handkerchief in hand and his face lined with wrinkles and exasperation. His suit pulled taut at his body as it was old but only I noticed. A single tear dripped into his ear as he lifted his head to the sky, silently praying, I knew. Tim wriggled in my arms, itching and pulling at his child-sized suit and his red and black striped tie. All was silent in the church as we all sat at the pews; many mourning, others asking why they were here today as they had never met this woman. And most of them, no doubt, had secrets involving the deceased.

"Natalie's…." My father trailed off as he recognized the present-tense of his statement, shutting his eyes in emotional distraught while I simply looked on. I wished that I could hold the same pain as my father; I wished that Timothy could hold memories of her in his fresh mind. However, these wishes were as dead as Natalie herself. "Natalie was a kind woman. She was beautiful and kind and daring and she was just…she was just a very…she was just a very original person." My father stuttered, his voice releasing in a rasp as he lifted his handkerchief dabbing at his forehead.

Tim looked up at me, his bright hazel green eyes questioning just what exactly was happening as I sat silently and still in my own pew in the front as one of the family members of the deceased. Timothy would never ask where Natalie was simply because he would never know who Natalie was. Honestly I never knew either. Resentment strung lightly through my veins at Natalie as I kept my arm wrapped around my younger brother on my lap. Tim jammed his tiny thumb into his mouth, lightly sucking on it. For today I would allow him to do this.

Adrian, my parents' lawyer, patted my lap from beside me. Adrian was a kind old man with a head of white hair and bright navy eyes and at this moment, he didn't fit into the dark suit that he had on. We would have to speak with Adrian immediately after the funeral due to the things that Natalie had left behind for us. I had no clue that the soulless bitch could leave behind things for people she didn't care about.

As my father closed his eulogy and began to exit, stage left, I bounced my baby brother on my knee, smiling at him for reassurance despite the gloomy surroundings.

Tendrils of iron and steel engraved the edges of the wooden chest as its wood seemed decoratively singed and furnished. The handles beautifully fit around my hands whenever I felt the need to lift such an enormous box. However the lock, intricate and elaborate as it was, gouged into the center of the front of the chest, surrounded by the beautiful, thick design. Vines and sigils dabbed at every other area upon the wood, embarked in metal.

I had the key. I just refused to open the chest, despite its beauty and air of mystery, due to whom it was from. Natalie; my biological mother who had spent years upon years frightening the wits out of me. Since I had been born, not once had this woman shown a kindness such as love to me. I did not believe that this woman, this monster who had attempted at murdering my own baby brother after he had been just a mere month old, loved me. I wished to never open this box however there would be a day where I would find it necessary; where I would find the mystery far too tempting and I would open the confines of this chest and find the inner-workings of my biological mother; of Natalie Leona Jager Curamach.

"It's really gorgeous, Cat," Donna admired in a whisk of breath. I rolled my eyes, turning to add a menacing glare however it held no affect upon my beloved best friend. "I can't say it's not," I admitted in a grumble as I turned to sit at my desk. Donna eyes darted back and forth, between me and the offensive object due to its previous owner. "It might not even be your mother's, ya know." Donna murmured as she fell, back-first onto my bed behind the chest. I cocked an eyebrow in the direction of my beloved friend. "What do you mean?" I questioned back just as quietly. Donna shrugged, the action muffled by the sheets and comfort of my bed.

"I mean, it's most likely that this is an heirloom to be passed on. I don't know; to, like, the first born or something…?" Donna elaborated, her face contorting in confusion and doubt at her own words. However when she looked at me, I could do nothing but believe the adorable girl. The young fellow sixteen year old girl held a head of thick, golden blond hair, her face a more rectangular shape than my angular and her eyes a beaming, soft doe-eyed golden brown. She often wore the same clothing; a black tank top and jeans with a gray hoodie. Every part of her screamed effortlessly beautiful and cute.

"It does look really old," I admitted, my voice lower than intended. I glanced up from the chest only to peer at Donna, frowning as I sighed through my nostrils. "I'll open it one day. Just, not today." I admitted to the young friend. Donna frowned but nodded nonetheless, mockingly surrendering.

PRESENT:2 years later

I stared at the offending object that represented all that I hated; Natalie. The chest merely stood, unaffected by my glare as I began to prepare myself. Donna was off in the living room of our apartment, the television buzzing and her completely unaware that today would be the day that I peered into the inner workings of my biological mother's bizarre homicidal mind. She had no clue that today my life would change.

I gripped the old-fashioned key in my hand, despite the imagined feeling that it was burning, white-hot in my palm. The key itched to unlock the very fabric of my life, the only thing that kept me sane. It was the feeling that that lid on that chest was closed; that she was out of my life forever that kept me going and kept me sane. It was the feeling that I didn't need to know what was behind the four wooden walls of the chest. But I could no longer have that feeling as I did need to know. I needed to in order to live or at least that was how it felt.

Finally I took the few shaky steps necessary to get to the chest. Nothing was physically harming me or keeping me away from this chest however it felt as if a hand was gripping at me, attempting to pull me back and attempting to stop me from opening this chest. It was as if this chest would open Pandora's box and if that happened…it could be the end of me.

I lifted the key, pulling it in my hand to where the point was positioned away from me and prepared to unlock this chest full of mysteries. It would unlock everything ever needed to know.

Click.

A/N: So that was just a build-up to the actual story which will begin from when she opens the trunk and stay on her at the age of 18. I don't own Twilight though I wish I did sometimes. And no worries; it will get a hell of a lot better than this crappy Prologue. Just please read on and remember to review. (Oh and for Mr. D fans, I will put him in after it gets past being all serious and…yeah.)

Just please read on because I promise it will get better and more action-packed than this piece of crap. Ooh, and it'll bring in a lot of secrets and family secrets and Ooh! Ooh! It'll bring in a few stories of everything. But here's a hint: what is Jager in German? I'll give the answer in the next chapter. Thanks for reading thus far!