Pairing: Edward Cullen x Reader
𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖾 - 𝖤𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖠𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖫𝗂𝖿𝖾
Winter in Forks arrived darker than usual. The fine rain seemed to stitch the silence between the tall trees, while the sky remained unbroken gray. I watched the movement in the school parking lot with a calm expression, one I had learned to maintain perfectly. Bella spoke beside me. Something about the history test. I listened, but I didn’t hear. My focus was about to shift entirely.
It was Alice who broke the usual flow.
“She’s here.” Her voice was low. distant. Her eyes were lost in a future only she could see.
My eyes followed the direction of her thought. An unfamiliar car, a female figure stepping out of it. The moment I saw her, something hit me forcefully. An old, deep shiver. Before I even recognized her, my body had already reacted. The muscles tensed. The gaze locked.
She appeared with the delicacy of an old memory.
She walked through the courtyard as if she didn’t want to disturb the world, but the world seemed to bend to her presence. There was hesitation in her steps, but also a silent firmness, as if she carried within her something even she didn’t understand. I watched her, and everything inside me seemed to stop.
When she crossed the cafeteria door, time lost its rhythm.
My control, honed over decades, cracked.
It wasn’t just the face, although it hit me like a gust from the past. It was the way she looked around, the subtle furrow of her brow, the blink slower than necessary. Her fingers touched the necklace around her neck with the care of someone holding something precious, almost sacred.
It was this gesture, so simple, so natural, that broke something inside me.
It was her, and yet, it wasn’t. My body recognized her before my mind could accept it. The memories didn’t need to be summoned. They came on their own, like an old wave meeting the shore. The smell of flowers in Lincoln Park. The warmth of a Chicago afternoon. The laugh of a girl sitting under a tree, mocking my pathetic attempt to recite Tennyson. She bit her lip the same way when she laughed, when she was nervous, or when she tried to hide that she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
And now, here she was. In another time. With another name. But with the same look.
The name escaped me like a whisper.
Only Alice heard it. And even she, for a moment, seemed to doubt her hearing.
Jasper, motionless until then, straightened almost imperceptibly. But to me, it was enough to feel the impact my emotions were having on him. He took a deep breath, making a clear effort to contain the flood of emotions I was involuntarily radiating, a suffocating mix of astonishment, a longing I could barely name, and an old restlessness that pierced my chest with cruel precision. The intensity was so great that I saw his eyes narrow, struggling to keep it from spilling out to the other students around.
Alice remained silent for a moment, then spoke in a low voice, almost as if afraid to verbalize a premonition.
“Her name is Y/N Davis. She moved here from Boston with her parents. Seventeen years old. Senior year. And… you felt it, didn’t you?”
I didn’t need to answer. It was clear enough to everyone at the table.
I looked back at her. She had stopped in front of the bulletin board, her eyes scanning the papers pinned with colorful push pins. Her expression was that of someone trying to decipher a new language. For her, this was just another difficult day in a new town. For me, it was the past coming back to breathe.
My body still vibrated with the impact. Everything about her belonged to Elizabeth, and at the same time, to something new. The present wore the mask of the past, and I didn’t know if I should run or let myself be caught.
“She’s identical.” I murmured, unable to stop the tremor in my voice. I felt Bella stiffen beside me, as if that simple phrase had displaced the world beneath her feet.
“Identical to who?” Her question came low but sharp. There was something in her tone. More than curiosity, more than jealousy. It was fear. A fear I had sworn she would never need to feel again.
I kept staring at Y/N, as if, by looking long enough, she would dissolve like a mirage. But she didn’t disappear. She remained there, alive, real, and absurdly familiar.
“The woman I was going to marry… when I was still human.” I confessed, each word a knife burying itself in the past and scratching the present.
The silence that followed was dense, almost physical. Emmett and Rosalie approached at that exact moment, and I felt the subtle change in the air as they picked up on the tension. Emmett, not knowing the context, tried to lighten the mood.
Alice silenced him with a look, sharp as any verbal response.
Bella turned her gaze from me to Y/N. The movement was small, but loaded. As if she were trying to see, with her own eyes, what I was seeing. Trying to understand.
“You never mentioned any fiancée.” She murmured, and there was a fragility in that statement that hit me harder than any direct accusation.
“Some memories are like scars,” I said, more to myself than to her. “They stayed quiet for so long that I thought they had disappeared. But now, it seems like they’re ready to resurface.”
The bell rang, signaling the end of the break. I saw Y/N stand, tuck a folded paper with the schedule into her pocket, and disappear down the hall.
“Class is starting,” Alice said, gathering her books with movements faster than necessary. She threw me a firm look, full of questions that would come later. “We’ll talk later. All of us.”
In the crowded hallways, I walked with Bella by my side, but this time, my protective instinct wasn’t just physical. It was emotional. Keeping her close seemed like the only way to remind myself of the present, of my choice, of my promise.
But the memories… those, I couldn’t push away. They came now with the clarity of newly polished glass, revealing images that had once been blurred by time. And all of them led to Elizabeth.
The Mayfair garden in bloom. Elizabeth in a light blue dress, ribbons in her hair, laughing as I tried to impress her by reciting poorly memorized poetry. The weight of the engagement ring in my coat pocket. The scent of lavender and stationery. The promise of a lifetime together.
“Edward?” Bella’s voice brought me back to the present. We were standing in front of the English classroom door. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”
“I will,” I promised, gently touching her face. “After class. We’ll talk, I promise.”
However, fate seemed to have other plans. As I entered the room, I smelled it before I even saw her, that unique blend of fragrances which, though different from Elizabeth’s perfume, carried an odd familiarity. There was something in the essence of that scent that transcended time, as if Elizabeth’s very soul had found a new home. Y/N Davis was sitting near the back of the room, nervously flipping through a copy of Wuthering Heights, the very same book Elizabeth used to read in the Mayfair garden.
“Mr. Cullen, Miss Swan, I’m glad you decided to join us,” Mr. Mason remarked dryly. “Please, take a seat. As I was saying, we have a new student today. Miss Davis, would you like to introduce yourself to the class?”
I slowly stood up, the weight of all eyes on me as if, suddenly, I were under a spotlight. My smile was practiced, polished by the countless times I had done this before. New school, new town, the same curious, judgmental faces waiting to label me.
“Hi. I'm Y/N Davis. I moved here from Boston with my parents. My dad is a doctor, and he was transferred to the local hospital.” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ve lived in Chicago, where I was born, then in Portland, Seattle... so I’m kind of used to being the new girl. I’m curious to see Forks, even with all this rain.”
My words came out automatically, and my movements did too, my hand going straight to the pendant around my neck. The cool touch of silver and emerald calmed me. It was an unconscious gesture, repeated whenever I felt exposed.
When I sat back down, a strange sensation ran across my skin, as if something invisible had shifted in the air. My eyes, which had been wandering around the room, met his.
Sitting next to a brown-haired girl, he looked more like a statue than a student. Motionless. Incredibly beautiful in an impossible way. Perfect features, skin too pale. And those eyes... golden, like amber under the dim light of the room.
I should have looked away. But I couldn’t.
There was something about him. A silent vibration that ran through me. As if he weren’t a complete stranger. As if I had seen him before or dreamt of him. The memory came as a whisper: an old Chicago, long dresses, a blooming garden, a young man with bronze hair. His face was always out of focus, until now.
I looked at the teacher, pretending to pay attention. But my mind was still on that gaze, which for some reason seemed to know more about me than I did. As if, inside me, there was an ajar door that he recognized... and maybe wanted to cross.
Throughout the class, I remained still, as if any movement might break the fragile control I still had. I pretended to listen to the teacher, pretended to follow the exercises next to Bella, but my senses were focused on the presence a few rows behind. Y/N.
Through the scattered thoughts around me, I caught fragments of her, different angles of her face, small gestures I knew so well. It was Elizabeth in every detail. The same way she adjusted her hair, the same lightness in her shoulders, even the rhythm of her breath seemed to echo old memories. But there was more, something beyond the physical resemblance.
Her thoughts were cloudy, but I caught flashes. Confused, yes, but vivid, fragments of images that seemed like memories. Old Chicago streets, crowded hospitals, faces I recognized as if from another life. How could she dream of things only Elizabeth knew?
When the bell rang, Bella and I were the first to leave. We walked in silence to a secluded corner near the Science building. I could feel the weight of her gaze, the tension building in the space between us.
“Edward, you’re scaring me,” She said, and her voice carried genuine concern. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
Later, parked in front of the Swan’s house, I left the Volvo engine running for a few seconds before speaking. The silence was thick, heavy with questions Bella still didn’t dare to ask.
“Since you saw that girl... you’ve been different,” She said finally, her voice almost fragile. “In all these months together, even during the worst times, you’ve never been this distant. What’s going on?”
I gripped the steering wheel harder than necessary. When I answered, my voice came out lower, less controlled. It was the voice of someone who belonged to another time.
“Chicago, 1918,” I began. “Elizabeth Mayfair. Daughter of the head of surgery at the hospital where my father worked as a lawyer. Our families knew each other, we grew up attending the same dinners. The same Balls. When we turned seventeen, we got engaged. It was expected. Convenient. A union approved by everyone.”
I paused, absorbing the weight of the silence that settled between us. Bella’s gaze was firm, but there was hesitation in it. A waiting, filled with something more than curiosity.
“Did you love her?” The question came low, fragile, like someone afraid of the answer.
I turned slowly to her. My eyes met hers, and for a moment, I wished I could say everything I felt without saying a word.
“I thought I did,” I answered, honestly. “But I was just a boy, Bella. And what I felt... was affection, admiration. Maybe the beginning of love. Maybe just the reflection of what I thought I should feel. But that’s not what I feel for you. What we have is a choice, it’s depth. It’s the eternity I never thought I deserved.”
She nodded slowly, but the light in her eyes revealed that there was still uncertainty there. It wasn’t easy hearing about a past that had stayed hidden until now.
“What happened to her?” She asked.
I took a deep breath, even knowing the gesture was just symbolic.
“The epidemic,” I said, almost in a whisper. “First my father, then my mother, and finally, me. Elizabeth visited me at the hospital, even with all the risks. I remember her eyes, the words I could barely hear, the touch of her hands. And then came Carlisle. The transformation. And with it... the disappearance. My escape from the world I knew.”
I turned my gaze back to the light inside the Swan house, as if there was some answer there.
“I never knew what happened to her afterward. I assumed she had died too, it was easier that way... until now.”
“When this girl shows up…” Bella finished, as if piecing it together with me. “And she’s identical.”
“Not just identical. It’s as if time had folded in on itself. As if the promise Elizabeth made in that hospital room had stretched out for nearly a century until it found a new body.”
The feeling was unsettling, as if my entire existence was being rewritten. The past I had left behind was becoming present before my eyes, offering no reprieve.
“I need to talk to Carlisle,” I murmured. “He might have answers I never imagined I would need.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Bella asked, hesitantly.
I looked at her for a long moment. For the first time in a long time, I hesitated.
“Maybe it’s better if I go alone,” I finally said. “Not because I don’t trust you... But because of these memories. Bella, they are older than everything we know. They’re old, confusing... and I need to understand if they still belong to who I am.”
I held her hands, enclosing them with the same delicacy with which one touches something sacred.
“Nothing has changed between us. What I feel for you is firm. It’s present. It’s my choice, and it always will be.”
She nodded. But I could see, even without her confirmation, that none of it was simple. Nothing was light.
“I believe in you, Edward. Always.”
I moved away slowly. And in the rearview mirror, her eyes still followed me. I wished, with all my being, that she could hear what my silence screamed, that even with the past knocking at the door, my present was still her. But something had awakened inside me. Something that had been dormant for almost a century, something I couldn’t, and didn’t want to, ignore.
…
Back in my room, I sat at my desk with the books open in front of me, my hands still motionless on the pages. The letters danced before my eyes, unable to compete with the persistent image of that boy in English class. Edward Cullen. His name, freshly learned, reverberated like a familiar whisper, like a forgotten melody returning in fragments, too familiar to ignore.
There was something about him. Not just his unusual appearance, nor the way he seemed to hover outside of time, it was something deeper, more intimate. Something my body recognized before my mind could comprehend. My heart reacted involuntarily, almost as if it were reconnecting with someone long lost.
I pushed the books aside and walked to the window. The rain washed the landscape outside, turning the forest around the house into a blur of grays. Since we arrived in Forks, the dreams had become more vivid. Recurring images, always the same. Old Chicago streets, long dresses, a blooming garden, a dance muffled by the spring breeze. And him. Always him. A young man with bronze hair whose features remained obscured by the mist of memory. Until today.
I placed my fingers on the pendant of the necklace around my neck, an emerald set in silver. The only piece of jewelry I insisted on carrying. My grandmother gave it to me with trembling hands, close to her death, saying that it belonged to me by right. "So you never forget who you are," she murmured. At the time, I smiled, thinking it was just another family story, but now…
I closed my eyes, and the images came with unsettling clarity. A stifling hospital room, the scent of antiseptics and death hanging in the air. A feverish young man, his exhausted body fighting against something invisible. And my voice, in a choked whisper.
“One day, in some life, our paths will cross again. And I will recognize you, no matter the name, the time, or the body.”
I opened my eyes, gasping, as if I had returned from a memory, not a dream. My skin was tingling. My fingers are still on the pendant.
It wasn’t just imagination. It was more. As if I were remembering something I truly lived. And the most disturbing thing was, for the first time, the face of the young man in the bed was as clear as day, and it was the same face as Edward Cullen’s.
When I arrived home, I felt the silence before even opening the door. It was the kind of silence that didn't come from the absence of sound, but from the weight of expectation. The atmosphere was heavy, as if the house was breathing carefully, aware of the unrest I carried with me.
I climbed the stairs slowly, almost hesitant to face the gaze waiting for me. It wasn’t common for us to gather the family in urgency, not without an external threat. But now, what haunted me came from within. It was a name. A face. A memory that had never stopped being mine, even though I’d tried to bury it over time.
Carlisle was waiting for me in his office, surrounded by ancient volumes and artifacts that had traveled through centuries with him. The usual serenity in his eyes was slightly cracked; Alice had warned him, and even for him, something about Y/N unsettled him.
“Alice told me,” He said as soon as I entered. “Is it as extraordinary as she described?”
“More,” I replied, unable to stay still. I paced back and forth, a habit I rarely allowed myself. “Carlisle, I don’t know what I’m facing. I don’t know how, but it’s her. Not just in appearance, in everything.”
He tilted his head with the patience of someone who has seen the impossible many times, and still holds respect for the inexplicable.
“Genetic coincidences exist, Edward. There may be some distant ancestry, a familial echo.”
“It’s not that,” I interrupted, unable to contain my frustration. “It’s the way she walks. How she observes the world, how she touches the necklace around her neck when she feels vulnerable… It’s like Elizabeth is breathing again but with a different name.”
Esme appeared at the door with soft steps, but a watchful gaze.
“Have you looked into her origin?” She asked, her voice gentle but practical.
“Not yet,” I admitted. “But I will.”
Carlisle crossed his arms, thoughtful.
“Perhaps it’s time to find out what really happened to Elizabeth after your transformation. You never wanted to know, but maybe she didn’t disappear as we imagined.”
I walked over to the window. The forest outside was covered by a mist that floated between the branches like a living presence. It didn’t seem like a coincidence. Nothing seemed.
“What if it’s not a resemblance?” I murmured. “What if it’s something bigger? Something beyond genetics? We know enough to admit that not everything can be measured or understood.”
Esme placed a hand on my shoulder. A silent gesture that said: you don’t have to carry this alone.
“What do you plan to do?” Carlisle asked.
“Find out everything. If there is a real connection between Y/N and Elizabeth, I need to understand. And for that…”
“You’ll have to get closer to her,” Carlisle finished. “But be careful, Edward. Some truths from the past, once unearthed, don’t let us go back.”
The night found me in motion. Instead of seeking the silent comfort of Bella, I fled to the forest, letting the speed erase the thoughts I couldn’t silence. I stopped only when I reached the cliff, where the ocean roared below, indifferent to my doubts.
Why now? Why, after all this time, was this shadow returning with the scent of lilies and the memory of promises?
I sat on a stone, staring at the vast darkness. Maybe the universe wasn’t punishing me, maybe it was testing me, or maybe it was just… returning something that never fully belonged to me, but that I still loved with the oldest part of myself.
When I returned, the dawn was already painting soft tones on the horizon.
“Hi, I’m Y/N!” I said as I sat next to him, extending my hand with a shy smile.
When our fingers touched, I felt a strange shiver run through my skin. It wasn’t just the coldness of his hand, but something more, like an electric current of recognition. I saw his golden eyes widen slightly, as if he had felt that inexplicable connection too.
“Edward Cullen,” He replied, his voice smooth and musical. “Welcome to Forks.”
I tried to act normally, adjusting the microscope on the table between us, but it was hard to ignore the feeling that we had already met before. Somewhere, sometime far away. On the other side of the room, I noticed the brunette girl who was always with him watching us with a concerned expression.
“Are you from Chicago?” Edward asked abruptly.
I was genuinely surprised.
“How did you know? Almost no one notices my accent.”
“Intuition,” Edward replied, adjusting the microscope. “I have… roots there.”
“Really? What a coincidence!” I smiled, trying to ignore how my heart sped up hearing that. “I was born in Chicago, but I’ve lived in so many places that I don’t really feel like I’m from there anymore. My dad’s a doctor, and his job requires constant moves. Hospitals, clinics, outreach projects… There's always a new city waiting for us. That’s been my whole life, one new beginning after another, like pages turning before I can even finish reading the previous paragraph.”
“It must be hard to move so much…” Edward commented, his voice carefully controlled.
“You get used to it,” I shrugged, focusing on the microscope to avoid looking into those fascinating golden eyes. “Every city has its charm. Portland was very green. Seattle was very rainy. Boston was very historic… It's like collecting little pieces of life.
I adjusted the microscope carefully, trying to focus on the task, but my mind kept wandering to the dreams from the previous night, to that face in the hospital bed that now had the exact features of the boy beside me.
“And Forks? What will be your piece of this city?” Edward asked, his voice now softer, almost nostalgic.
“Too early to say…” I replied, gently biting my lower lip.
The dreams, so vivid and unsettling, were on the tip of my tongue, but something held me back. How could I explain to a stranger that I dreamed of someone identical to him in a Chicago from over a century ago? How could I explain the feeling of recognition, the sense of loss when I woke up, the tears I couldn’t stop without understanding the reason? He would think I was completely crazy.
We continued to work in silence for a few minutes, each of us lost in our thoughts. Now and then, our eyes met briefly, and each time it felt like a small electric shock, something primal and inexplicable.
When the class ended and the bell rang, I gathered my materials slowly, reluctant to end the strange and intense moment we’d shared, even without exchanging many words.
“It was nice working with you, Edward,” I said, standing up.
“Likewise,” he replied, his voice controlled, but his eyes conveyed something deeper, something that made me shiver. “Maybe we can talk more another time.”
I nodded and walked away, aware of his gaze following me to the door. As I passed the brunette girl waiting for him, we exchanged a quick look, and for a moment, I saw not jealousy or hostility, but something more like understanding and concern, as if she too felt that something bigger was at play.
As she adjusted the microscope, I watched how the light filtering through the windows gently touched her face, not just illuminating it, but revealing every angle. Every expression of Y/N took me back to a life I had thought I left behind. It was like seeing a reflection that shouldn't exist anymore. The way she concentrated, how her brow furrowed slightly as she focused on the slide, were gestures that belonged to Elizabeth, etched in my memory with cruel precision.
But it wasn’t just the gestures; it was the thoughts. Faint fragments escaped Y/N’s mind, and I perceived them as echoes. Dreams, images of an old Chicago, hospital corridors, the silent panic of the epidemic. And among these blurry memories… my own face. Human. Sick. Recognized.
How could she carry that inside her?
Bella was on the other side of the room, and I didn’t need to hear her thoughts, something I had never been able to do, to understand how she felt. She saw it. Noticed how often my eyes searched for Y/N. The silent seconds that stretched too long. The weight that had settled between us. And still, she didn’t look at me with anger, but with a contained sadness, an intuition she didn’t want to name.
The bell rang, pulling me back into the present. I left the room with Bella, trying to compose myself, but the questions piled up like snow on a roof. Silent, cold, impossible to ignore.
"How was working with Angela?" I asked, trying to restore balance.
"Productive," she replied simply, but her attention was on me. "And you? How was working with… her?"
I paused for a moment before responding.
"Strange," I said abruptly. With Bella, the truth had always been the only way. "There’s something about her, Bella. Something I can’t explain. She dreams of things no one should dream. She dreams of Chicago, of the epidemic… Of me, when I was still human."
Bella’s eyes widened, and her voice came out in a tense whisper.
"But that’s impossible, she couldn’t know."
"Unless…" I began, but hesitated.
"Unless what?" Bella insisted.
I took a deep breath, though air was not necessary for me.
"Unless this all goes beyond logic. Beyond genetics. Maybe… beyond this life."
That night, with my face pressed against the window of my room, I watched the stars. The sky was clear, and the moon shone with an intensity that almost seemed unreal, but no matter how hard I tried to lose myself in the beauty of the night, a strange sensation wouldn’t leave me alone. Something was in me, lurking, and I couldn’t understand what it was. It felt as if I had forgotten something important, something I should have realized a long time ago.
I went to the drawer and grabbed the leather notebook I had started using as a dream journal. The past few weeks had been filled with confusing and unsettling images. The overcrowded hospital, the chaos of an epidemic sweeping through the city, the high fever and pain of a young man with green eyes and bronze-colored hair, the whispered promise through tears.
The phrase echoed in my mind, though I didn’t know exactly why it felt so familiar, as if I had said it in another life, in another time. Something inside me told me I should know the meaning of those words, but whatever it was, it was still beyond my comprehension.
Driven by a curiosity I couldn’t explain, I opened my laptop. Research seemed like the most natural thing to do at that moment, even though I didn’t know exactly what I expected to find. I typed into the search engine: "Spanish flu epidemic Chicago 1918." The images appeared quickly on the screen: makeshift hospitals, masked doctors, endless rows of beds with sick patients, the sense of a city overtaken by panic. It was like I had already lived through all of that, like I had already been there, feeling that fear in the air.
I sat there, clicking through links aimlessly, immersed in old news articles and records, when a page appeared on the screen and made me stop breathing. It was a digitized article, seemingly from a local newspaper of the time. Something about the fight against the epidemic, but the title immediately caught my attention: "The Mayfair Family: Heroes of the Spanish Flu." I furrowed my brow. It wasn’t what I was looking for, but I couldn’t resist the sudden curiosity. I was drawn to that text without knowing exactly why.
The story told how Dr. William Mayfair, the chief surgeon at a hospital in Chicago, had stood out in treating the sick during the 1918 epidemic. But what truly made me freeze was the mention of his daughter, Elizabeth. Not only had she worked as a volunteer, but according to the article, she had become a central figure in the community, organizing care for the most vulnerable while her father fought to save lives.
The story was tragic and inspiring at the same time. But what really took my breath away was the photograph accompanying the article. It showed Dr. Mayfair alongside Elizabeth at a charity event held during the worst months of the epidemic. Though the photo quality was low, the young Elizabeth, with her serene smile and tired eyes, almost seemed… familiar. I stared at that image, trying to find some explanation for the uncomfortable feeling stirring within me. There was something about it that made me feel as though I knew her, as if she were part of something I couldn’t access but that was persistently calling to me.
But the name, her name, was what hit me the hardest. "Elizabeth Mayfair." The familiarity was there, but I couldn’t understand why. I didn’t know if it was just a coincidence or if something else was going on.
I tried to push the thought away and continue my research, but my mind kept returning to those words. I was connected to something I couldn’t understand. Something in that photo, in that story, was pulling me. But what?
I closed the laptop abruptly, feeling a strange weight in my chest. As if the air had grown denser. I didn’t know why the Mayfair family, or Elizabeth in particular, seemed so important to me. I didn’t know why that déjà vu feeling was becoming so strong. But somehow, I knew this wasn’t just a coincidence. There was more to this story, more than I could imagine.
As I sat in the living room, the conversation around me grew increasingly tense. The family had gathered to discuss the situation, but I could barely follow along. Everyone was talking about decisions, strategies, but my focus was elsewhere. I felt a growing unease inside me, something that disconnected me from the conversation. And then, like a sharp blade cutting through the silence, Alice spoke.
"Something is changing," she said, her eyes slightly unfocused, as if she were seeing something beyond what was present. "The future... is floating. I see fragments, possibilities, but nothing concrete."
She paused for a moment, as if trying to organize the rapid images that appeared and disappeared before her eyes.
"What do you see about her?" I asked, unable to hide the worry in my voice. That feeling of discomfort had started when I first saw Y/N's face, and something told me there was more to it than just a coincidence.
Alice hesitated, which was rare for her. Normally, she had quick and certain answers.
"Her future... and yours... are cloudy right now. Not because something specific is going to happen, but because your decisions are in flux." She looked at me, her eyes almost penetrating. "You’re at a crossroads, even if you don’t realize it yet."
Those words echoed in my mind, as if something was imminent, but I didn’t know what. I shook my head, trying to push the doubts aside.
"This doesn’t make sense," I responded, my voice harsher than I intended. "I know what I’m doing. Nothing has changed."
But then, Jasper, with his ability to feel the deepest emotions, intervened, his voice soft, yet carrying something I couldn’t ignore.
"Maybe not consciously," he said. "But there’s a disturbance in you. Something… ancient has been awakened. Something you weren’t prepared to find."
I stood up, feeling an urgent need to push those thoughts away. I didn’t want to hear more theories about fate and visions.
"I need to find out who Y/N Davis is and why she looks so much like Elizabeth Mayfair. There has to be a logical explanation, something in her lineage, a family connection."
I spoke more to myself than to the others, but the feeling that all of this was connected was undeniable. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, but I knew I couldn’t ignore this sensation.
"What if there’s no logical explanation?" Rosalie asked for the first time, her voice heavy with a rare doubt. "What if this is something beyond what any of us can understand?"
The words hung in the air, without an immediate response. We all knew that, even with our knowledge of the supernatural, there were things that transcend what we are capable of comprehending.
I needed answers. And there was only one person who could give me a clue about what happened to Elizabeth Mayfair after that time. Carlisle. He had been in Chicago during the 1918 epidemic, he knew my family, and he knew me before my transformation. If anyone knew what happened to Elizabeth, it’s him.
I found Carlisle in his office, lost in his medical records. When he saw me, his expression softened, a mix of concern and compassion reflected in his eyes.
"I need to know what happened to Elizabeth Mayfair, Carlisle," I said bluntly. "What happened to her after my transformation?"
Carlisle took a deep breath, as if he knew this moment would come.
"I feared you would ask me this," he said, his voice soft, laden with a sadness I hadn't expected. "There are things about that time that I never told you. Not because I wanted to hide them, but because some truths are... hard to carry."
The shiver that ran down my spine warned me that this wouldn’t be easy.
"What do you know?" I asked, the tension rising inside me.
Carlisle leaned back in his chair, as if weighing his words carefully.
"Elizabeth Mayfair died during the epidemic," he began, his voice measured. "She dedicated herself tirelessly to the hospitals, risking her own life to help the sick people. But, despite all her efforts, she was a victim of the same disease that devastated so many others at that time."
The surprise hit me like a wave. For so long, I had assumed that Elizabeth had somehow survived, that she might have escaped the clutches of death. But the reality was cruel.
"She died?" My voice was barely audible, as if it were impossible to believe what I was hearing.
"Yes. She was one of the many anonymous victims of that tragedy," Carlisle said, the sadness in his eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. "And her death was... especially painful. Elizabeth wasn’t just one of the volunteers who threw herself into the cause with all her heart. She became a symbol of hope, a light in the darkness, but was eventually consumed by her dedication."
I stood silent, processing Carlisle's words. Elizabeth Mayfair, the young woman with so much potential, so much strength, had been consumed by the very disease she had tried to fight. The fact that she had devoted herself so fully to saving others, even knowing the risks, made the loss seem even deeper.
"But what about after?" I asked, trying to understand what had happened to Elizabeth even after her death. "What else do you know?"
Carlisle hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether to tell me more.
"She made one last promise before she died," he said, his voice growing more solemn. "In her deathbed, in her final moments of clarity, she promised herself she would find a way to... to be with you again. That no matter what happened, she believed her soul and yours were destined to reunite, at any time or place. It was a promise borne from unshakable faith, something she truly believed."
I stood frozen, trying to absorb it all. Elizabeth Mayfair had died, but her spirit seemed to have left an indelible mark, a promise that resonated through time. The idea that she could have made such a profound promise, something that connected our destinies in such an unusual way, stirred something within me that I couldn’t explain.
The idea of fate, of souls bound together, seemed absurd, but what else could explain the feeling I had regarding Y/N? There was something in her gaze, in her gestures, in her presence, that reminded me of Elizabeth in a way that went beyond mere physical resemblance.
I left Carlisle’s office with more questions than answers, my mind racing. Elizabeth had given her life in a fight she believed was bigger than herself. And now, nearly a century later, Y/N Davis had appeared in Forks, with a face that echoed a distant and painful past.
Coincidence? Fate? Or something deeper, something more mysterious, that transcended even the understanding of immortals?
Carlisle’s words echoed in my mind: "She believed she would find you again, in any life, at any time."And as I walked through the silent forest, under the starry sky of Forks, I realized I was standing at a crossroads, a choice between what I knew and what I still couldn’t understand. The future was floating, and somehow, I knew this search for answers wouldn’t be easy. It would change everything.
