"The past fabricates our exposition, but it is not the whole story."
Having the well known and beloved Alice as her twin, Hannah has always had big shoes to fill. Of course, they were two peas in a pod. There was not one without the other. Ali...
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They had a house guest.
It was outwardly unwanted by one of the two Carmelo residents, but because Jasper could easily sense her emotions, he knew it was only for appearances. Whether she believed/ realized it or not, she didn't mind his presence one bit.
The night was the most strange. Since they didn't need to sleep, they'd be awake in each other's vicinity for eternity. There was no private sanctuary Hannah could hide away in to regain her sanity. Even when she closed and locked her bedroom door, she could hear every false and empty inhale of breath he took.
Every newspaper page he flipped through seared her mind with each paper crinkle. And it was the same vis-versa.
When Hannah adjusted her sitting position on the floor, in a criss-cross formation, he could hear the carpet ruffling under her movement. It drove the both of them crazy.
Other than his noisy tendencies, Hannah sat in silence. Her hair was messily piled into a bun on top of her head to keep it away from her face. Nose pointed slightly upwards, she saw beyond the average person. Partly spiritual and partly supernatural, but as a whole, it was the past. Her eyes flickered left and right behind her eyelids as she mentally reached out.
This was her practice, meditation.
It helped her with the one task she had been trying since she'd gotten the hang of her gift. Every night, it was the same ritual. And every night, she ended up broken and disappointed. You see, there was something not sitting well with the golden haired Brandon. When she awakened from her transformation, she didn't remember anything about herself or anyone else.
To some, it might not seem like such a big deal. Just create a new identity, especially with her vampirism, Hannah could have many different personalities. However, having the gift of seeing anyone's history and not knowing her own, was troubling. In fact, it was psychologically stumping for her. So, she swore off distractions. Anything that could delay her mind from finally uncovering the truth of her past would be put aside. The dire need for her to know killed her on the daily.
Which is why she locked herself in her room till the early mornings. A sketch book between her stone-still hands as she stumbled up the Quileute's shapeshifting history. Flashes of men and women morphing into giant beasts fascinated her, but did not satisfy her thirst for her truth. Her golden eyes blinked open as she fumed, tearing the drawing on wolves from her notebook.
