Rennie
A seven year old - I guessed how old she was - with a porcelain doll look walked up to me.
"Hello, I'm Carlie Cullen," she introduced herself in a high soprano voice. "It's very nice to meet you."
"Uh, hey, I'm Rennie." I replied simply.
It was odd. She was like ten years younger than me but she sounded older than me. How was that possible?
"May I?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, even though I had no idea what she meant.
Carlie took my hand, smiled at me then my mind was catapulted into a thousand other memories - ones that were not mine. Running....eating.....millions of other things I can't remember. But the last image I can't banish. A woman not much older than me lying on a table covered in blood. She was broken, wounded....she was dead.
I gasped and Carlie's hand fell.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"Her mother." Carlisle answered. "Isabella Marie Swan Cullen."
I didn't know her but her name sent a jolt through me.
"Bella," I breathed.
