For centuries, you have lived, and throughout all those centuries, all you wanted to do, was die.
Everywhere you went you were an outcast, separated from society, for being something that was inhuman.
You never found a place to fit in, and that just depressed you even further.
You'd done countless things to try to end your life, and every time you got even remotely close to death, someone had to save you.
You had jumped off a cliff, Carlisle found you; you didn't die.
You had stabbed your heart with a stake, the Denail's found you; you didn't die.
And Quite recently, you had jumped into a fire of which you had made, someone else had found you, and still you were not dead.
This was all in an attempt to end your eternal suffering, and no one time, did it go to plan.
I used to be in the Volturi, in the guard, but by drinking the blood of humans, and innocents no less, it made guilt scrape away at your sanity.
You had left, but you had forgot one thing: Demetri could track you.
