The night it happened, I felt restless, like something heavy lingered in the air, unseen but impossible to ignore. It had been one of those nights where sleep evaded me, my mind bouncing between half-formed thoughts and memories I didn't care to revisit. Rain pattered softly against my window, and the room was dark except for the faint glow of my bedside lamp.
I was lying there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about nothing in particular, when it started.
It began as a sensation—barely noticeable, like the faint hum of electricity. My chest tightened, and a chill ran down my spine, sharp and cold, though the room wasn't cold at all. At first, I thought it was my imagination, the kind of tricks your mind plays on you when you're overtired.
But then the air grew heavy.
I sat up, my heart beating faster as the feeling intensified. My senses felt heightened, as though I could hear the faintest creak of the house settling, or the distant rustle of leaves outside. The rain against the window suddenly seemed louder, more distinct, each droplet striking the glass like a drumbeat.
"What the…?" I muttered under my breath, glancing around the room.
Then, without warning, it hit me—a blinding light, brighter than anything I'd ever seen, flashing from nowhere and everywhere at once. My vision blurred, my ears filled with a deafening roar, like the world itself was tearing apart.
I couldn't move. I couldn't speak.
The room around me dissolved into darkness, and for a moment, I thought I was dying.
But instead of fear, there was something else. A feeling I couldn't place—a strange pull, like I was being drawn toward something vast and infinite, something far beyond my comprehension.
And then, I was falling.
The fall felt endless. I tumbled through a kaleidoscope of light and shadow, colors shifting and twisting around me in impossible patterns. My body burned, a searing heat that coursed through every cell, yet I felt no pain. It was as if I was being unmade and remade at the same time, like every part of me was being rewritten.
I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
I hit the ground hard, gasping as the breath was knocked from my lungs. For a moment, I just lay there, the cold, damp earth pressing against my back. My entire body ached, as though I'd been crushed and pieced back together.
Slowly, I pushed myself up, blinking against the dim light. I was surrounded by trees—towering evergreens that stretched endlessly into the sky, their branches heavy with rain. A dense mist hung low to the ground, curling around my legs like smoke. The air was sharp and cool, filled with the earthy scent of moss and pine.
I wasn't in my room anymore.
A sudden surge of panic gripped me as I stumbled to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest. Everything felt wrong. My body felt… different—stronger, lighter, like I could run for miles without breaking a sweat. My senses were sharper, too. I could hear the distant rustle of leaves, the faint trickle of water from a nearby stream, even the subtle shift of small animals moving through the underbrush.
Then, I caught my reflection in a puddle at my feet, and the breath caught in my throat.
My face was the same, but it wasn't. My skin was unnaturally pale, smooth and flawless like marble, with an almost imperceptible glow. My eyes—once a dull, unremarkable brown—were now a bright, molten gold, gleaming even in the gray light of the forest. My features were sharper, more defined, like something sculpted rather than born.
"What the hell…?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rain.
A sharp hunger clawed at me then, deep and primal, as if a fire had ignited in the pit of my stomach. I doubled over, clutching my sides, and a low growl escaped my throat before I could stop it.
I backed away from the puddle, my mind racing. What was happening to me?
My gaze shifted to a wooden sign at the edge of the forest, barely visible through the mist. The words were faded and weathered, but I could still make them out:
Welcome to Forks. Population: 3,120.
The name hit me like a punch to the chest. Forks. The rainy, isolated town from Twilight.
"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "This can't be real."
But as I stared at the sign, the truth became impossible to deny. Somehow, impossibly, I had been transported into the world of Twilight.
I don't know how long I stood there, frozen in place, the rain soaking through my clothes. My mind reeled, cycling through a thousand questions, none of which had answers.
Why was I here? How was I here? And more importantly—what had I become?
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an engine in the distance, faint but growing louder. A car. The sound was oddly comforting, a reminder that even in this strange, impossible world, some things remained familiar.
But as it passed, I caught a whiff of something in the air—something sweet, intoxicating, and utterly irresistible. My throat burned, the hunger flaring up again, stronger this time.
I clutched a nearby tree, forcing myself to breathe. The realization hit me like a freight train: I was a vampire.
Not just any vampire, though. Something was different. I could feel it in the way power hummed beneath my skin, in the way the forest seemed to bend to my will when I focused.
This wasn't just Twilight. This wasn't just a game.
I needed to figure out what I was—and fast.
The faint glow of streetlights shimmered in the distance, and I knew I had to make my way into town. Answers weren't going to come from the forest, and if this world followed the rules I thought it did, there were others here who might hold the key to understanding what had happened to me.
Wiping the rain from my face, I stepped onto the road and began walking toward Forks, the faint pull of destiny guiding my every step.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't just part of a story.
I was the story.