Danielle the Immortal Child

The air in Forks, Washington, hung heavy with its usual damp chill, a comforting blanket of clouds obscuring the ever-present sun. For Danielle, it was a familiar solace, another temporary reprieve in a century-long game of hide-and-seek. She sat alone on a park bench, a small figure in a town that had yet to recognize the ancient soul beneath her seven-year-old facade.

Her eyes, hidden behind dark sunglasses, scanned the playground, observing the human children with a practiced, detached interest. It had been nearly a hundred years since she'd been one of them, a lifetime spent perfecting the art of innocent mimicry. She'd had many 'families' since that fateful night in 1906, each a fleeting shelter from the relentless hunt for her kind. The last decade, however, she'd explored the world alone, sharpening her senses and her formidable power of compulsion.

Her thoughts drifted to the Volturi, the ruling coven whose laws she defied with every beat of her immortal heart. Immortal children were forbidden, a decree she understood all too well. She'd meticulously avoided other vampires, and if fate forced an encounter, a swift compulsion ensured they'd forget her existence. Werewolves and shapeshifters, too, she steered clear of, knowing the ancient animosity.

Just as the familiar hum of caution settled over her, a shadow fell across the bench. A man's voice, warm and concerned, cut through the quiet hum of the park. "Hey, kiddo, are you okay?"