Writer in the Dark - J. HALE

The familiar scent of damp earth and ancient pines greeted Athena as her yellow car rolled into Forks. Two hundred years. It had been that long since her feet had graced this soil, and yet, the town seemed frozen in time. The same colossal trees she remembered still stretched across the landscape, their branches reaching for the perpetually overcast sky. Saplings she'd once planted now stood as silent, towering sentinels, watching over a world that had, thankfully, forgotten her.

She smiled, a faint, almost imperceptible curve of her lips. Forks was a place she felt a peculiar pull towards, an inexplicable threading of want in her mind. It had called her back, and as soon as it was safe, she'd answered, buying the first available house and moving in with vampire speed.

Her new home, a modest two-bedroom, was swiftly organized, every book meticulously placed, every plant perfectly positioned amidst her 'organised chaos'. The following morning, dressed in an oversized knitted sweater, jeans, and boots, she set out for school, headphones firmly in place, ready to embrace the mundane. She walked, admiring the scenery, ignoring the inevitable stares that followed a new face in a small town. But then, a voice cut through her music. "Athena?"