I was a girl born into a conservative Christian family, the kind where Sundays were sacred, prayers were unquestioned, and deviation from the "proper" path was met with frowns, subtle glares, or worse—disappointment. From the very beginning, I felt out of place, as though my soul had been stitched into the wrong frame. My body was petite, delicate, almost fragile, yet it felt like a cage, a fragile vessel of restraint. I wasn't happy in my own skin. I learned early that smiling when I didn't want to, nodding at things I disagreed with, and concealing my truth was safer than confrontation.
At school, I was quiet, obedient, eyes lowered, words measured. At home, I mastered the art of compliance, laughing at jokes I didn't find funny and agreeing with opinions that made my chest tighten with frustration. Being a lesbian was a sin my parents could not fathom, an invisible line I dared not cross. I buried myself under the weight of expectation, determined to excel academically and financially. Freedom, independence, and a space that belonged entirely to me became my quiet rebellion.
Years of toil, countless sleepless nights, and tears poured into achieving a life I could claim as my own. Finally, after relentless struggle, I did it. I had a well-paying job, my own apartment, and a vision of a life where I could exist unapologetically. I had prepared to tell my parents: "I am gay." Those three words carried the weight of my entire existence. I rehearsed them endlessly, bracing for shock, anger, and perhaps rejection. I felt ready.
And then—darkness.
The world ended abruptly. Pain surged through me as if every nerve had been struck at once. Screeching tires, blinding lights, chaos—I could sense them, yet could not move. My body failed me, and I was consumed by a black void, suspended in a place where time had no meaning.
The Void
Time—or whatever existed there—stretched and bent around me. I floated in darkness, my thoughts louder than any sound, my memories sharper than any sensation. I understood myself here, stripped of the constraints of body and expectation. I felt the full weight of my frustration, the longing for freedom, for recognition, for the self that had been trapped behind polite smiles and measured words.
Then, slowly, a light appeared. Faint at first, teasing, almost like a promise, then growing brighter, cutting through the blackness. It hurt my eyes, yet drew me in irresistibly. Blinking rapidly, shielding my face, I stepped forward into its glow.
I found myself in a vast white room, impossibly large, like a cathedral of pure light. In the center, on a throne, sat a figure twelve feet tall even while seated. There was calm authority in his presence, yet also a bored indifference, as though the universe itself was merely entertainment.
"So… you're dead," he said, his voice resonant and thunderous, yet carrying an odd softness.
I froze. "What?" My mouth opened, but only a choked sound escaped—half-cry, half-scream.
Ignoring me, he continued, "You have the option to reincarnate into a different world, with five wishes, because your life… your life sucked. Or you can fade into the afterlife."
I blinked, stunned. Gratitude, disbelief, and insult collided inside me. Did I deserve this? Was it punishment, reward, or merely a whim? I swallowed hard and chose gratitude. If given a chance, I would take it.
"Do I get to choose the world I am reborn into?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"No," he replied. "We spin the Wheel of Choices." Behind him, a massive wheel appeared, inscribed with names of countless worlds. I squinted, but before I could read, he spun it. Colors and names blurred into a whirl, until it stopped on… Twilight.
A rush of mixed emotions hit me. I loved the series, yet had countless grievances: the tribe's prejudices, Jacob's immaturity, the mishandling of imprinting. Now, fate—or this being—was offering me the chance to step inside the world, to rewrite it.
"Do I reincarnate as Bella Swan?" I asked hesitantly.
"Not necessarily," he said, leaning forward, curiosity flickering in his vast eyes. "Most choose the protagonist. You… you may choose otherwise."
I took a deep breath. This was my chance—not just to live, but to correct, to refine, to claim a world where I could be myself without compromise. "I choose to be Hadrian Alexander Swan, Bella's older twin brother," I said firmly, feeling a thrill of possibility.
"Do I get to choose my appearance?" I asked next.
"Yes," he said after a pause, "within reason."
I imagined myself differently this time—taller, stronger, commanding. Steel-blue eyes, dark brown hair, a lithe, muscular body built for agility and strength. I adjusted details until I was satisfied.
Choosing My Wishes
Finally, it came to the five wishes. My heart raced. This was life itself, and I could shape it however I wanted. I thought carefully, weighing each option, imagining every possible outcome.
Wish One: A mental and physical shield—not just for protection, but to safeguard my mind from manipulation, fear, and distraction. I wanted to be untouchable, capable of focus, able to endure the pressures of a world I could not yet fully understand.
Wish Two: Vampire disguise and protective control. This was more than mere camouflage—it was power over perception, reality, and safety. I could alter my own appearance at will—eye color, age, subtle human or vampire cues—but the true brilliance lay in extending this protection to others. I could grant vampires the ability to withstand sunlight, avoid harm, and remain safe from mortal and supernatural threats. My family, mates, the Cullens, friends—anyone I deemed important—could be shielded under my will. And just as easily, I could revoke it. Control, strategy, and protection intertwined. I pictured the relief on Rosalie's face, Tanya's approval, and the quiet security of those I cared for. This was not just a gift—it was power, responsibility, and a tangible extension of my will to protect those I loved.
Wish Three: Power to be an Alpha capable of overriding any pack, particularly the La Push packs. Jacob and his kin had no right to interfere in matters that weren't theirs. This authority would allow me to defend my mates, rewrite injustices, and establish order where chaos threatened.
Wish Four: Mates—Tanya Denali and Rosalie Hale. I envisioned Tanya's calm elegance and fierce loyalty, Rosalie's grace, beauty, and independence. They were strong, powerful, and would challenge me. I wanted their partnership for companionship, support, and purpose—a union that would shape my journey in this world.
Wish Five: The ability to access both shields as a human. If I reverted to my mortal form, protection would remain, ensuring continuity of strength, intellect, and security.
Then came the car. It had to strike the right balance—not flashy enough to attract attention in a small town like Forks, yet commanding enough to convey confidence and style to Tanya and Rosalie. I envisioned a silver Mustang GT 550 with black stripes—subtle, powerful, elegant. I smiled, imagining the engine's rumble beneath my hands, the thrill of control and status.
The God-like figure regarded me with ancient, assessing eyes. "Few choose wisely," he said. "Most select riches or power for vanity. You… you understand purpose." He waved his hand, granting additional bonuses: accelerated knowledge of languages, the tools to thrive in Forks, and a deeper understanding of mechanics and construction.
I nodded, feeling gratitude, awe, and anticipation. Everything was in place. My life was about to begin—not as the girl I had been, but as Hadrian Alexander Swan, with power, purpose, and choices aligned to my true self.
The world went black again, pulling me toward the life I had chosen—toward my body, my world, and my fate.