A one shot about a night in the life of a young Rosalie (All-Human)
Disclaimer: Rosalie belongs to the wonderful Stephanie Meyer
Rosalie
The lights flickered out, the oil spluttering in the lamp. She felt sleepy but her eyes would not close. The dark room started to play tricks on her; the dolls on the shelves seemed to move their mouths in wordless conversations. Shadows played on her walls, engaged in whatever game they were playing. A light from a nearby house caused a dusty column of light to pierce the inky blackness. It flickered and danced like the fickle flame it was. The clock ticked tonelessly in her ear like an annoying bug. A floorboard moaned and squealed, protesting violently to whomever walked upon its glossy body.
The night was getting increasingly colder. She longed for her father to light the fire; were they all to freeze to death? She vaguely noticed that her observations had taken on a dreamlike quality. Once again, she tried unsuccessfully to fall into sleep's warm embrace, so she could be plagued no more by dancing shadows and the odd noise from the street below. A tree scraped against the side of the house, branches squealing along the window, like the shrieking of an upset baby. She felt sleep take hold of her and she slipped into unconsciousness to where the shadowy figures of dreams wandered.
The colour of dawn broke through the thin, white curtains. The light filtered through her eyelids, tinting them a rosy red. It was not so cold this morning, for the sun had broken the clouds, and now only gossamer streaks pierced the sapphire sky. She stumbled out of bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She knew the day would not be plagued by the terrors of the night and that made her smile.