The light from the closed windows makes a strange pattern on her pale skin.
Alice watches the shadows and sunshine play out scenes against Bella's exposed back, lost in the art of it. The lack of color makes it brilliant, the brunette of her hair bold against the white satin sheets, ivory skin and black shadows. It captivates her in a no longer sensual way, but in a solely aesthetic manner.
That's why she fell for Bella first. She makes a lovely piece of artwork. Alice studied art for a long time, being around for a few centuries tends to make talents. While Edward plays piano, Alice paints pictures. Usually to get a hold on her visions, drawing what she sees. But sometimes simply for the joy of capturing the art of the world around her.
Alice stands up, letting the sheets slip off of her. She picks up her emerald bathrobe, running her thin fingers along the silk. It falls against her skin gently, a cool touch of comfort. Looking at her sleeping love, she sits down at her desk, glowing oddly.
She picks up the canvas and pastels resting on the desk and rummages around for a pencil. Lost in her work, she begins to sketch.
The colors of Bella are familiar. The bold, daring hues of brown hair and eyes and the shy curves of her body. Her chocolate eyes are closed, and only her cheek showing, but her rosy lips betray the innocence her body gives off. Alice barely shadows it, because there is very little darkness in Bella—only shades of white, grey and red, like an old children's book.
There's a lightness to her, but also a grungy sense. Innocence of a human; darkness of being in love with a vampire. The sheets reflect the light as inanimate objects, but the color of sunshine does strange dances on Bella's breathing form.
Alice draws this for what seems like eternity before a reproduction is made. Careful pastels, capturing the many colors that Bella embodies. It's at this instant that Alice realizes that she truly loves Bella, and everything about her there is to know.
She sets the picture down on her desk and slips back to bed. Bella stirs and Alice touches her lightly freckled face with her stained hands. At the rub of her fingers, colors are left on the blank canvas of Bella's face.
Bella opens her eyes, the kaleidoscope of warm tones revealed. Alice leans in and kisses her; able to taste the sweet cherry her lips are colored like.
Alice runs her hand down Bella's spine, leaving more stains of pastel. She's like a living, breathing portrait. One the Alice could lose herself in for far longer than the pieces she slaves away at for her work.
Colors.
They come to life when you're in love.