A/N: The chapter title, "An Apparition in the Fields," was taken from the lovely piano solo piece from the soundtrack of The New World. Yeah, lolz that newish Pocahontas movie. The piano piece is Edward's lullaby to me. I strongly suggest listening to it while reading this; it was my inspiration. Credit goes to James Horner-- in my opinion, one of the greatest composers of all time.
The Lullaby by Andi-Scribbles
Bella is smiling again.
I can always tell when she's happy. It's a constant— her reaction to happiness, I mean. When I touch her, very softly, I can feel her heart quicken. Sometimes, when she is angry, she cries. But her smile is the surest sign that I am doing what I want so badly to do.
Usually, it's like I'm seeing her emotions in the bottom of a deep pool. There is an impression, I think, that I can see through the dark waters—and yet, everything seems to be so unreadable, so dim, that I can only guess what she is. She is a mystery. She is my mystery.
There are some things, I think, that can't be described when speaking of Isabella Swan.
She's still smiling. My fingers dance across the keys of the piano, playing her lullaby. My eyes, however, aren't following the music. If there is something innately elusive about Bella's thoughts, about her mind—then there is also something naturally compelling about her. It hangs around her like a halo; when she listens to the notes of my song, when she speaks about her family or her friends, when she's cleaning or cooking or reading or just lying in my arms, waiting to fall asleep. That essence is, remarkably, something stronger than the scent of her blood. It's what shapes her as she is now. Just listening.
Her eyes are closed, her smile sad. The sunlight plays across her hair, picking up reddish strands. I want so badly to put my hand against her warm cheek, but she is still listening to the piano. For her, it's as if I'm reading a story and nothing but the world's end would take her attention from it. And in a certain way, her lullaby is a story.
There is a beginning; it is soft and uncertain, the notes hesitant. They titter back and forward, unplaced. But after, we find, there is courage, and there is beauty. It is anchored and solid, like she is. Her mind is made up, and there is no going back. It becomes more intricate, more sad, purer and still conflicted. But two themes in the song still weave their sounds around each other, heeding nothing else. There is no going back, it says again, this time more simply. And there is nothing more beautiful than that.
The song is almost over. Or at least, one part is. The rest is to be found, to be played, when one piece dies and another is born.
The last note lingers in the massive room. She opens her eyes to me, so trusting, and there is a glitter of tears in them. I can almost see what she wants to say. Thank you. I love you. And she does.
I love her more, I say. More than anything. And I do.
There is something she sees that I do not, and for a moment her appreciation becomes sorrow. There is little I can read in her beyond happiness, but I see something in her eyes that is uneasy. Some realization, I fear, that means she knows me. That she knows what I am beyond my appearance.
"What is it?"
Bella looks away. And there is the frustration. The tears no longer mean she loves the song.
Her voice is soft. "I think you're the most brilliant thing that's ever come into my life."
I realize that she is seeing herself through a cracked mirror, when she is unhappy with herself. Despite my inability to read her thoughts, I hear it as clearly as if she had said it: I am unremarkable. I am hideous.
"And you, Bella," I say to her, meeting her eyes again, "are my muse. I have never loved anyone as I love you."
The unhappiness vanishes, and she unleashes a beautiful smile on me. I feel like kissing her senseless. Instead I give her my best crooked smile, knowing that I might hurt her if I lose control.
Of course, it stings—not being able to kiss her like I should— but for the moment all I see is her happiness, and I amutterly lost. And so I forget that I am a monster, instead remembering I have an angel.
I take her warm hands into mine, pulling her next to me on the bench. She sighs and lays her head on my shoulder.
"You could never be hideous," I whisper into her ear.
She plants a single chaste kiss on my cheek.
And, for a single moment in time, I cannot imagine living a better life.
The End