The long hours of each days beginning are some of his favorite. The world is almost silent, save for the discordant breathing from Charlie's room, snores that remind him of Emmett mid-hunt, deep and rumbling. And of course, his favorite song, the gentle notes of Bella's breathing, the steady beat of her heart, mumbled words from dreams that make him all the more frustrated at the walls around her mind that keep him out.
Those soft noises, the strawberry scent of her shampoo and the freesia from her veins soothe him far better than any lullaby. And yet, it leaves him wanting more. While in that cozy, hungry stupor, Edward's mind often wanders.
Glimpses of what could have been mix with the bliss of days to come. Huddled in a cold, wet ditch, writing letters home. Promising that he will come back, to see that precious child with emerald eyes, thick wooden brown hair falling in disarray around her face as she toddles alongside her mother. Warm amber eyes staring at him, their cold and sparkling fingers entwined as they lazily waste time in their meadow, the rest of the world utterly forgotten. A picturesque scene straight from Rosalie's human hopes, where bronze and mahogany have given way to gray and silver, watching the children of their own play outside, while laughter rings out. Her charcoal eyes closed in satiated pleasure, smiling as she licks the blood from the fresh kill off her lips.
Edward might dream awake, but his dreams aren't much different from Bella's, as she sleeps curled up in his arms.