I've seen the story in my mother's mind, ever since I could remember, in the warm, dark place that I'd later discover was my mother's-well, you know. I know that like Persephone, my mother had returned to a place she'd hated-Forks, Washington. Away from the sun and warmth of Arizona, it probably did feel like the Underworld to her; cold, rainy, and snowy. Here, she met the bringers of death-vampires. My father and my father's family.
I didn't really care for much of it, and it wasn't that important to me, it seemed, so
I'll spare you the rest of the details of the romance of Hades and Persephone. All you need to know is that they wed when Persephone was still a Kore. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. After all, the vampires cannot have children with each other, but a human and a vampire. . .
My mother became unwell, having me. I can only wish over and over again that a human had been the father, or even a werewolf-someone who could've given her a less deadly pregnancy. Alas, the truth is my father was a vampire, and pain was all my birth seemed to give.
Instead of leaving me like a fairytale mother, my mother died and came back to life as Persephone, a bringer of death and destroyer of worlds with only one agenda-to keep me, a token of my father's love for her, safe.
She named me after both of my grandmothers and grandfathers so I would carry the history of both worlds in my very soul.
The few who knew of my existence feared me, they feared what I could become. I'd be a liar if I said that I didn't fear it, too. Still, my life was somewhat happy in those first few months, but there was a feeling under it all that it was going to end soon. That feeling was right.
There was a woman who saw me-I think her name was Irina. She mistook me for a monster, a child made by the Devil rather than one born of a union between life and death. How could she have known better? Hardly any have been like me. She reported it to the Volturi. When I was still young and foolish, I thought the Volturi was some sort of ancient witch. Even when my family told me the truth, I couldn't stop thinking of them as such. Witches always came for princesses in Aunt Rosalie's fairytales.
On the day I saw them truly, for the first time, I felt validated. In their shadowy cloaks lined with blood-red, I thought surely they were coming to take me away to some tower, like the storybook witches.
I was still going to be polite, like Grandfather Carlisle had instructed. I kept my head high, my shoulder back like my Aunt Rosalie taught me. I told myself that I was a princess and I was going to confront my wicked witches face-to-face.
I made an impression, that was certain. There was more to it than me-of that I'm sure. But what it was, I don't know, for no one ever told me. They said they had all the time in the world and wanted me to enjoy life, young and beautiful forever. But they had learned something from the experience, for one in their everlasting lives.
Princesses in their stories, were hidden in towers, guarded by dragons. And so that became my fate, locked in the Big House with the Quilquete Wolves guarding me. Grandfather Carlisle claimed it was for my own good, and at first, I believed him.
I lived in my gilded cage without a care in the world. I had my own room filled with the finest toys Grandfather Carlisle and Grandmother Esme could find me. Father hunted any game for me that I demanded, although I wasn't allowed on the hunt. Aunt Alice bestowed upon me a wardrobe worthy of a princess and gladly dressed me.
Nothing but the finest for the vampire princess.
Of course, that included my education. My family was able to create the best education they could imagine amongst their resources. By the time I was three years old, my formal education began.
I awoke to birdsong, went to Aunt Alice, got dressed in couture, and skipped down to the kitchen where Aunt Esme would be preparing my breakfast. As she did so, she'd give me arithmetic, very complex mathematics, and I'd answer them for the reward of little treats of some sort-they always differed from day to day.
After breakfast, and greeting my parents, I would go on to Grandfather Carlisle's office before he'd go for his hospital shift and he'd teach me the sciences. Once he took off for the day in one of the shiny cars, I'd go to Mother to teach me Language Arts.
I'd then quite decidedly take a lunch break before going to Father for languages-Greek, Spanish, Latin, Italian-the Romance Languages. I'd then go to Uncle Jasper for the histories-those of the humans and the vampires. I'd then go to Uncle Emmett, who taught me more practical things, like survival, sports, and how to properly wrestle a bear. Aunt Rosalie then would usually invite me into the garage and taught me mechanics and engineering.
That is to say nothing of my less formal education in culture. It was less direct, but still pervaded every form of my life. Vampires, after all, were most definitely peoples of the higher arts.
Father taught me music. I developed appreciation of all the classical pieces and the fifties. Much to my father's dismay, I enjoyed the music of the seventies and eighties more than anything else! I also learned the piano from him and how to compose an entire symphony.
Mother taught me literature, especially poetry. Tennyson, Dickinson, Shelley, Byron. I could analyze Shakespearean plays like a high school student. I wept over the tragedy of the Library of Alexandria, and learned to be discerning when it came to my novels, for they were impressionable to my delicate mind.
Grandfather Carlisle taught me morality. He could teach me all the philosophers and I knew the basic theories like the back of my own white hand. I could debate forever on the morality humans insisted upon.
Grandmother Esme taught me architecture. I knew how to design anything with her help, and that of Aunt Alice, who taught me fashion.
I had enough time to play with Jacob, my guard, the one who always cared perhaps a touch too much for me. I bit him, I'm ashamed to say. I didn't care now-why should I? Even with Grandfather Carlisle's lessons in morality, I thought I was above right and wrong, entirely different. I was a monstrous princess.
My favorite moments of that part of my life, however, were when Aunt Rosalie would brush my long, beautiful red-bronze hair, and sing a lullaby about flowers. She'd tell me I was the prettiest child to live.
I slept, not just at night, but in waking. I was slumbering, and after seven years, I was beginning to wake.
Seven years had passed. Seven years between my birth and Mother's resurrection. I was a fair young lady, if I do say so myself. I looked about seventeen, but a perfect seventeen. My red-bronze ringlets were like gold in sunlight as it trailed to my waist in length. My eyes were dark and like a doe's, and my skin as pale as the fallen snow, with spots of rose petals on my cheeks and the red of blood upon my lips. Aunt Alice especially loved dressing me then.
Jacob kept looking at me in a peculiar way I did not truly understand. I read books on love, but never understood lust and what was looking me in the eye. Everyone else knew what it was, but Mother didn't want to 'taint' love with lust. These attentions, however, resulted in gifts. Bouquets, chocolates, trinkets-all of these got my attention, but I treated it like some silly game.
This was when I began to paint. Nobody in my family was an artist of the visual type, but I was determined to be the first as I began to rebel against the fashion and architecture and philosophy I was bombarded with. I'd paint landscapes of places I could only imagine-and it felt good. Maybe I wasn't much good at it, but that didn't matter.
And that, reader, made all the difference.
It made sense, with my gift to impress my thoughts upon others. A prodigy, however, wants a challenge, and painting was a damn good one. Grandpa Charlie encouraged it when he was able to come. He'd tell me about how he wanted to be an artist when he was a high school student, but had been pushed into the police force by his own father.
"Don't give it up, kid," he would tell me, and then would rumple my curls, much to Aunt Rosalie and Aunt Alice's dismay.
It was the first time I'd truly ever fought for something, and I didn't want that feeling to go away. I began to realize how trapped I really felt in the Big House of light and air. I heard the snarls of the wolves guarding me as I slept, sounding like a dragon making its fire. I fought more with my aunts and uncles and parents, demanding more than what
I'd been given. I was waking up.
On the morning of my eighth birthday, I climbed into the attic, sensing that there would be something there for me. I found picture books, fairytale books, books Mother thought to be too lower-class for her little girl. Reader, I read them. Every beautiful word. In the lives of the storybook heroes, I found my own life. The princess locked in a tower. The fairest of them all. A witch keeping them trapped. A curse to break.
Grandmother Esme created a confectionary miracle, a tall cake that was pink with blue butterflies decorating the cake in lifelike perfection. I was stuffed into a dress golden like the sun and my hair styled around a golden tiara that matched. I made my grand entrance on the staircase, and was greeted by a suited-up Jacob.
From behind his back, he pulled roses red as blood. I accepted them with a teasing, coy smile. I gave them a delicate sniff, and held out my hand for Jacob to take, impressing upon him my gratitude. He took it and kissed my hand like a gentleman was supposed to. He then dropped to his knees and the music was abruptly cut off by Uncle Emmett. He pulled a box from his pocket and opened it to reveal a beautiful ring with a gorgeous white diamond atop it.
"Renesmee Carlie Cullen," Jacob began, his eyes burning with intensity. "I've loved you since before you were born. I know we were meant for an everlasting flame, and I want you to join me in holy matrimony for all eternity."
I blinked.
"What?" I asked, shocked, as I tried to pull my hand from his, to no avail.
"I love you, Nessie!" he cried, as if in physical pain. "Please, marry me!"
"Where is this even coming from?" I demanded. "I love you Jacob-like a brother! I don't love you like that!"
Disgusted, I yanked my hand away, and he growled at me. I fled up the stairs, into my tower, and wept.
Mother was the first to come to me in my tears. Unlike all else I'd known her, careless and romantic, she was angry. She grabbed me by my shoulders, forcing me to sit up and look into her golden eyes burning with fury.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded in a screechy voice usually only reserved for Jacob. "You're throwing away your True Love!"
"But I don't love him like that, Mother," I sobbed. "I'm sorry. I feel-"
"You're just confused," Mother said soothingly in a whiplash, suddenly holding me like she did when I was still small. "You're just having trouble with your emotions-yes. That's it. And your father is making sure that this is made right, right now."
I sat up straight in her arms.
"What do you mean, make it right?" I demanded.
"The wedding will happen in one more year," Mother promised, framing my face with her cold hands. "That's how long it will take Alice to finish the gown and veil."
"Gown?" I asked.
"Like the stars above," Mother vowed. "Now come on. Let's fix this."
I knew what my plan was, but I kept it hidden, so my father wouldn't hear my traitorous thoughts. Jacob forgave my rudeness, and I was pulled into a trap, a slowly-woven death. With marriage, my small window of freedom would close ever so much more. I realized with the paintings that I was no longer happy in my tower. I vowed that if I had one year to escape, I would, even if it was for only a night at a time.
I'd watch for the wolves, and then take off with my vampiric speed into the woods. In those few hours, I began to truly see the world. Well, Forks and Port Angeles, anyway. I spent nights in clubs, cafés, coffee houses, concerts, sports games, and so many other places I've long forgotten. The one night I remember the best was the one at the newest Starbucks around, the one that Father grumbled about for months.
The inconspicuous clothing I'd bought in Port Angeles was an earthy green long-sleeved t-shirt and pre-ripped jeans with black converse I enjoyed getting muddy. My hair was back in a braid. Lana Del Rey's "Young and Beautiful" was playing over the radio as I walked into line.
Why do I remember it so well? It was the night I met him. Prince Charming. Of course, that wasn't his name. Alistair Kingsleigh. He was the most beautiful person I'd ever met-not that most people would think that. His dark hair was too long and too lanky, and the serious expression ingrained in his face made his smiles awkward and perhaps to some, ugly. It was love at first sight-for both of us.
I ordered a latte with some fruity, chocolatey mix, and he ordered a pumpkin latte. He lived on the corner of the street, seventeen like I was supposed to be, kicked out of his house. Alis, everything about him was beautiful to me. His large, holey sweaters, his songs on the guitar, his coffee-dark ryes, the smell of his pumpkin latte and mint soap packets. I'd try to bring as much of my own luxurious life to him as I could, and in return, he made me wake up.
As Aunt Alice's veil and dress became more complete, I was falling in love with a stranger-a human stranger.
One month before the wedding, I made up my mind. I would not go through with it. I knew how to stall-that was simple enough. I ripped the strands like Queen Penelope, forcing Aunt Alice to start sections all over again. But it wouldn't work forever. I had to be clever.
"Why do you only come out at night?" Alis asked that night. "Why do you keep everything about you such a secret? Come on, tell me, Ness! I just want to help you, to-"
"To save me from myself?" I demanded, finally snapping. "No one can save me from what is to become of me!"
"What the hell is going on, Nessie?" he demanded, angry. "Just open up for once! Stop being such an ice queen!"
"Stop thinking that you can change any of it!" I screeched. "I'm a monster, Alis!"
"Don't talk about yourself like that!" he screeched right back.
"My father was a vampire!" I screamed, and suddenly I was left with very little to say. "My father was a vampire, and my mother was a human."
"You're joking?" he was the type of boy to believe in those things. As much as he didn't want to believe it. . . "You aren't. . . Are you?"
I shook my head. "I'm to be married to a wolf who has loved me before I was born in one month. I wanted to be free. I'm sorry, Alis."
As I started to go, I said my last piece.
"I love you. Always, and forever."
Before I could run, he grabbed me by the wrist. Despite my own strength, nothing stopped me in my tracks as much as his voice cracking as he pleaded me to stay, his warm hand around my wrist.
Reader, do you know what I did? I left with him. We spent the night at Grandpa Charlie's house. He gave us the Rabbit Jacob had made before he became obsessed with Bella, then me. We drove. We drove into Arizona, where Persephone had come from. We drove to Florida, to Renée, who hadn't known of my existence, but welcomed us with open arms.
I couldn't understand why Mother had thrown any of this away. I worked a dead end job until my paintings became recognized-when Nessie Swann, later Nessie Kingsleigh, began to take off. Alis's music would become recognized because of me. We'd have our own children, and a long happy life.
I was lucky, reader. One-hundred years with my beloved. One-hundred years I was truly awake, truly alive. I was there, in his last breaths. I cradled him in my arms when he was old and dying, and I was still young and beautiful-and for the hundredth time, I'd wished I could die alongside him.
"Always know that you are loved."
His last words to me. I stayed for my grandchildren, who I loved and mentored. I stayed for all that continued to be. There was always something new to do or try or see. I intend to see all of it, for Alis.
I only returned home once.
I cut my hair like I had the night I threw it all away. I had eternity to grow it back. I approached the house of my youth-abandoned, excepting a russet wolf I knew all too well. He popped into existence a little too eagerly.
"Hello Jake," I said with a polite smile. "I see you haven't grown up."
"For you," he said.
"It's not your fault," I murmured, mostly to myself. "But you need to try to forget about me. My heart belongs to another."
I had to fight off my Big Bad Wolf. I walked to Alaska, hoping to find them-and find them I did. Grandfather Carlisle and Grandmother Esme welcomed me, but Mother and Father, among others, did not.
"Go, see the world," Aunt Rosalie said, her hand brushing my curls softly. "Live, Renesmee. Leave us behind. We're the past. You are the future."
I left them behind forever, enjoying love as constant as the stars above.