Author's Note: This is practice more than anything else since I haven't wrote for a while, but I may continue it if I have any ideas or if there's interest in this story. Thank you in advance for reading and I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Mrs. Stephanie Meyer.
Renesmee
Prologue
Let me start at a point before anyone died. Our house in the sunlight was all glass- honest, transparent. They are themselves in that place. Gramps and Father discussed anatomy, and neither looks more than twenty. The mother's skin shimmers as she gazes at her cold, flawless reflection, finding delight in every detail of her own face. The uncles grapple and joke with another man, and three women sit discussing fashion. On the lap of one- a golden, angelic creature with more love in her heart than in a mother's- cuddles a child on her lap. Now this kid is special. No, not that kind of special. The little girl is inhuman; they all are.
Look closely at the pale people- ignore the tan man and his burning black eyes, he's a strange sort in his own right. What an unnerving beauty they have- no trace of imperfection, no tiny flaw to mark these figures as human. Their looks blind human eyes, and any creature with blood in its veins is both drawn to them and repelled, curiously petrified. If you were to get close enough to smell one, you'd get drunk on the scent; fresh blade, summer rain, daisies, herbs, gold dust, vanilla, forbidden fruits. And rotting flesh. This is all assuming they did not smell you first, did not smell your hot, bubbling blood rushing around your body then draining from your cheeks the second you saw that viper-like glint in their eyes, their sharp white teeth. Even as they pounce, these creatures are beautiful. They are pretty predators indeed.
The doll-child sometimes wonders if she is destined to eat herself- you see, she is an odd concoction of vampire and victim, lion and lamb. What does she eat, you ask? Just baby food and milk, though her little face screws up at the taste. Her body wants blood, but her keepers say no. Her keepers say no to a lot of things. She may not go outside. She may not have dolls. She may not play with other children, but only her grown-up friend and this brings us to the obvious inconspicuousy in this quaint little scene.
The tan man is a Goliath- not six, not seven, but eight feet!- and he bleeds, though he is no more appetizing to them than the closest wild animal. His bare legs(he is mostly bare) are thick and hairy with sinews stronger than rope, the results of a tendency to drop down on all fours and bound through the trees. His mouth is red from howling at the moon. His skin is tight over his bones. His eyes are blacker than death, and what big eyes he has!
All the better to eat you with.
The little girl will grow up and wince at this photo when she sees the man, but not because of the scars slashing over his arms, not because of his wolfy looks and not even because of the red stains spattering his shirt. No, the thing that will scare the little girl when she grows up is something she did not see at the time, something she wishes she'd seen sooner. The thing that really scares the little girl is the way he looks at her. Not a leer, but the look of a Southern slave owner watching his slave: "You are not yours but mine."