disclaimer: ...no comment.
.01.
When it is raining, she feels like home.
The loud and clear bomb-drops of liquid hit every surface outside and certain music plays, she thinks the nature is calling her and it is repulsive to how far from the original design she is.
"Sometimes, love can't be denied," it whisper to her, and she is left wondered if it the soft pouring outside that murmurs it or Rosalie is finally getting shattered.
And it is only them in the mansion right now. What year it is she forgets, days are not counted when there are no nights to fill in the gaps. Sleep is forbidden to her and she is lost but he tells her it is 1935, that he is twenty one years old and a hunter who is to be wed to his neighbor's daughter.
He asks her if she is an angel who saved him.
She doesn't know what to answer because, really, she is a demon.
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—
stellar legends
-&fracturedfairytale
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.02.
When the pain comes he curses her, and she doesn't mind his harsh words. She is a monster and she know that, for her own selfish reasons she makes him one of her kind just because he was hurt and bloody she makes the decision for him like it was made for her. And Rosalie is astonished how alike she and the hunter are.
And she thinks she might trust him, one day, if he won't be like Edward that is.
But she would have liked him more if he screamed openly and not withhold his shouts, because his pain should be her pain and she wants to share that fruit. He reminds her, unconsciously, how really weak she is and how strong the dark haired hunter is just because he knows that she didn't mean to bring the fire into his blood.
Golden eyes stared as the pale man twisted again on the bed bending his spine up in an arch. Muscles so tense it appeared that they were going to rip. Sweat dripped from his half-naked body and fresh light pink scars on his body opened up, bleeding on the white sheets.
She blames herself for all the hurt he had suffered through, and in the back of her mind she apologizes silently to the woman he was supposed to marry; because Emmett won't be coming back to her and the tears she will shed will be unrequited.
He is dead, but not really.
Weeks later, it raining again, and Rosalie is now painted in sadness, her attire colored white – she was pretending.
"What if I told you I am in love with you?"
"Is it because of how I look?" she asks him gently but doubt and venom drops from that sugar coated voice.
Golden coax to shift to black and her solid gaze burns his back from under her thick lashes that flip and dance on marble hard cheeks like butterflies. If she could cry, she would right now. Her chin is lifted proudly and daring, the very picture of fragile courage.
And her beauty is still stunning, but the soul within is weeping.
"I did not see your face, Rose." His board shoulders tense and he pulled his neck into them. Black hair is such a mess she is tempted to comb it straight. She doesn't see his face but she would be a fool to not know that he is stricken by her words. "I have not opened my eyes yet. Rose."
He keeps calling her by her name. Rose. Rose. Rose. As if he is afraid she will disappear. Vanish into thin air and leave nothing behind her but the chocolate smell of her hair, color of which he yet to discover. Emmett thinks she reminds him of his mother, their voices are alike and the manner of how they speak.
He feels like her knows her, from a distant dream perhaps; and maybe she had always visited him in his nightmares rather than dreams, but the delicate girl few steps behind him is weak and soft and absolutely brittle, he thinks that is only he breathed on her she will shatter and that façade she has is an automatic armor she has around herself.
He knows that even though he did not saw her he is familiar with every inch of her, the length of every hair and the width of her mouth. She is a weeping princess in the legend but Emmett is not sure that he is the prince in that scenario, he rather sees himself as the dragon that guards the beauty in the tower.
"Maybe, we can pretend that I love you too, then." She finally says but he doesn't see the lonesomeness in pools of gold. She flips her fair hair to her bony shoulder and waits for his answer.
He says nothing, only lies on the bed with scarlet covers, the white bandage around his eyes never lifted. Rose stays there, on her spot, for a moment or two – frozen by the ignorance and desperately wishes for admiration from him.
"Come here." He pats the space to his left and she thinks he can read her mind.
She closes her eyes, crawling next to him; she does not need a sight to find him. Their hands together as he smiles and whispers her name. She unfolds herself, thinking that maybe someday she will fall asleep. They don't breathe and only the soft clang of the rain drops is heard.
It is destiny that leads him to Rose because maybe she will fall in love with him; but he is patient. He will wait for the woman who nurtured him and one day, when his eyes will see again, Emmett will gaze upon the chocolate smelling creature that brought him pain but also saved him from it.
And she dreams of fairy tales but they are not coming.
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.03.
He is still blind but he sees more than anyone in that wretched house. Newcomers tend to shake the core on which the Cullen Household is build, and he knows that, even if Emmett has been around the Clan for less than a month.
He can feel the love that radiates off the older woman, he name is Esme he thinks, but she treats him like a newborn child, a kitten of some sort; he thinks that Esme is the sort of mother who will never let go of her child – could that be the reason she is what she is?
The older one, a doctor Emmett knows, is sensible – he likes him, the guy would be a treasure back in his home town. Maybe the Clan will visit it sometime. He could imagine the look on Maggie's face whe—Oh yeah, can't do that – he is thirsty.
Emmett thirst, no matter how much he drinks, is never fulfilled; the liquid he guessed is blood – no one told him what he is just yet but it's not hard to guess. He is a vampire and there could be nothing less.
"What are you thinking about?"
His sensitive ears picked out the smooth dancing footsteps from three storages bellow, her voice is pure velvet and song of a morning bird; there could be nothing more beautiful than she is.
"You." He hears an attempt to hide a snobbish giggle and thinks that maybe he isn't so rusty when it comes to cheesy romance after all.
"No really, Emmett? Tell me."
She doesn't beg. God forbid for her to beg! She orders, and he knows that, but when it comes to him her manner of speech changes and he thinks that under the armor she is soft – and she just asks like a loyal wife would ask her husband. Emmett get's a feeling she misses that part of her never-happened-future.
"When is the other one coming?" Emmett has heard about the last member of the Clan. Everyone, even Rose, speak of him fondly; but there is an unresolved tension between all the members when they talk about him.
Emmett thinks that guy has too much pride and arrogance; what Rose has told him about one of the oldest members of Cullen Clan. But neither of them has said his name yet.
"Soon." She shifted her place on the bed and he catches the smell of her hair. "You will see him soon."
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.04.
The other one comes a week later.
Rosalie is stiff but appears to be nonchalant enough – she doesn't raise suspicion. But even with their sharp eyesight, extraordinary powers, keen senses and all of the other assets that come with eternal melancholy the Cullen Clan does not notice her unease.
Emmett is different; he can't see because he is still blind and his eyes have not healed from the venom-curing, without visual he can't analyze every movement of smooth features that all of the Clan daughters and sons posses, he can't notice the slightest changes in the color of their liquid eyes.
He can't read thoughts.
However he has better hearing than any other vampire, there isn't a sound in the radius of seven miles that can escape his ears. So he hears things – things that no one could notice because everyone in the house thinks with their eyes; they watch and they observe, but they don't pay that much attention to the smallest amount of changes in the tone.
He still can't read thoughts—
—but fantastic hearing (even for a vampire) is the closest thing.
So he listens carefully and by the end of first three hours after the other one came back he already had some intel on him: the other one's name is Edward, he's one of the oldest in the Clan, he just came back from a non-"vegetarian" hunt, he likes to joke about sheds of thoughts and muses he picks up from Rose's mind.
Oh, and he is that pain in the butt that made Rose unease.
But Emmett is a new-born and he is forbidden by Rosalie to exit his room, just in case he would break through the thick walls and go on a wild hunt.
Emmett doesn't know what to think of Edward-what's-his-face. He doesn't hate him, he doesn't like him either – he just doesn't know the guy. He could be the biggest asshole or wanna-be Romeo/pimp or a fucking purple Easter bunny for all Emmett cared; but what's-his-face, for some unknown bizarre reason, made Rosalie…different.
Emmett learned that Rose is a deep and peculiar woman. She adored her looks yet walked on egg-shells in a conversation that implied her loveliness, she was soft and gentle and caring and selfless but only when she is hidden, when there is no one to see her palatability, on the outside she wraps herself in a tight shell and it is quite obvious that she has both superiority and inferiority complexes.
Rose was difficult. Extremely, dramatically, coaxingly difficult.
Sometimes Emmett wished her could read minds; but if he could he would have heard Rosalie reciting Voltein French with only patches of her thoughts or hours and hours of admiring her looks, Rose had a way of dealing with Edward's nosiness in her own, special, way.
But Emmett doesn't know that, so he continues to listen to the sounds in the house and learning every day a piece of information about the new world he was dragged into.
Emmett waits; he counts the seconds before he is allowed to take his bandage off.
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.05.
Emmett was not a fool.
Neither was Rosalie.
Their minds and wits clashed in conversations a blind-newborn and violently awkward blonde had. There were some topics they agreed on (the list was short and the only mildly intelligent blog was about what colour do they like – apparently blue, by a popular choice, is the best) and many they disagreed bringing new ideas and sharing theories on historical events and physics hypothesis.
But if Emmett is the head, when Rosalie is the neck that points him in a right direction – because eventually they shifted to a new subject.
One day, he took her aback, "What color are your eyes, Rose?"
He asks but she hesitates to answer for moments longer than allowed, "They used to be blue."
There is sadness and sorrow in her voice, Emmett knows that she misses the life he had been stripped off not so long ago much more than any of them. But one day, he knows, if she will let him love her, Emmett will make her happy and there will be no more sadness in the eyes that are supposedly used to be blue.
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.06.
Weeks later when he opens his eyes he sees fair and pale.
Her hair is straight and wavy at the ends, but he knew that already, it is color of the sunrise and couldn't be richer. He knows her body so well but even now he is astonished by her. He searches for her eyes and when he finds them, they are golden with freckles of a deeper shade.
She swoops into his arms and he inhales her smell. She still smells like chocolate. Everything about her was pale, and slim, and fragile and he holds her tightly as she attempts to make crying noses to make herself human. He searches for blue, like she told him, but finds golden.
He feels nothing for that color.
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.07.
He knows he needs to fall in love with Rosalie again.
But golden is diverse to blue.
Golden is tough, and rough, and strong, and inflexible – Rosalie is stubborn and she is hidden under her thick skin; she doesn't want to be loved, neither does she want to love. She doesn't like to be hurt.
Blue was moot, and wishful, and quiet, and glittering – Rose was akin to a rain she liked to hear.
She was coloured Jette, the deep colour sheltered her soul and like the liquid tar of her eyes the intense shade absorbed all frequencies of light in the visible spectrum producing animalistic Rosalie.
It was the time when he held her tightly, pressing himself closer, his massive weight on top of her. He supports himself with his arms, moving slowly above her, his face turned to one side, eyes shut tight. She clung to him, wrapping her hands around his back, grinding herself closer.
"I love you," she whispers for the first time and it feels like she means it, her expression betrays her and it controls to pleasure to longing and to pain. His lips brush her lips, her collarbones, her stomach, until his face disappears.
"I love you," she repeats once more, her voice broken.
His hand is cold as he laces his fingers with hers, they are equally long but the contrast between thick and thin is something that she doesn't get over. "I love you..."
He buried his nose in her hair and tried to ignore her attempt to cry, he still has the strength of a new-born and he almost breaks fragile Rosalie.
Emmett would never admit it, but that night, he never once said "I love you," to Rosalie.
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The next morning, her eyes are golden; she is as cold and as silent as a porcelain doll.
But Emmett thinks he saw blue in the shade of black.
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.08.
They think they are happy.
Emmett and Rosalie walk the lonely streets of London, the yellow mist covers up her feet clad in expensive shoes from leather and the ends of her dress.
And he stops, freezes at the spot with eyes blazing with crimson red – when his blood caller appears, she thinks that this might not meant to be.
It's a girl; neither ugly nor handsome, Rosalie could never remember her face.
And Emmett is hurt and angry and he wants to control himself by hanging onto to Rosalie as tightly as he can.
But she bites his fingers that grip her forearm with her sharp teeth and he shrieks away.
The blood called is waltzing through his hands, slipping away with a trail or ragged clothes making the back of her path, and Rosalie proudly stands like a statue and waits.
He disappears in the darkness of the night and she knows that letting him go is be best choice she could have ever done for him.
"I will love you till the end,"
Neither of them is sure who said that.
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.09.
She couldn't believe a human – a piney, selfish, impossibly weak human – came between them.
She votes no; Bella is stupid and Rose knows that once she will become one of them she will eventually miss what she had left behind willingly and like Rosalie herself, Bella will spend an eternity searching for it.
Emmett votes yes; he knows Bella is stupid, but once in a while he likes to rebel against his wife, and of course, Bella might be stupid but—
He doesn't know if there is a "but". Edward is selfishly forceful. Bella is delusional. Rosalie is altruistically truthful.
Emmett is loyal. But he votes yes.
He could see the future, or read minds. But he could still listen better than any other; he listened to her every word and the shift of her clothes and how temped she was to not be the antagonistic voice of reason but just do something for herself, she wanted to vote yes, because Rose is as lonely as always, Alice is no support, but no is a no and Rose is stubborn.
In the end, the vote didn't matter.
Still—
Yes.
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.10.
It was clear from the day he opened his eyes and was born for the second time, that Rose was everything he could ask for.
And if she had her happily-ever-after she would have died decades ago, in the arms of the loving husband she made out Royce to be, will dozens of beautiful blond children around her. And the love of her after-life wouldn't be an identical copy to Vera's son, and Rose would not think of him as a child most of the time.
They didn't have any special powers. Emmett had only his raw, brutal, enormous strength which he hid under the mask of the warm clueless lad. Rosalie possessed insane, enchanting, illuminating beauty that could blind men.
They weren't Edward and Bella, they weren't perfect; but they made it work.
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He died when his body was three and a half years older than Rosalie's; but in reality, they were almost the same age. And no matter how different they appeared, and now perfectly fit Edward and Bella were, Emmett and Rosalie understood each other better, because, really, they were one.
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rumour-kun: — This one sucked, I think, personally, but I like the pairing – they make a good match in that pretty girl and stately guy way.
Even though Nikki makes the worst possible Rosalie.
If I had any spelling mistakes, I do apologize.