A/N This is a fairly bizarre and very short one shot, I'm not sure I should have posted it, but I had the idea rattling around, and just wanted to get it out. Please let me know what you think.
Fire and ice.
Ice; numb, unyielding and harshly beautiful.
Fire; passionate, fierce and dangerously tempting.
Rosalie Hale had always been known as the ice queen of Forks. Statuesque and striking, many people agreed that she was the most beautiful girl they had ever seen.
Yet she was also distant and unfeeling, cold and calculating in her measured cruelty.
Victoria Richmond was ferocious and tempestuous, untameable in her nature. Sensually exotic, she was a siren to all who looked upon her.
Yet she was also wild and reckless, mercurial in her fleeting interludes of rage and joy.
The two girls had been best friends for as long as they could recall, but that friendship was tempered with an intense jealousy. As the years passed both became aware that their astonishing beauty could only be rivalled by the other. A fact that bound them in their moments of assurance, but threatened to drive a wedge between them in the instances of doubt that plagued them.
Their worth judged only on their polished exteriors, their arrogance encouraged as an expression of their superiority, each was accustomed to absolute veneration.
The transience of their fairness had yet to impact on their narcissism, both concerned only with the immediacy of their vanity, and how it could be improved.
Despite the empathy that they should share, the two existed in a state of violent dichotomy.
Rosalie, with her regal poise and perfection was the more traditional of the pair. Her long blond locks cascading down her back in gentle waves, her flawless complexion coloured with only a hint of pink in the apples of her cheeks, her clear, icy blue eyes. Rosalie Hale could be demure and proper when the occasion required it, but her character was harsh and unrelenting, her standards unreachable, and her affections unobtainable.
The flawless mask of her coldness could not be breached.
Conversely, Victoria was almost feral in her disregard for propriety. Her riotous curls the colour of a waning inferno, her glinting green eyes full of mischief, and her freckled visage, bright and unspoilt in the natural cacophony of her expression. Victoria Richmond would not conform for society, she could be exhilarating and exciting, a whirlwind of sensation, but she was perilous and wilfully disobedient.
To be swept up in her was to truly lose control, the consequences be damned.
Where one's frigid defences could not be thawed, the other would surely burn you if you came too close.
What would be better, to burn through fire or ice?
Entering the drawing room, my senses are assaulted immediately.
A multitude of voices cry out, in conversation, in laughter, in song. A variety of fragrances, perfumed and natural circulate among the crowds. Numerous colours and fabrics move around me in a swirl of patterns.
The air feels thin as I make my way across the room, depleted from too many people sharing the limited space. Bodies crammed together like this make me feel uncomfortable and irresolute.
I have promised to attend, make my appearances, but I have to fight the impulse to flee, from the music and revelry, from the threat of unseemly pleasure those around me seem to be experiencing.
Resisting the temptation, I settle myself in one corner, content to observe as an outsider, until I have served my time as a functioning member of polite society for this occasion.
I am aware of the pressures of my family name, and although many no longer have the same obligations, I am forcibly reminded on a regular basis. It is important for my family, specifically my father that I settle down find an appropriate girl, one who will reflect well on his political aspirations.
Although these sentiments seem outdated and faintly ridiculous, they are important to my parents, so I make the effort. I try to find someone I could envision myself living a life with, someone whose company I could enjoy, and if all else fails, someone whom I could tolerate by my side for the next 50 years.
Opening my cigarette case, I look wearily around the room. It's a new city, but filled with the same old faces, the names change but all the faces blend into one image. Exhaling with a deep sigh, I tap my toe restlessly and pray for something to capture my attention, for something to make the time pass.
I catch a glimpse of a swish of hair on the dance floor, red like the rising sun, it's briefly captivating, a beacon in a sea of bland monotony. But then it's gone.
A crowd has formed across the room, a group of men fawning over a faceless girl. She is obscured by their actions but I can make out a defined waist, her sheer dress clinging to her curves before revealing her leg in a provocative slit. As her boisterous admirers clear a path to the dance floor I am rewarded with a vision of perfection.
Gracefully she is twirled onto the dance floor, her elegance undeniable. Hair the colour of corn husks in the sun catches the light as she sways, a light smile adorning her full lips, the slight pink of her flushed cheeks barely visible from my position. Her eyes are the clearest blue, flawless in their clarity, but lifeless somehow.
Doll's eyes, unseeing.
Until they land on mine.
There is momentary flicker of life as she looks back at me, broken almost immediately by the spin of the dance step, and by the time she glances back at me, her flawless composure is back in place.
As the song ends and another suitor cuts in, I notice a vague acquaintance of mine by the patio door, although I can't usually stand the flapping of gums at these things I make my way over.
"Cullen" He greets me extending a large paw in my direction.
"McCarty" I reply. Grasping his sweaty hand firmly, I try to conceal my distaste. Emmett McCarty was a buffoon, but he was always at these things, and he knew everyone. "So, whose the blonde?"
Emmett waggles his eyebrows at me suggestively.
"She's a doll ain't she?" He appraised her for a moment before responding. "That's Rosalie Hale, up and coming family the Hales." He surmised for me briefly, as I nodded.
I had heard of the Hales, perhaps not as high class as my father would have hoped, but she was certainly beautiful enough to make the impression he desired. Tipping my head towards Emmett, I moved forward to cut in on the next dance.
As if she was aware of my approach, Rosalie Hale straightened imperceptibly, reinstating her already faultless posture.
"May I have this dance?" Her eyes roved over me appraisingly, and her eyebrows raised expectantly as I lightly grasped her hand in mine. "Edward Cullen, it's a pleasure to meet you."
The corner of her mouth seemed to lift ever so slightly, she had heard of me as well.
"Rosalie Hale." She returned decorously.
Rosalie moved around the dance floor in my arms with impeccable technique, her manners were above any kind of reproach, but she left me cold.
Her eyes rarely met my own, but were constantly scanning the room. I had the unsettling feeling that she was trying to determine if there were someone better she should be conversing with, and if not, how many people had seen us dancing together. What the impact of this introduction would be on her standing.
Even in the short space of a single dance, Rosalie was strategising.
As I attempted to engage her in any kind of personal conversation, she remained stoic, her responses proper and formal, but lacking in any actual feeling or opinion.
She was just a shell, a beautiful decorative shell, but hollow all the same.
I excused myself shortly after, I knew that my parents may approve of a match with the Hale girl, but I could not endure it.
As I left her presence I glanced back at Miss Hale, her eyes were narrowed in judgement, the first glimmer of a real emotion marring her perfect face for just a moment. Loathing.
Despite the façade she had maintained, and the interest she had shown in our introduction, that instant of genuine sentiment revealed more about Rosalie Hale than anything else.
I suddenly felt rather sullied by the encounter, anxious to be out of the company of these pretentious people and their narrow-minded estimations.
The fresh air of the patio called to me, the open night sky providing the illusion of freedom I greatly craved, the claustrophobia of the atmosphere quelled merely by escaping the confines of these four walls.
It was a much quieter, intimate atmosphere on the veranda, faint laughter carried up to me from shadowy figures at the edge of the lake. From the murky twilight a haughty voice rang out clearly.
"Oh Jasper, you really are terrible!" Her voice was full of money, wealth dripped from every syllable.
As she stepped into the dusty moonlight, her hair was illuminated like a halo of wildfire, burning around her in the darkness. Emerging from the gloom with three men, she seemed unconcerned about appearances, splashing her bare feet in the cool water of the lake.
Recognising the Jasper in question as another remote acquaintance, I approached the group under the guise of his friendship, curious about the girl.
My footsteps made barely a sound on the dewy lawn, and I cleared my throat flagrantly to alert them to my presence. The girl's laughter was husky and low as the men gravitating around her looked up at me.
"Whitlock."
"Oh Cullen, I didn't know you were here. Have you met Vicky?" Jasper Whitlock was a notorious womanizer and his familiarity with 'Vicky' was obvious immediately. She laughed once more softly before skipping lithely over to me.
She was equally as graceful as Rosalie Hale had been, but less refined, there was something almost feline about her actions.
"Victoria Richmond." She held out of hand formally as recognition filtered through my memory. The Richmond's were one of the oldest and most affluent families in Rochester, their youngest daughter Victoria was well known throughout the town.
"Edward Cullen. Charmed I'm sure Miss Richmond, your reputation precedes you." Raising one eyebrow as she attempted to decipher my tone and meaning, she looked even more catlike. Her lips rose slowly into a lazy smile as she assessed me.
"Yes, I'm sure it has Eddie! I believe I am familiar with the Cullen family, but not with you specifically, why is that?" She practically purred.
The way her eyes raked over my body like a predator made me feel somewhat intimidated by this woman, a ridiculous notion, but one I could not quash.
"I have only recently joined my family in town Miss Richmond, I'm afraid my attendance at social functions has been rather limited as of yet."
"Well we shall have to remedy that Mr Cullen", she smirked mocking my formality, "we wouldn't want you to miss out on the fun." As Victoria stepped closer to me I noticed the sparkling gleam in her bright green eyes, but where some may have sited mischief I saw only malice.
With her unruly appearance she struck a chord within me, resonant of Oberon and Titania's moonlight faeries, up to no good under the cover of the stars, but her intent seemed malevolent rather than playful.
It appeared her life of privilege had lead her to believe that she could smash up people and things and then retreat back into the vast carelessness of her money, assured in the knowledge that other people would clean up her mess.
This reckless disregard for anyone, including herself, radiated from her every pore, and I abruptly wished to be removed from her company. The thrill of basking in her presence was only worth the price of being scorched by her unpredictable incandescence, a price I was not willing to pay.
The night continued on in much the same fashion, I made conversation only where I felt it prudent, and spent the rest of my time lamenting the two intriguing women.
Undoubtedly both girls were exactly the sort of woman my father would like me to pursue, good breeding, stellar familial reputations, perfect for contributing to the our burgeoning political images.
Yet in person both girls seemed deficient and left an unsavoury taste in my mouth. As I contemplated the actuality of living life with either Rosalie or Victoria I felt inexplicably trapped in my own existence.
Looking up I saw Victoria enter the drawing room, still barefoot and laughing, walking directly over to Rosalie. As I observed the two together, they were striking in their corollary.
The images conflicting, of light and dark, angel and devil, fire and ice.
Both representing temptation incarnate, desire personified.
Their eyes, one set icy blue, the other lustrous green, flitted to me repeatedly. I felt defenceless under their withering gazes, dreading either outcome of their fleeting verdict.
They both smiled then, the startling symmetry of the two, almost ethereal in their magnificence, with no warmth behind their eyes, awakened something within me at that moment.
I moved from my place, without a word of polite excusal, without a glimmer of remorse, I left them behind.
The dim acceptance I perceived in their expressions terrified me.
They were the contrasting symbols of my conscience in disturbing human form, the angel and devil on my shoulder both equally malignant, I would have no chance of redemption.
As my footsteps carried me away, I felt relieved that I had fulfilled my obligation, I had been seen to make an effort despite my discomfort.
I could now return to my Bella, my sanctuary.