I am Rosalie Hale. I am beautiful. I am deadly.

In my human life, I was also beautiful. I was all golden waves and soft ivory curves, blue eyes the color of a late summer sky. My cheeks blushed demure rose when Royce King looked at me that first day in his father's bank. Everything about me was soft, yielding. Accepting.

The things that I wanted were usual things: a marriage, money, a baby. Nothing out of the ordinary. I just wanted a Mary Cassatt painting of my own life…warm colors and a sweet-smelling infant in my arms.

My mother's aims were even simpler. She simply wanted me married and married well. She didn't care really how it looked behind closed doors. She just wanted the picture to be right to all who looked in, my life made into a diorama, contained and pretty for all who wanted to gaze upon it. And Royce King was the key to all of that. He was the richest young man in town and would remain so. He was a King, after all. President Roosevelt himself had dined with the Kings when he'd visited the year before.

Perhaps I am harsh, bitter by the knowledge that my mother, in essence, acted as my madam. I know she didn't think of it in those terms, but she saw my beauty as a commodity, available for trading in for status, a marriage to a King. Endless Christmases at the King family mansion, summers at their seaside cottage, grandchildren bearing the most powerful name in town.

No one would ever call her middle-class again.

And the price for this was my innocence. I would have to trade in everything I'd known of the world for a new picture based upon my uses. Before was potential, a time when I was thought of in terms of what I might do. I might marry, I might teach, I might…what? At the time, my options were limited, but I didn't really know that. I knew what I wanted, or thought I wanted. But innocence demands possibility. The loss of that innocence is committing yourself to the use of someone else, in my case to marital duties of one type or another until the very end of my life.

But I'd read enough fairy tales to know a prince when I saw one. And mine was perfect, handsome, rich, attentive. He was even the son of a King, a fact I would tease him about in some of my more cloying moments. I was certain that this was my path, the thing that meant most to me, and the thing that would mark my life forever as one of accomplishment.

Until I met Henry. He was Vera's, and he was the first thing I'd ever seen that wasn't mine and couldn't become mine. Vera's little Henry: plump cheeks and black curls, and the sweetest little dimples that showed when he smiled at his mother. He wouldn't smile at me. He couldn't care about me, really, not when she was in the room. I couldn't hold a candle to his mother. Vera was my friend, and had been since we were girls. But no one had ever looked at her when I was standing next to her. I can't really describe how that feels, but what I was left with after that encounter with that perfect child was longing. A child would always look at me with that love in his eyes. There would never be the threat of losing that love.

And for all my self-centeredness and vanity, I knew that one day, people wouldn't look at me in the same way. I was naïve and stupid and empty, but even I knew that. No one is beautiful forever.

Well, except me.

But of course, I'm skipping ahead. Forgive me.

Royce had made quite clear his feelings for me, his intentions of marrying me and bringing to fruition all of my mother's desires and wishes and all that I thought I wanted and needed. There was no surface of my room uncovered by flowers, letters, trinkets, and keepsakes. He knew exactly what he wanted. If only I were as clear-headed.

As weeks passed, filled to the brim with walks, dances, Sunday drives, and evenings spent on my mother's porch swing, I mirrored Royce's smug certainty right back to him. One balmy summer night, as we sat in the porch swing and talked, Royce got down on one knee and proposed to me. In one hand was the biggest diamond I'd ever seen.

In that one moment, all of my mother's desires were fulfilled. We threw ourselves into the wedding planning with single-minded purpose. Looking back on it, I realize that she was far more excited about the ceremony than I. I cared, certainly, and welcomed the idea of a church full of people straining for the first look at me. I knew just how the stained glass windows of the church would cast rainbows on my golden hair, how everyone would turn to see me as I made my way up the aisle, how the sighs would echo in the sanctuary as I placed my hand in Royce's. But when I really thought about the things that made me happiest, I thought of Henry looking at Vera, and I knew exactly what I wanted out of a marriage to Royce. I thought of our golden children playing on the vast lawn in front of the King estate. I thought of taking them with us for Sunday drives in the backseat of a very expensive new car. Royce actually figured very little in my daydreams. He was a means to an end. After all, he was a man, and men had always shown interest. If not him, it would be another. I loved him well enough, I suppose, but I thought only of those golden children whenever I thought of life after my marriage.

I never thought about the things that you must do in order to bring about those golden children. Times being what they were, I didn't talk to my mother about that either. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I knew that Royce, being my prince, would be gentle and loving. He had always been so polite and well-mannered during our courtship. How would it be anything else?

The wedding planning was marching along nicely. It was simply a week away. That night I'd visited Vera and Henry. I'd watched her with her husband when they thought I couldn't see. I still remember, even through the haze of human sight, the feeling I had when he gently kissed her on the cheek. It was like I was watching something intimate, private. Royce never touched me that way. He barely touched me at all unless someone was watching. I couldn't imagine him being that tender. A fresh surge of jealousy coursed through me, followed by frustration. How did plain Vera end up having everything that I wanted? I was Rosalie Hale, fiancée to Royce King. I was beautiful, and soon, I would be rich and powerful, too. I remember making excuses for Royce in my head. That his unwillingness to touch me unless others were watching simply meant he was a gentleman. He didn't want to put my reputation at risk.

But that kiss, that simple kiss on the cheek didn't leave my mind. That was what I was thinking of as I walked home. The jealousy was consuming and burned through my system with surprising intensity. Why was I so jealous of Vera and her husband? They were poor. Construction work had dried up, and Vera's husband was thinking of joining the Civilian Conservation Corp just to make ends meet. What was to be jealous of? But the look in his eyes as he looked at his wife played again and again in my brain. When Royce looked at me, it was a look only of pride and possession. Like you'd look at a prized horse or a new car. His eyes never softened that way, they never saw anything other than my beauty. I wasn't even sure if we'd ever talked about anything other than the next party that we'd attend or how jealous people seemed of us or what clothes we wore. Nothing that, suddenly, seemed to matter. I didn't know how he felt about children, about religion, art, music, education. I didn't know what books he read or even if he read. I didn't know anything about his childhood, about how he felt about his mother, no funny little anecdotes about his years in school. Nothing.

I saw my life stretch before me suddenly, as empty as the street I was on. No matter how dim my human memories become, no matter how much the events that followed overshadowed everything else, I have always remembered that feeling of emptiness. I can't remember what color my house was painted or my doll's name or if we had any pets. But I remember that horrible hollow feeling as I walked down that empty street.

I shook my head in an attempt to clear it of those thoughts. I was Rosalie Hale, and I deserved the happy life I was about to be handed in Brighton Presbyterian Church on the 1st of May. A spring wedding. Spring. Rebirth, blossoming, the beauty before the ripening. A time when winter and death and decay seemed so far away. How appropriate a time for a wedding. I tried to run through the guest list in my head to chase away the jealous thoughts. It wasn't really working. Vera would be there. I hadn't asked her to be a bridesmaid because my mother wouldn't let me. I was instead asking some of Royce's cousins and some girls who were the children of my father's co-workers at the bank, people my mother deemed as "suitable." I began to wonder what it would look like when Royce kissed me in the church. I couldn't picture it.

I was surprised when I heard them. That was my first reaction. It was after dark, but it was Rochester. Other than a stiff breeze coming off the water, there was little to prevent a young girl from walking home alone. But these men were so loud. I'd never been around men who drank before, and I didn't really make the connection, but they seemed…happy. I was so innocent that I never realized the true danger. I was just a little nervous. I didn't want to be late getting home. My mother and I were going to go over the seating chart for the reception. We had so much to do.

So when someone in the loud group called my name, I was initially annoyed. Then I realized that it was Royce. I smelled the cloud of alcohol that surrounded them, so I finally realized what was happening.

They were all drunk.

I focused on making my face presentable. I was afraid that Royce would realize that I'd been…what? Thinking? No, doubting.

But of course, he didn't. He knew so little about me that he wouldn't have been able to tell.

He was with a group of friends who had come into town ostensibly to celebrate the wedding. It was still a week off, so I had been very confused as to why they were here so early. I wasn't used to the way people who never had to work did things. These were all princes, just like my own Royce. They'd never had to work for anything. They were just waiting to come into their own. They might make some show of participating in whatever family business was theirs, but they were really just waiting in the wings for the king to die, so they could inherit the throne. Just like my Royce. So what was a week to celebrate the marriage of one of their own?

It just never occurred to me how they would celebrate.

"Rose! Here's my Rose!" Royce shouted as the men around him laughed.

Why are they laughing? I thought.

"You're late. We're cold, you've kept us waiting so long."

"But…I was at Vera's. Why…why would you be waiting?" I felt a small tremble of fear. I'd told Royce that I was visiting her. I knew I had. We had no plans. I was confused.

There was a man with them that I'd never met before. John, the others called him. I found out later, after I'd died, that he'd come from Atlanta. He was dark, dark hair, dark skin. His eyes were in shadow.

"What did I tell you, John," Royce bragged, pulling me closer, more into the light, "Isn't she lovelier than all your Georgia peaches?"

The man looked me up and down, appraising, his eyes still shadowed by the brim of his hat. "It's hard to tell. She's all covered up." His words clearly threatened, but the voice was unexpected. It was clear, musical, like the deep call of church bells. I think I actually took a step toward him before I froze. I saw the smile creep across his face, slowly. His teeth were brilliant white against his dark skin.

Suddenly, Royce grabbed me and ripped off my jacket. I screamed once, and the others ripped the hat from my head. I screamed again, and someone struck me hard across the face. I gasped, unable even to scream for a moment. The shock was unspeakable. No one had ever hit me before.

"Show him what you look like, Rose!" He reached out to rip my blouse, and my screaming began again. But there was no one to hear. The Depression had taken its toll on Main Street, and the storefronts around us were empty. They pulled me into the doorway of one of the empty storefronts. I remember, oddly enough, a dressmaker's manikin, headless, still occupying the window. There were two boards nailed up to the doors. The man named John reached out and wrenched one off. It seemed so effortless, and it reminded me that I had no hope.

I didn't even know what they were planning to do to me. They just kept hitting me, again and again. I screamed and screamed. As the first of the men climbed on top of me, I just left my body altogether. I watched as if I were the manikin, safe behind the glass. I can't really remember all of the details. My brain was scrambling to make sense of the pain of so much innocence ripped away, the cold of the tile on my naked back, the horrible things that the men were doing to me. I didn't even really know what they were doing to me. I had been so innocent.

The parts that I do remember I've had to struggle to keep. I remember John swinging the board down and the feeling as it struck my head. I remember his weight on me, so much more than the rest of the men. His hands tore, broke, and bruised where they touched. He grabbed my wrist, and the bones there shattered. His legs crushed mine. You could hear the bones breaking, and I tried to call out to Royce to stop this, but he was laughing, drinking something more out of a bottle wrapped in paper. He paid no attention as his friend's body split mine into splinters. I felt my pelvis break, and my ribs. My last scream was silenced when he clamped a hand over my mouth and my teeth shattered. I looked up at him and the light from a streetlamp caught his bare shoulder.

It glittered.

I've been over this detail again and again. I thought, once I woke from my death, that maybe I was mistaken. All the other memories were so vague, red and blurry from the blood in my eyes. But I remember that glimmer of topaz. My family now is diamond. This stranger was browner, but the sparkle was the same.

And his eyes. I hadn't been able to see them before. They were a deep red, and when I coughed blood onto his face, they darkened so much that they became black. He reached up a hand and wiped my blood away. He licked his fingers, slowly. There was a rumbling in his chest, and before his body left mine, he lowered his face to my breast and bit into my flesh.

I couldn't even scream anymore. I heard a noise from behind, a sound like a flock of birds or a group of men running or a rush of wind. I couldn't place it, but John lifted his head from my chest with a snarl and was gone. Royce and his other friends ran, calling out for John as if they weren't sure where he was. His friends were joking that he would have to find another bride. He said he'd have to have more patience first.

And then someone else approached. His chest rumbled with a growl as he took in the damage before him. It was Dr. Cullen. I thought it was another man there to hurt me more. There was blood everywhere, my hair was wet with it, my eyes nearly swollen shut. My vision was reduced to one tiny pinhole. I tried to speak. I was horrified at my nakedness, and Dr. Cullen seemed to understand that. He swept his long coat off and covered me.

There was something wrong with his coat. It burned. It made the bite on my chest catch fire, hotter and hotter. And the screaming started again. I coughed out more blood and probably some of my teeth, and then I was flying. I kept waiting for something. There had to be an end to the pain, some reward or punishment, something had to come to end it.

But we flew on.

Eventually there was light and warmth. But I looked around through the small slit that was left of my eyesight, and it looked like a house. I remember the smell of flowers and leather and woodsmoke. And something else. A smell a little like John's breath, but sweeter, like vanilla and night-blooming jasmine. John's breath was more like ether.

I thought that this wouldn't be a bad place to die.

The burning continued, and then I felt sharpness again through broken wrists and ankles, in my bruised neck.

"He'd already bitten her," a sharp voice said from behind the doctor.

"I didn't have time to examine her first. She's dying quickly. More venom might help us get ahead of the injuries."

I screamed as the burning intensified, coming now from my ravaged breast, my neck, my arms and legs. The new burning was different…a white flame instead of a red one. Like the outmost extreme of cold, hardening my flesh into ice instead of charcoal. I couldn't understand how the pain could get worse, but it did, I could feel my bones move inside my legs, the broken and shattered edges moving against one another, a faint horror behind the burning that grew and grew and grew.

My mind registered that someone had taken my hand. "Rosalie, I'm so sorry. It was the only way. You'd lost so much blood. The pain will end, I promise. Rosalie?"

I only screamed some more. "I'm sorry." The voice sounded gentle and pained.

Why would no one kill me? Why were they all making me suffer? Why wouldn't they let me die?

"What were you thinking, Carlisle? Rosalie Hale?" It was Edward, I eventually remembered. Some portion of my brain continued to operate above my body, just as it had as it watched from the store window.

Why did he hate me? No man had ever reacted to me that way before. It was like he could know all of the horrible things I'd thought about Vera. Like he saw past the golden hair and blue eyes and soft lips. Like he saw the nothingness.

"I couldn't let her die. It was too much—too horrible, too much waste," Carlisle said.

"I know," Edward said. It seemed like he was talking about more than my death. Like maybe he was talking about me. It added more pain on top of what I was enduring, anger and hurt to compete with the red fire from above and the white fire from below. He knew nothing, I remember the alert part of my brain thinking, nothing of what I suffered on the street. If I could have struck him, I would have.

"It was too mush waste. I couldn't leave her," Carlisle repeated softly.

A woman's voice answered. Mrs. Cullen. Esme. "Of course you couldn't." There was a softness in her voice that reminded me of Vera.

"People die all the time. Don't you think she's just a little recognizable, though? The Kings will have to put up a huge search – not that anyone suspects the fiend," Edward spat. He growled deep in his chest. At least he knew what my bastard fiancée had done to me. That made me happier and eased the pressure of the anger in my chest.

For two days, I stayed locked in the battle between the fires, waiting for one or the other to consume me, but it wouldn't. Gradually, the pain of my injuries lessened. The breaks in my legs healed, I felt the teeth in my mouth regrow and smooth, I felt the tightness of my face diminish as the swelling there went down. But still the fires raged.

Someone was always holding my hand. Sometimes it was Carlisle, sometimes Esme, never Edward. They tried to soothe me when I screamed and whimpered. Once Esme even read some poetry to me. I could hear strains of piano music coming from the other room. It was often angry, ominous music, sometimes merely sad. Esme sighed often when the music was playing, especially when the music turned sad.

Esme took the time to wipe the dried blood from my face with a warm, damp cloth. It smelled of roses. The smell turned my stomach. It smelled like the roses that Royce had sent me each day. But I said nothing. My teeth were clenched together. I knew I'd scream more if I opened my mouth. And screaming did nothing.

On a few occasions on the second day, I heard whispers. "Who was he?" Edward asked. "Did you see him?"

"I didn't see him. I smelled him. His scent was all over her. It wasn't anyone I've ever known."

"Is it someone new, then? Surely the Volturi would have taken notice of an…"

The conversation became too soft for me to hear. It didn't make sense to me anyway. Not at the time.

Hours passed. I began to be able to focus on the ticking of the clock. I counted away the minutes. It helped me keep my sanity. Slowly, the pain began to lessen. The fires still raged, but I began to notice that my fingers no longer burned. And the pains in my ankles were gone.

Esme spoke again. "Shouldn't we begin to explain? She's clearly going to wake soon. See how the bruises have faded? And her teeth…"

"Do you want to, or should I?" Carlisle asked softly.

"I think you should. You're her father now," Esme replied. I couldn't understand what she meant. I had a father. Somewhere, he was looking for me. I knew he would be.

"Rosalie? I know the venom burns, but I think you can hear me now. I'm so sorry for the pain you are suffering now, but it was the only way. You would have died. You may have turned anyway. The dark one bit you." These words didn't help at all.

"Rosalie, we are vampires. The burning that you're feeling now is the spread of the venom. It's healing you, but it's also turning you into one of us."

Edward snorted somewhere near the door. "She can hear you. You seem to be frustrating her. She's wishing she could slap you for talking to her like she's an idiot."

How did he know that?

"I'm sorry, Rosalie. This is just very difficult to explain. But things that you probably didn't believe in during your life are true. There are things in this world that most humans never have to see. You've found that out in the hardest way possible. I'm so sorry for that, sorrier than you will ever know. But this life can be good. You do not have to grow old. You will never die. Your eyes will open to a world more beautiful than you can imagine."

"You'll even be more beautiful. I know that's important to you," Edward added from the doorway. He snorted again.

"Edward!" Esme chastised.

"We are a family in a very real sense. We love one another and are able to control our impulses. We consume animal blood rather than human, and the practice seems to make us more like the humans we once were. When you wake, however, you will want human blood, need it. Your body will crave it to the point of physical pain. To live like we do requires discipline and practice. It is not easy, but it has many benefits. My hope is that you will remain with us, a beloved daughter to Esme and myself. We will help you through the early days. These days are difficult, but we will be there for you in every way that we can."

And what about Edward? I thought.

I heard an angry slap against the door, and Edward's footsteps walking away. Carlisle sighed. Esme said, "I'll go after him." She left the room.

Carlisle's voice lowered to a whisper. "I'm sorry about my son." Son? I'd thought Edward was Esme's brother. "He's been alone for a long time, and he resents our interference. I can't deny that I'd hoped that you would perhaps grow to be a companion for him, but if not, a sister. He's empty. I worry about him."

Empty? I thought. It was a familiar word, but at that moment, the fires reached my chest, threatening to strangle my heart. It sped violently, trying to stay one beat ahead of the relentless burning. Both fires licked toward the very center of my heart, and I began screaming again, until I felt the final breath leave my body, and the final thud of my frenzied heart.

Quick footsteps entered the room, and I heard Dr. Cullen step away from me.

My eyes opened, and I saw the world for the first time.