The Liberation Chronicles
by HistoryintheMaking
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- Chapter 1: Rosalie -
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Rosalie bent down to press her hands into the cool water of a puddle formed at the foot of a tree. With pursed-lips, she examined the skin beneath the liquid and wished it were not hers. Her fingers were graceful, yes, and there was barely a wrinkle in her skin. Her nails, manicured to a perfect semi-oval shape, were clean and ideal. But yet all that she could see was that skin; that white, pale, blank canvas beneath the shallow waters. Her skin made Rosalie feel too open... vulnerable?
Vulnerable. That word, she hated it. It made her feel weak, but she was. She felt helpless in this body, this tormenting structure; frozen in the body he touched, the one he ruined.
"Even in the middle of nowhere, you find yourself a mirror," said a male voice. Edward. How typical. A day would seem nearly surreal without his side comments.
"What do you want?" she spat.
"Alice and I are finished," he said. She turned around to see him wiping the corner of his mouth with his finger. "Maybe you should think about finishing up too, instead of looking at yourself." And just as quickly as he came, Edward sped off into the other direction. Probably to find Alice. Those two were glued to each other at the hip. Rosalie wondered where on earth Bella would fit in between the two.
Rosalie punched the water, and ran to catch up with them.
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At home, Rosalie looked at herself again but found no comfort in her beauty. Her nose was too thin and her forehead too wide. She turned to the side and flashed a seductive over-the-shoulder smile, but it did not please her. New flaws with her body continued to show up every day. Would there ever be a moment of peace?
No. The answer to that was no. She will never feel happy in this damaged body.
Rosalie broke the mirror.
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Rosalie tried on every piece of clothing in her closet, but nothing looked right. Her clothes to her were unflattering; her body in them detestable. She pinched the sides of her hip, the sides of her thighs, and sides of her arms, grabbing on to the "fat" that lay beneath the skin. Look at you, she thought to herself. You're hideous.
Rosalie threw her wardrobe into the hallway.
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Running. Fast, and hard. She pushed the limits of the forest until they could not hold her in anymore. She broke free, running alongside the highway's forest and almost flying. She lept over boulders, used trunks as springboards and stretched her legs as far as they could. She was running away from that house, from those clothes, from those people who, although she loved, could never understand the unhappiness she felt.
Fleeing, yes. She was fleeing. She was burying that Rosalie, that broken and unhappy woman, and was reaching for a new one; the one who, with each stretch of her legs, seemed to slowly trickle into her system; this powerhouse. She broke out into a laugh. Half crazy, she was, but she laughed.
Liberation. The feeling was beautiful.
A/N: I hope you like it. I haven't been writing for a very long time, so I'm incredibly rusty. I'll be doing this for most of the characters in Twilight. Tell me what you think?