I don't know, just a little angsty something. I love adjectives and descriptions. Whenever I read it in my head, I hear it in the voice of this amazing actor I saw last year who played Hamlet in a local production. He was phenomenal. Hmm, Alan Rickman's voice works too.
This is just a quick look into the mind of my version of Edward Cullen, the mind of someone I envision as a young, brilliant man looking for something. It's not much.
"What is it that you look for in life, eh?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Is it love you're looking for, boy?" The words were spat out, venom engrained in each syllable. "That elusive concept everyone strives for?" he said dramatically, wringing his hand in front of him, grasping at thin air.
He turned away. "What do you know about love," he murmured, the word sour on his tongue. He traced the spines of weathered old books absentmindedly as he slowly paced around the dark, antique bookshelves. The room glowed warmly from a fire snapping merrily away in a brick fireplace. The orange light diffused into the background, touching everything but the pallid, blue-tinged shade of his skin. He spoke suddenly, startling the air. "What do you even want from it? It is but a foolish concept. The women you pursue are but empty china dolls, receptive of any grains of attention you toss at them. And you revel in it, don't you?" he questioned, his voice suspicious as he glanced behind him. Each word he pronounced was as sharp and as clean-cut as a diamond, each letter ringing clear.
He swiveled back around on his heels, a most dangerous glint in his eyes. "You do like it." His pulse throbbed as he watched acknowledgement manifest and permeate the air. He laughed jubilantly, his head thrown back and his jaws wide open, letting out a punctured sort of chuckle that shredded the atmosphere. "What is it you like? Is it their pulses, feeling their hearts beat so soundly with what they think is some sort of crazed, unbridled love that you can hear each thump?" This he enunciated with a quick motion, slamming a fist down on the worn wooden tabletop. "Oh, but what do they know," he drawled ruefully, turning his face upwards and closing his brilliant green eyes. "And aren't you such a fool, to put faith in that sound every time...every single time..." His voice faded away, colored with pain so that the pitch hitched upwards at the end.
His eyes again took on the dangerous, hateful gleam as they flashed open. "So what are you going to do," he stated, leaning on his arms against the desk. His eyes narrowed in contemplation. "I suppose you could just sit with your head in your hands again, waiting for another pathetic girl to take pity on you. You know, that kind that doesn't know what she's looking for so she turns to the most pitiful creatures, hoping to get something out of it." He smiled wryly, a beautiful twist of his lips that brought only one corner of his mouth upwards. He reached for a bottle of scotch and poured out a measure. Then he sank messily into a chair, every lock of his copper hair astray, and traced the rim of his cup. He sat in silence for a while, before finally saying a quiet and tired "Cheers" as he lifted the glass to the mirror, and threw back the liquid.
This character has no backstory. I'd love it if there was someone out there who would want to create a backstory for him.
Anyway, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear thoughts.