She silently glided over the thick underbrush of the New York mountain strip, the hem of her dress barely touching the leaves below her. Thick, blonde hair fell down her back and the moonlight through the amber leaves, cast a shimmering glow upon her translucent skin. She did not belong there, in those desolate woods with her spotlessly white dress and glowing cat eyes.
The locals had seen her before; the beautiful young woman who haunted the woods. Dramatic stories of the pale goddess swirled among the residents and within a few days of her appearing; she became a legend. Children said she was the ghost of a jilted bride. Others claimed she was a fairy of the woods and dared each other to follow her on one of her midnight excursions, though none dared to try. She became the subject of everyone's thoughts and no matter what was said about the beautiful woman, everyone was quite sure that she was not, entirely, human.
Phelps Mansion in Binghamton, New York, had been a historical museum for a number of years. Visitors roamed the vast halls of the Victorian Estate and marveled at the richness of the home and gardens. To locals, it was a staple landmark of their town and they were more than shocked to hear that it had been closed. Within a week of hearing about the purchase of the mansion, all ties to it being a museum were taken out of the house in pieces; signs, guest books, and the large gift shop kiosk, were all dumped on he side of the road by a rowdy work crew. They bulldozed the parking lot, installing an elaborate fountain, and cleaned the estate from top to bottom, replacing worn furniture and making it more livable than it had been in decades.
Nosy locals watched through gapped curtains as a caravan of moving trucks parked in front of the refurbished mansion. They came just after sundown and began unloading racks and racks of covered clothing and the occasional heavy box. Expensive paintings in gilded frames, elaborate Persian rugs, and several ancient busts also made their way into the house, showing that whoever bought this house and money, and a lot of it.
Finally, a sleek black Mercedes with tinted windows pulled up to the house and a pair of sequined heels emerged. A young woman with golden hair, wearing a stylish black, knee-length dress followed and stood beside her new home. She studied it with a critical eye, took one look around the peeping neighborhood before disappearing inside her new home.
Rosalie lay on the bank of a small pond, her voluminous skirts spread around her. The wind gently blew through the trees and the scents of autumn were thick in the air. She lazily dipped a slender hand into the water and sensed all the little, silver, fish scatter. She always thought it strange how animals could sense how dangerous she was while humans were simply drawn to her like moth to the flame. She supposed it was because humans had grown stupid and trusting, losing their once basic instincts that kept them alive.
Lost in thought, the crackle of a broken twig snapped Rosalie to attention. She silently snapped up, teeth slightly barred at the sound of an unwelcomed guest. She sniffed the air, catching the faint smell of a human man; earthy and sweet with the scent of sweat and rainwater. It made her mouth water, yet she was curious to see who had been watching her before she made any rash decisions on drinking his blood.
Another twig snapped and Rosalie heard a man's voice curse. She smiled and settled herself back on the rocks. "Hello?" She daintily called.
A curly head of dark brown hair emerged from behind the trees. A tall young man with broad shoulders and thick arms stood before her wearing camouflage and an orange vest; the usual garb of a hunter. He leaned his rifle against a tree and approached her slowly, his warm eyes boring a hole into her, making her strangely uncomfortable.
"Hello ma'am." He said nervously, his deep voice echoing in the empty clearing. He had he slightest southern accent that only added to the sweet sound of his voice. A light blush took over his dimpled cheeks and Rosalie could hear his heart pumping warm blood through his body at an alarming rate.
"Rather late for hunting, is it not?"
"I-I… there's… well you see the d-deer…" Rosalie found his stammering endearing and came to the conclusion she would not harm him, yet.
"Oh, you're hunting deer. I understand it's easier to hunt them at night and catch then unaware in the darkness. And please relax, you sound as if I am going to murder you and it's rather nice to speak with someone. The neighbors do not seem that fond of me."
He nodded and took another step closer to her, his boot just inched from the hem of her dress. "What are you doing in the woods this late at night. It's pretty dangerous. There are wildcats in the trees."
Rosalie laughed aloud, the infectious sound made the man weak at the knees. "Trust me, I have nothing to fear in these woods."
"Then you're braver than some. A mountain lion got me pretty good in the chest a few years back. A still have the scars to prove it."
Rosalie studied the young man more; his shirtsleeves were rolled up, showing off the toned muscles of his arms. His smile was sincere and his teeth were straight and white, emphasized by his dimples, which made him look rather childlike. All together he was a handsome man and Rosalie fought the unfamiliar urge to reach up and touch the faded scars herself.
"Then maybe it is you who need to be escorted home." A soft smile played on her lips.
"Can I take you up on that offer ma'am? It's pretty late and-"
"What's your name?" She interrupted, a soft smile playing on her lips.
"Emmett McCarty, ma'am."
Rosalie stood in a single, fluid motion, startling Emmett. "Well, Emmett, it was lovely speaking to you. Perhaps we will see each other again." She said, turning away from him to disappear deeper into the trees.
"Wait!" Emmett called. "But I don't even know your name!"
But Rosalie Hale was already gone.
Please review to read more, I have crazy plans for this story =) Thanks for reading!