Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of the corresponding characters.
I always wondered why Carlisle had thought Rosalie would have been a good match for Edward, back when he changed her. Here's a little peek into the mind of Carlisle Cullen, on one fateful night in the heart of Rochester, New York, 1933.
Carlisle's POV
Shadows rose up among the cracked brick alleyways of Rochester, New York. Dimly lit street lamps lined the cobbled streets, casting sinister shapes out into the night.
A slight breeze swept through the city, causing the leaves on trees to rustle and my blonde hair to twist slightly in the wind.
I was standing, alone, in Rochester Central Park; located in the very heart of the city. I inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet scents of the nearby apple trees, in full bloom and bursting with small, delicate white flowers, products of the time of year.
April. Late April.
I sighed and cast my eyes around admiringly. The park was one of the few places I had come to truly respect and admire, here in Rochester. The crowded streets by day, the stuffy hospital by night; sometimes it was nice to just go somewhere, somewhere like this.
The park was perfectly round, the ground covered in a flat, even layer of crisp green grass, in its prime and carefully tended to every other day by a few local gardeners. Flowerbeds circled the perimeter of the park, blooms bursting from marigolds to dandelions, all brightly colored and filled with life.
And, of course, the trees. The apple trees also encircled the lush park, spaced evenly around the outside in an artistic and methodical way, the white petals drifting to the ground slowly and surely, waiting for the autumn, when they could grow their red fruit. I smiled serenely, completely at ease.
Another breeze blew through the park, encircling my senses with another wave of apple blossom and freshly-cut grass. It might have been cold, but I wasn't human and wasn't affected. I looked up at the clear, starless sky, with a feeling of bemused reluctance.
It was nearly midnight. Time to go back home to Edward and Esme. I abruptly turned, breaking from my statue-like stance, and departed the apple blossom park, setting off towards the higher part of town in a swift lope.
Being a vampire, I easily arrived on the lamp-lit streets of the richer families within a few minutes, not a bit out of breath. Of course.
I turned onto South Beaver St., slowing to a calm human pace and stuffing my pale hands into my equally white doctor's coat. I hadn't bothered taking it off after my shift at St. Mary's Hospital.
I passed a pub, still open with the door widely ajar and the lights still brightly on. Six men were seated at the bar inside, drinking ale and beer like life's wine. I made a slight face as I passed, smelling the alcohol tainting their blood streams and hearing the way their pulses were thumping erratically from drunkenness. I noticed that one of the men was Royce King, a well respected young lad whose father owned almost half the town. It appalled me that he would diminish to such a slobbering pig, chugging alcohol in a town pub at midnight.
I shook my head and continued on my way.
I turned onto Westminster St., only five blocks away from the street Esme, Edward, and I lived on. I quickened my pace, eager to return to my wife and 'son'.
Back at the pub, I heard the six men stagger out the door, forced out by a tired and disgruntled bartender. They laughed loudly and raucously, staggering about the dark streets and muttering drunken things.
I quickened my pace yet again, turning onto Coachline Blvd., even closer to my own, warm home. Another breeze, this one stronger than the ones before, gusted at my face and whipping my hair about my head wildly.
And then I smelled it.
On the breeze was the faintest murmurings of blood.
And it was fresh.
I felt my muscles tighten and venom pool in my mouth, eager to be injected. I thickly swallowed it and forced myself to relax. I had been abstaining human blood for over 200 years now, and was quite used to the sensations my body triggered when the scent of blood was caught.
I was suddenly worried. To whom did the blood belong? Did the men kicked out from the pub get into a street fight, perhaps? I listened intently into the night, hearing various heartbeats from nearby humans, sleeping soundly in their beds. But nothing like a street brawl, which would be loud and violent, easily detectable on a quiet night.
And just when I about convinced myself that there was no trouble, and that I should soon get home, I heard a scream.
I jumped slightly, startled by the sudden noise piercing the air, high and distressed. Human ears wouldn't have heard it so clearly, but it was loud nevertheless.
It was a girl, or a woman, of that I was sure. The tone of the scream had been distinctly feminine.
I paled. Oh no.
I made the connection; the blood, the scream. No young woman in the right mind would be out on a dark night, by herself. She could get lost, or hurt. I wasn't biased, but the human girls of this era were known to be especially 'delicate'.
What if one had the misfortune to be jumped by a group of drunken men?
Oh no.
I smelled more blood, stronger and fresher than before. I glanced towards the direction of my home, just once, before turning tail and running back towards the blood.
The scent was easy enough to follow, and when another piercing scream filled the night, I ran even faster.
Down the dark streets I swept, anxious to see what this was all about. I passed the bar again, but this time its doors were closed and the lights off. So fast was I running, I almost didn't notice how the clods were beginning to envelope the sky; a quilt of morbid snow was foreshadowing.
Up ahead, around the corner, I could hear the men laughing. The alcohol still stank of their breath and blood, and I grimaced as I heard them stumble away.
I zipped around said corner, ready to fight or flee, depending on the situation; I didn't want to get involved in something that might endanger my own family.
The scent of blood was almost overwhelming, and so I cut off my lungs.
The sight, however, was one far more heinous. I gasped aloud.
Rosalie Hale, a young girl of about eighteen, belonging to a fairly middle-class family across town, lay sprawled on the cold stone street, unconscious and bleeding in several places. Her golden blonde hair was ragged and tangled, showing evidence of being pulled harshly. Her clothes were ripped and torn. There were brass buttons scattered across the ground, gleaming dully in the light of the street lamps.
A flutter of cold, white snowflakes began to drift down upon the ground. The sky was no longer clear, but gray and dark.
"Those bastards." I growled, enraged that they would do such a thing. And even more hideous; I'd heard that Rosalie and Royce had been engaged. Their wedding would have been in within the week.
I forced myself to repress my animalistic desires for killing, and slowly approached the half-dead girl. A trickle of blood trailed down her death-pale cheek.
I bent down onto one knee once I was right next to her, and brushed aside some of her hair to see her face. I had to admit; it was abnormally beautiful, even for a human. She was the epitome of lovely, although nothing compared to my Esme. Long lashes, a heart-shaped face, perfect, full lips, a straight nose. She really was worthy of her name, as she was as beautiful as a rose.
But she was dying. I didn't know what to do. Should I change her? No, not if she had a chance. But did she? Gingerly, I reached over and rolled the poor girl over so she was lying on her back.
I almost started breathing again.
Across her flat stomach was a gruesome wound, perhaps the doing of someone's boot, bleeding profusely and soaking her already tattered and bloody clothes. I once again cursed Royce King and his 'friends', perhaps more damnable than I, a vampire.
Swiftly, my inner doctor taking over, I ripped a piece of fabric from her skirt and pressed it to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly, and her faint pulse quickened at my cold touch. Once again I was stunned by her beauty.
And then I had an epiphany.
I suddenly thought of my only son, Edward, related to me not by blood, but by companionship. He was a loyal, intelligent, and genteel man that I was proud to know and be known by. He had been the first being to console my loneliness in this existence, followed soon after by my lovely wife, Esme.
So joyful was I the moment I had fallen in love with Esme, the wonderful, sweet, loving woman she was, the perfect match to my own compassionate being. That was it; the perfect match.
As I pressed the cloth to Rosalie Hale's wound and listened to her faint pulse, my memories took me on a journey of sorts.
Flashback
It was the year 1921. Edward, Esme, and I had been living in Ashland, Wisconsin. Only a week ago had I saved Esme after her dive from the cliff. I knew I was in love with her, but did not know if she returned the feelings.
It was time to move again. We were seated in the family room, around the small coffee table. We were discussing possible moving locations. It would have been too much of a risk to stay much longer; Esme was supposed dead, and if she was seen it would brew chaos.
"How about Pittsburgh? In Pennsylvania?" I suggested, "It's overcast for most of the year." I added.
Esme glanced at me and smiled shyly, her newborn red eyes shining with admiration behind the sinister color. "I don't mind. It sounds nice." She said softly.
Edward, however, snorted. I stared at him, surprised.
"Carlisle, Pittsburgh?" He smirked, "It's the pits! How about somewhere farther west?" I rose an eyebrow at my son. He always did never hold back when it came to expressing opinions. "And besides," He continued, glancing discreetly at Esme, "We should go somewhere less populated."
I sighed, realizing he was right. Esme hunched over slightly, embarrassed. "You shouldn't let me hold you back," She whispered, "I'm a dead weight..." She cast her eyes at her feet.
Instantly, I was by her side. I draped my arm around her shoulder and said quietly, "No Esme. We were all where you were, once upon a time." I smiled slightly, and she looked up at me, her beautiful face showing interest. "You are not a dead weight, I assure you." Slowly, she nodded at my assurance. I felt strangely giddy at the thought of consoling Esme.
Edward had stayed silent during our exchange, impassive, but he smiled slightly when he heard that.
"Ahem." He said offhandishly. I started, for I'd been momentarily lost in Esme's gentle eyes, red though they were, but full of kindness. She, also, blinked and coughed to hide her embarrassment. I lifted my arm from her shoulders and discreetly slipped away to where I'd been previously sitting, reluctant to lose contact with her.
She, also, seemed reluctant. "How about, um, Alaska?" Esme suggested meekly. "I've never been there, but... it sounded... snowy..." She smiled sheepishly, but I saw Edward nodding.
"That's actually a fairly decent suggestion, Esme." He smiled warmly, "However, I was hoping for something else." He grinned suddenly, a crooked thing, "I've heard Astoria, Oregon is a beautiful place." His face lit up.
"Oregon?" I inquired. He nodded. Suddenly, I became skeptical. "And you say it's beautiful? Is that the only reason you want to go there?"
He became defensive. "No, of course not." He said arrogantly, "It's just... I'm tired of all the cities." He made a face, and Esme smiled in bemusement. "And Astoria is a small town that shows off nature's beauty. It's cloudy for about 240 days a year." He offered.
It was beautiful, eh? Well, I supposed that I, also, could use a break from suburbia, of sorts. It was settled. "Alright, then. Oregon, it is." Edward smiled contentedly, and Esme seemed excited.
Edward liked beautiful things.
Next Flashback
It was the year 1925, and we were now settled safely in quaint Astoria, Oregon.
Edward's words had been true; Astoria really was beautiful, in a way only nature could present.
And now, we were on a hunting trip, traveling through the lush forests of Oregon. Just another thing I liked about it; you didn't have to go far for a meal.
Esme, my wife since 1922, only a year after I changed her, accompanied me, along with Edward, aloof and arcane as always. Lately, I'd noticed he'd been getting even more distant, if that were possible.
Silently, we crept through the forests, Edward about twenty feet to my right, and Esme about twenty feet to my left.The forest scents overwhelmed me in a pleasant way as I sniffed around for scents leading towards the local wildlife. Right now, I was really craving some bear. I knew Edward would be on the prowl for some cougars, and Esme for some elk. Even hunting, she was kind and caring.
Eventually, Edward branched off east, perhaps detecting a scent, and it was only Esme and I .
"Carlisle?" She said in a quiet tone, one that even I could barely hear.
"Yes, my love. What is it?" I was curious as to what she was wondering about, for her voice held concern.
"Have you noticed how Edward seems... different?" She asked quietly, her tone anxious.
I indeed had. Lately he'd seemed... off. Not right, like he was pondering something very big. "Yes, I have." I finally answered, quiet as her.
Silence once again reigned the forest as we stalked through it. I was starting to become disheartened; perhaps there was no game out today in the forests.
"Over there." Esme hissed suddenly. I glanced over to her, and saw her slowly and quietly making her way towards a clearing near the Columbia River. I scented deer.
Hungrily, I growled in a low tone, "May I join you?" Out of courtesy, but inside I felt my muscles rippling and the venom gathering.
"Must you ask?" She said in amusement, before abruptly leaping into the clearing and killing her first deer and drinking it dry before the rest of its herd even knew she was there.
I needed no more invitation. With vampire speed, I rushed to the clearing and joined my wife in the massacre. The bloodlust overtook me, and the next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of a bloody clearing next to a stack of bloodless deer. I inwardly mourned for them, for I did not enjoy the hunt, but it was necessary.
Esme and I buried the deer in the ground, erasing all evidence. I felt much better, fuller and sustained. Esme's eyes were gold, and I knew mine were, too.
"Esme? Carlisle?" I heard a voice calling us from not too far away. It was Edward.
"Over here." I said in a regular tone, knowing he would hear me. There was a faint rustling of bushes in front of us, and Edward stepped out, his hair disheveled and his eyes sparkling.
"Come with me." He told us, beckoning excitedly with his hand as he disappeared once again into the moist Oregon undergrowth.
Esme and I exchanged glances, before quickly following after him. What was this about?
For a minute of two, we ran together, Edward in the lead. I did know where he was headed, but I found myself becoming eager, for Edward hardly ever became excited about anything, lately.
"Almost there." He breathed softly, leaping ahead just as the trees thinned out and stopped altogether. Esme and I hastily followed, curiosity burning in the pits of our stomachs.
Esme gasped. I simply stared, awestruck.
It was the sunset. Oranges, reds, yellows, golds; every shade and tone seemed to melt together into a harmony that words could not describe. The burning half-disc was set low in the sky, seeming to dip into the Pacific Ocean and reflect a watery image back onto the surface of the sea. The clouds set above were a delicate pink, sometimes light orange, and seemed to frame the beautiful image with a natural artistic aura.
I felt Esme lean into my side as we stared at the gorgeous masterpiece of nature. The fading rays of sunlight shattered off our vampire skin, making us seem like humanistic diamonds. I passively noticed Edward sit on a nearby rock, putting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms as he admired the sun.
The wind played gently in our hair, blowing strands lightly in the wind. The whole scene just seemed so picturesque, so movie-like. I sighed happily as the sun gradually sank lower and lower beneath the horizon, seeming to get swallowed up by the waves.
"We should get home soon." Esme suddenly sighed, reluctance coloring her tone, "I promised Miss Carol down the block that I'd help her with her linen."
I kept silent, still admiring the view, but resignededly took Esme's hand and began to lead her back towards the forest and Astoria. We both sighed sadly, reluctant to leave the beautiful image behind. I thanked vampiric photographic memory.
"I'll catch up to you later..." Edward mumbled, entranced by the setting sun. I chuckled.
Edward liked beautiful things.
Final flashback
It was the year 1931, and I had moved the family to Rochester, New York.
Edward had just returned to us, to Esme's great pleasure, from what I would eventually call his 'rebellion'. I did not blame my son for taking a darker path, for it was his own life full of his own choices, but I too rejoiced at his return.
He, however, seemed quite ashamed of himself. With good reason, obviously, but he made it seem like I would lash out and strike him at any moment. He made a bad choice, but I forgave him. I hoped he, also, would soon, as they say, 'forgive and forget'.
But right then, our minds were on other matters. It was a sunless day, and we were taking the chance to get out.
Esme had decided to have a bit of quality 'family bonding time', just the three of us, at the local Rochester Market. Even though we did not eat, we vampires still had to keep up a strict charade, being seen in public buying food, but always discarding it one way or another.
We passed the bookstore, the bakery, the tailor, all in a quick succession. Esme led our little group, with me following and Edward trailing behind. I could tell he was not quite comfortable being surrounded by so many humans, after feeding from them for so long, but we both knew he would need to regain his resistance.
"Oh, look Edward dear, over there!" Esme snapped me out of my reverie, pointing elatedly at a window shop across the street. Edward looked up warily, glancing at me before casting his eyes where Esme pointed. I, also, glanced up as to what Esme was pointing at.
It was a music store. The window showed a large arsenal of instruments, sheet music, and cases cluttered inside rather unattractively, but the moment Edward saw the shop, his eyes lit up, ever so slightly. He had always been a big fan of music.
"Would you like to go in?" Esme asked politely, eager to get her son-of-sorts back on his feet. Cautiously, Edward looked at me. I could tell he expected a rebuff, asking for things so soon to his return, but I surprised him by smiling warmly and thinking, You don't even need to ask, my son...
He blinked, but nodded slowly, skepticism burning in his orange eyes, product from human and animal blood mixed together in his system. I hoped he would soon accept that we were not angry with him.
We crossed the street with haste, quickly bustling into the cluttered music shop and shutting the door behind us, slightly toning down the noises outside.
"Look around, Edward, I'll be over there." Esme said fondly as she started maneuvering her way towards a corner full of musically themed vases and small sculptures.
Edward immediately began picking his way through the shop, not overlooking even the tritest of sheet music. He observed everything with great care, reading tags and humming tunes to himself as he read them. I knew that at this rate, we'd be here for quite a while, and so I myself started to look around.
I walked into a back room, full of spare clarinet, oboe, and saxophone reeds and violin strings. A smattering of boxes filled with some trumpet oil sat in the corner. Passively, I meandered in the room for who knows how long, staring at cracks in the ceiling and wiping dust off shelves.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When, according to my gold pocket watch, it was past 4 o'clock PM, three hours since we'd entered the small shop, I sighed at the length of time we'd spent here. When you are a vampire, everything starts to melt together. Time, often, seems to begin to blur, passing too quickly, because we have as much time as we desire.
"Are you done yet, dears?" I heard Esme call softly from the front room, and I quickly hurried back. It was darker out now, the sky a morbid grey. Esme was waiting at the front door, her arms laden with a purchased vase the size of a large watermelon.
"Yes." I smiled gratefully, eager for the warmth of my own home.
"I apologize, Carlisle." Came a voice from different back room, in the east wing of the store. I immediately recognized the voice as Edward, but he himself did not make himself seen.
No trouble... but, um... where are you...? I thought when he still did not come out. I looked at Esme, who shrugged, before carefully stepping over a crate of sheet music and going to see what was keeping him.
I entered the east wing under an ornate arch of violins and violas strung up onto an overhanging rack, slightly awestruck at the variety of instruments the little store stocked. I turned a corner around a shelf of dusty french horns, before coming to where I smelled Edward's scent the most.
"Edward, wha..." My question died in my throat the moment I saw him.
He was seated on the bench of an elegantly sleek black grand piano. The cover was finely polished so it shone in the dying light of outside. The ivory keys gleamed subtly, but coronetedly. The smaller, black harmonic keys contrasted the white dazzlingly. Edward seemed in awe of the instrument, his eyes raking over it over and over again, caressing the keys with finesse.
"Beautiful, is it not?" He breathed, brushing his pale fingers against the black wood, finely and admiringly. He played a soft tune that I recognized to be the work of Mozart, Unspecified Menuet No. 6. (A/N: That's a beautiful piano piece, go listen to it.)
I found my voice, pondering how very attached Edward seemed to the piano. "Indeed it is, my son, but we must return to the house." I told him regretfully, turning slightly to signify I wanted to depart quickly. Instantly, he shot up from the bench, probably eager not to get on my bad side. I began to walk out.
But, just as I turned the corner of dust french horns, I saw him stoke the instrument once more, a sigh of wistfulness escaping his lips. Then he turned and appeared by my side as we walked back to Esme, a strange expression of desire on his face. I think I knew what I would get him for his birthday this June.
For Edward liked beautiful things.
End Flashbacks
Edward liked beautiful things; he always had. The day I'd gotten him the piano could have been compared to they way a small child acts on Christmas Eve. He spent hour upon hour of stroking and 'fondling', for lack of a better word, the thing. Only when Esme was forced to drag him by the feet outside would he leave to hunt. Eventually, he lightened up and his obsession diminished to an admiring love for the instrument.
Rosalie Hale's pulse began to weaken, and her breathing became shallower. I sighed sadly and frustratedly, for her loss of blood was too great. I let the blood-soaked fabric flutter to the ground, useless as of now.
I knew she would not last much longer; a few hours at most.
Unless, of course, I did something about it.
The snow began to pick up, a cold gust of wind accompanied by snow flurries blew violently through the city. Rosalie trembled.
For less than a moment, I hesitated, before suddenly scooping her frail body up and running at vampire speed to my home. I heard her moan faintly, something about, 'why aren't we there yet?'
I might have chuckled, but I did not want to cut my held breath quite yet.
I zoomed up my street, perhaps faster than I had in a long time, letting Rosalie's hair blow violently behind me as I whipped through the wind. Street lamps dimly lit my passage, seeming to create a path. The small white crystals drifting down from the heavens seemed like celestial offerings, delicate and hopeful. Or perhaps just lugubrious.
"Esme! Edward!" I called out softly once I jumped a fence to get into my backyard, "Kindly hold your breaths!" I heard a faint scuffling inside, and then a window on the second floor was flung open, revealing a surly Edward and a concerned Esme.
"Great God!" Edward exclaimed, his bronze hair resembling that of Albert Einstein's, paling and immediately cutting his breath short before backing away from the window and hurriedly leaping downstairs. Esme lingered for just a moment at the window, before gasping,
"I'll get some rags!" And bustling downstairs to the kitchen cabinet.
I swiftly carried Rosalie into the warmth of my house, fretting furiously as I heard her pulse diminish, ever so slightly, with every second ticking by, and ignored how the snow was beginning to melt in my hair and drip down the back of my neck.. Her lips parted faintly when I brought her into the dark guest bedroom, the warmest room in the house. I gently set her down on the guest bed, tucking a pillow under her head and sweeping her golden hair out of her blood-flecked face.
"I've got the rags!" Esme cried, holding her breath, as she rushed into the room, thrusting a pile of clean, cold, wet rags into my hands as she hurried over to the bedside, her hands fluttering over Rosalie Hale's body in anxiety.
"Oh, goodness!" She suddenly exclaimed, peering closer at Rosalie's face, "This is Rosalie Hale! That pretty girl from across town?!" She glanced at me, an expression of horror dawning on her face.
"Her fiancé decided to have a little fun tonight with his friends." I growled, suppressing a snarl as I remembered the drunken men stumbling away from her bloodied body in the street. Wordlessly holding down my anger, I took the rags and pressed them to Rosalie's face and wounds, the best I could do.
For now.
"H-how could he? Royce King?" Esme looked on the verge of tears, although she could not shed them. I shook my head sadly.
"I do not know. They were drunk." I informed her grimly. She took Rosalie's hand into her own, stroking it sadly, motherly.
"Drunk, you say?" I hadn't noticed when Edward entered the room, and I snapped my head up warily. He leaned against the doorframe, his breath held and his face impassive. Only I knew him well enough to detect the underlying anger lurking just beneath. I nodded, a frown upon my face.
Rosalie Hale's dying pulse seemed to echo throughout the room.
"What are we going to do with her?" He asked, "When she has passed, I mean." He sighed sadly, glancing at the beautiful human, blood-soaked and dying on the bed.
I tried, I honestly tried, to smother my thoughts, but I accidentally let one slip through.
Who said I was going to let her die?
I winced visibly, as Edward's face went from pale, to horrified, to furious. "What the hell to you mean by that?" He growled, low and menacing. I paled.
"I can't let her die. I can't." I mumbled, looking at the ground. I felt Esme take my hand.
Edward seemed to deflate, in anger, rather than submission, but deflate nonetheless. He glared, seemingly enraged, but knowing this was not exactly his place to argue. Both he and I knew who was the leader of this coven, and, although I did not like to claim total dominance, I would always win in an argument like this one.
"Fine," He spat, and I looked away from his angry face, "Take her soul. Destroy her life, or at least whatever remains of it. Damn to her to this half-existence."
And without another word, he silently stalked off, his repressed anger almost flowing off him in tangible waves. I heard him stomp upstairs and into his room, where the noise ceased.
I sighed, my resolve suddenly faltering. Perhaps he was right. Edward always had thought of this... this existence to be nothing short of damnation, but...
"I support you in whatever you choose Carlisle." Esme smiled softly, squeezing my hand. I glanced at her kind, golden eyes, and smiled sadly back.
"I can't let her die, Esme..." I mumbled, "But is that really fair to her? I am not God, I do not trifle with the lives and deaths of humans." I said with slight conviction.
Esme nodded understandingly, and said in her musical voice, "Again, I support you Carlisle," She smiled slightly, "And I see what you are telling me. But," She paused, glancing once again at the dying girl on the bed, whose breaths were haggard and difficult, "If you asked me if I had any regrets of this," She gestured to herself, "I would say I didn't have any."
I rose an eyebrow. "You don't say? Why?" I asked, suddenly saddened. Would Esme been better off if I hadn't changed her?
Her face softened, and her eyes strayed to Rosalie's bloodstained face, still beautiful, even in such a morbid image. "Because I found you. I found Edward. I got my second chance."
She found me? She found Edward? She found a second chance? A second chance?
"So," I began softly, my resolve suddenly swelling, "The love you found has made it worth the journey?" My face was dark, but I felt much lighter inside.
She nodded, reaching over and stroking Rosalie's hair. The girl's eyelashes fluttered just once, and her pulse seemed to become shorter with every beat.
The love. The love made it worth everything. The second chances, the new leafs turned over...
And suddenly, I knew I had made my decision.
I would love Rosalie as a daughter for the rest of eternity, if she wished to stay. You never knew, but she didn't seem like kind to go trapeezing on her own.
Esme would love her as a daughter, also. Rosalie would hopefully help to fill the hole left by the passing of Esme's first child.
And Edward.
Ah, my son.
Who knew what he would feel, for he was perhaps one of the greatest mysteries I have known this century. But I knew one thing, and from that I could hope.
Edward liked beautiful things.
And Rosalie Hale was probably as beautiful as he could get.
And... You guys know how the rest of the story goes! Carlisle didn't actually move the family to Astoria, Oregon, in the real books, but I thought it would be appropriate for this.
REVIEW!
REVIEW!
REVIEW!
Bite marks on neighboring carrots,
VeggieVamp