Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything in the land of Twilight. No copyright infringement is meant.
Imperfections
After the World's Opinions
"It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinions; it is easy in solitude to live after your own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude." – Ralph Waldo Emerson
.~~.
Rosalie – May, 1932
The window pane feels chilled against my skin. It's a nice relief to the hotness I feel within. I open my eyes and stare out into the raw night. Dark grey clouds float against the midnight blue backdrop. The moon is full and hangs heavily in the sky. It's as if I can reach out and clasp it in my palm. Would it be cold to the touch, hard around my curled fingers? Would it kiss my skin or burn it with its frigidness. I read the moon gets its light from the Sun. Would the moon retain any heat from the burning star? Would the moon take the heat from my palm and leave my fingers to become frostbitten? Would the moon embrace me like an old friend, spreading some of its silvery glow upon me?
On nights like these I feel as if the moon is my only friend, my constant confidante. It not only holds the light of the sun, but my deepest secrets, my exalted ambitions, my shortcomings and my deepest cracks. Would the supposed face of the moon laugh at my spoken inner musings or kiss my perfectly creamy skin? Would it also expect me to be perfect?
I raise my hand to the wavy glass and allow my fingers to slide down. Condensation gathers on my flesh, and even though it's May, beads of water form on the window. My mother talks about the terrible ventilation of our house, but I hardly notice until the winter. The drafts through the house feel nice along my skin. We have little to complain about but mother finds something. I often smile at her when she becomes distraught, or as close to it as allowable.
I wonder why I'm awake at this hour: two in the early morning. It seems quite strange to me as I'm usually a deep sleeper. Wild dreams I often have, so vivid, so delineative, and so realistic. The worst night terrors habitually wake me. However, I know it wasn't what sent my eyes fluttering open tonight. Whatever the reason, it is said and done. It doesn't do well for me to fret about such senseless things.
The house creaks and settles around me, pulling me from the whimsical thoughts floating in my sleepy mind. I listen for a short time, waiting to see if anyone else is awake. When the inhabitants remain silent, only my father's snores to pierce my ears, I make my way over to my canopy bed. The medal frame is beautiful and fitted with mirrors. "You should always desire to see your beauty, Rosalie," my mother lectures.
I can see my reflection now as I come closer, and even though it's dark, my blonde hair shines brightly in the waning light. My facial features are too dark to make out, but I know them utterly well; they are memorized to perfection. I run my still wet fingers over my face and take in the bone structure.
"It's a face shaped by the hand of God, himself," my mother says often. Father smiles at me while quickly rolling his eyes, making sure his wife of over twenty years doesn't catch him. He knows the temperament of his wife well.
Am I truly that special, I ask myself often? Is my beauty truly that matchless and exceptional? All my life I've been led to believe so. On nights that I stare out the window and into the glorious heavens, I doubt such "truths" from my mother. Would the heavens truly weep at my beauty; would Venus be covetous of my delicate splendor? Would Aphrodite aspire to murder me because I was more alluring in my brilliance? Isn't that the mark of true perfection?
Is there one more conditioned than I at being so shallow?
It was a question best left unanswered at such a late hour, I tell myself. In the back of my mind, I think it's a question best left unanswered always. Even water nymphs couldn't survive in the superficial waters that ran inside me.
I take off my silk robe and carefully drape it over the day bed, sitting at the end of my extravagant canopy. It seems everything in my life is ornate, myself included. Why should I be any different that my possessions?
The bed squeaks gently as I ease into it. I can't afford to rip another French silk nightgown. "Money doesn't simply appear out of air, Rosalie," my mother would scold. I think, why then do I even need such opulence?
I enjoy the lavishness; it would be a lie to state otherwise. From my silver hairbrush to my jewel-incrusted hair combs, it's all a welcomed existence to me. Of course I know nothing else.
My head hits the fine goose-down pillow and I sigh in peace, or maybe just at the stillness. I'm not required as of now to be Rosalie Lillian Hale: socialite extraordinaire, the most beautiful, affluent young lady in Rochester. I'm simply Rose, or to my younger brothers, Rosie. I cling to the variance, needing to differentiate between the opposing sides or risk the real possibility of losing myself. It simply cannot be borne.
The house continues to settle in as I push the thoughts from my mind. It is best left for another night.
I must get "plenty of sleep tonight", mother orders. A beauty like mine is to be "maintained and cultivated, not frivolously wasted away".
"It is a talent, Rosalie," she lectures. "One isn't simply beautiful, daughter; it must be taught and practiced. You must be refined and genteel, dear. You mustn't speak too loudly or come off vulgar in any regard. You need to show patience and fragility. Never be overly ostentations, but respectful, refined, glorious."
It's something I hear often repeated to me.
My eyes start to droop as I envision another party tomorrow. The room will be bathed in light from chandeliers. Champagne will float in crystal glasses, waiting to bubble on one's taste-buds. Gentlemen will have on their tuxedos; dressed to the nines. Their jackets will be tailored perfectly and their trousers pressed to precision. The ladies will be dripping in diamonds, while wrapped in the latest acquired fur. Silk dresses will adore their frames and caress their skin. The small piece orchestra will play sweeping music and handsome couples will sway around the room together in perfect form.
And I . . . well; I shall be the most beautiful of all of them. The men will all crave me, and the woman will be in awe, but inwardly despising me. "It is the price one pays, Rosalie, to have such looks."
Or so I'm informed often. Rouge thoughts, such as these, are left to the privacy of my canopy bed and the company of the moon. For when in prosperous company I must always think as I want to be perceived. There can be no doubts about my radiance. "They see any small imperfection, Rosalie Lillian. You think your thoughts private and secluded, but it isn't true. They've been trained to see weaknesses, even in thoughts. Keep it all at bay, dear, and think as I've trained you to. Put on your regal armor and watch as it outshines everyone else."
I never want to disappoint my mother, so I do as told and instructed. A good and faithful daughter I'll be. Tomorrow, at the Governor's Ball, I shall be resplendent. I'll think all the necessary thoughts and not show any faults. My speech will be perfected, my attitude in check and my unhappy thoughts locked tightly for no one to perceive. Above the fray I shall stand.
I fall asleep Rose, but wake up Rosalie Lillian Hale: the most dazzling of them all.
.
.
Author's Ramblings: I present the first and very short chapter. This will be a multi-chaptered story; not sure how many chapters it will be as of yet, but they will be a lot longer. There will be more than ten.
Lately, I've fallen in love with Rosalie's character and wanted to try and write her story. I'm not sure how it will turn out, but I want to do her much justice. I hate how she is portrayed so shallowly in the books and I know there has to be more to her. The Rosalie inside my head has much more depth to her, so I decided to write it out – lest it never let my mind rest . . . LOL.
This story will go through the last eleven months of her life and of course will include the Cullen's. I'm terribly excited. Anyhow, I'd love, love to know your thoughts. All are welcomed.
Thanks for taking a chance and I hope to hear from you, soon.
Love to all . . .
