This is my first fanfic. (:
I don't own any of the Twilight characters...
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The rain lashed across the windows of the large house, which was obscured mostly by the thick forest that surrounded it. This sort of weather was typical of Forks, Washington. In fact, it rained almost every day. Sunshine was a rare event in Forks. The rain soaked the grass so that the earth welled up wetly around the green stalks. It trickled down the windows of the big house like tears. If you were to stand in front of the house and look forward, you would see as sheet of silver rain bearing down on the earth.
But something was breaking that clean-cut sheet. Something that was utterly soaked, something that seemed to have no qualms with the torrent of water that was cascading down on it. As that something grew closer to the house, it became obvious that it was, in fact, a person. It was clear in the way it walked, upright. Too upright. The person did not hunch forwards, hiding their face from the rain. They weren't even wearing a hood. But no emotions, no twist of disgust or annoyance flashed across their face.
As the person's feet crunched on the gravel driveway, which exuded a snake of water, his features became clearer. His body was wrapped in a travelling cloak which was dark with all the water it held. His face was stark white against the gloomy day, and his black hair soaked through, but curiously haphazard as though he had not liked it to lie flat with wetness. But the most shocking part of his appearance was his eyes. The irises, deep black, were swimming in pools of crimson. His height and facial structure placed him in the region of sixteen to twenty years of age.
The figure crossed the driveway at an average pace, though there was a curious air to the way he walked – as though he knew he could go so much faster. His feet made no sound as they mounted the stone steps that led to the front door of the house. His face was tense as he halted there, staring at the door. Emotions battled on his face, and his hand half-raised, hanging in the air as though a piece of string held it there, rigid. Eventually, he thrust it forward and knocked on the door. Twice, briskly.
He took a couple of steps back, his inhuman eyes close to regret. The door did not take long to swing inwards. The culprit was a tall man, his skin just as white as the visitor's, with blonde hair and honey eyes. He looked confused at the sight of the red-eyed boy before him, who seemed to feel awkward, shuffling his feet on the stone.
"What can I do for you?" The man at the door seemed unsurprised by the arrival of the boy, despite his wet-through appearance and garish eyes. As though he had known he would be coming. The boy swallowed nervously. "Carlisle... Cullen? Right?" His voice was soft and gentle, and seemed to fit his features perfectly. It was the sort of lullaby-esque voice that lulled flies into the spider's web to be killed and consumed. The man at the door frowned, though it was hard to tell what he was feeling. He nodded once, choosing not to word his answer.
"My name is Oscar," he told the man, Carlisle. "I... I heard about you and your family. I..." He trailed off, his expression torn. His eyes, the colour of freshly-spilt blood, were turned down and his face was a picture of confusion and desperation. He raised a shaking hand to cover his eyes, as though embarrassed by their colour, or the emotion they held. Carlisle's face softened a little, though it had never been harsh in the first place. He waved a hand as though to invite the boy, Oscar, inside. Peering through his fingers, which he still had raised like a makeshift mask, the boy looked uncertain. After a moment of deliberating wordlessly, he walked inside.
Oscar was careful to remove his dripping boots and cloak before he left the hall. A slimy layer of mud oozed from the criss-cross pattern in the bottom of his boots. He dithered, his cloak held at arm's length, before Carlisle helpfully removed it. Inside the house, Oscar could be seen more clearly. His hair was starting to dry in the brief lull of constant drenching, into ebony hedgehog-spikes. His skin was as pale as moonshine. And he, like Carlisle, was utterly beautiful. Every feature seemed perfect, crafted specifically to suit him. Thin lips. Pointed nose. All exactly right.
Before either of them could move, there was a rumble of voices from another room. Neither of them seemed to react to the noise, though a ghost of fear crossed Oscar's face. Carlisle led him out of the hall, away from where he cowered in the corner with his boots. The light fell on the jeans and button-up shirt he was wearing – clothes hardly appropriate for such wet weather. And clothes that looked formal, but still perfect, on his body, as though he usually did not make such an effort.
When the two of them rounded the corner, eight pairs of eyes turned towards them, mostly focused on Oscar. A woman with soft caramel-brown hair, along with four other females, though all looked younger than she. One was tall and heartbreakingly beautiful, with shiny blonde hair. Another was much smaller, slighter, and almost elfin. She had pointed features and spiky ink-black hair. The last one that could be called a woman had dark hair and an anxious expression on her face. Her eyes flicked between Oscar and the last female, a young child, who played on the carpet.
The child looked around eight years of age. Her pale was snow-white, but her cheeks were flushed with little red roses. She had an inquisitive look on her face. Her eyes, curiously, were chocolate brown, and her hair bronze ringlets that fell halfway down her back. It had the air of hair that had been reluctantly cut, and now had overgrown yet again.
The other four eyes belonged to males. The first, who was sat close to the anxious-faced woman, with his arm around her waist, had bronze hair the exact shade of the child's, and a similar face structure that screamed relation. The second, who was tall and muscular, leant on the chair which held the blonde woman. The third was tall, like the second, but lean rather than muscular. His hair was blonde and his face was a pattern of crescent-shaped scars. Where one of his sleeves was slightly pulled up, more of the same silvery scars could be seen.
Each of the people had deathly pale skin and golden eyes, excluding the child. Each one was utterly, enchantingly beautiful. And each one's eyes were fixed on Oscar, wondering what his next move would be.
His crimson eyes were fixed on the child rather than any of the staring adults. His face was distracted, but not by her beauty. He could smell the blood beneath her alabaster skin; hear the beating of her heart. Something that no other being in this room possessed. A beating heart. With something akin to reluctance, Oscar pulled his eyes from the child's startling face, and switched them back to Carlisle, apprehensive. It seemed that whatever temptation the youngster was to him, he had been forewarned about it.
Carlisle's voice broke the tense silence. "This is Oscar," he informed his family in a low, level voice. "He came, like Alice said he would." Oscar's bloody gaze followed Carlisle's to the pixie-like girl. The scarred male pulled closer to her protectively, his face wary. There was another brief silence, filled along by the breathing of the child. None of the other's seemed to need to do such a thing, and their chests only rose and fell usually out of habit.
"What does he want?" The blonde's icy voice shattered the awkward quiet. Oscar opened his mouth as if to answer her but it clamped shut again as his gaze scraped her syrupy eyes. Eyes that meant business. "I told you, Rosalie," the slight girl, Alice, said, sounding a little put-out. "I told you what I saw. That our family was going to grow." Oscar's expression changed at this, looking shocked. What did she mean? He just wanted advice, he just wanted to change. He backed a little towards the door; hand on the frame as though to steady himself. "Go and scare him then, Al," came a mutter from the big male stood beside the blonde, Rosalie. Oscar's eyes moved back to the child, who was looking curiously at him. He shivered when she got to her feet and ran to the brunette and the bronze-haired male who could have been her father. She launched herself into the woman's lap and placed a hand on her face, her eyes curious.
Oscar noticed the bronze-haired male glaring at him, and quickly averted his eyes. Definitely her father. He licked his lips as though preparing himself to speak. "I don't... Want to be a monster." The words were little more than a murmur, but everyone seemed to catch them. Alice put one small hand on the glarer's leg. He relaxed his stance a little, but still looked suspicious and protective as he touched the child's shoulder.
Oscar blinked, taking a split-second to realise nobody was looking at him anymore. Everyone's eyes were locked on the bronze-haired male. He sighed, rubbing his brow. "He means no harm," he said eventually, sounding as though he would have liked to tell them the opposite.
The faces that were turned towards him looked a little more accepting now. Oscar breathed out, whether he needed to or not. It was a simple reflex that betrayed his relief. It seemed it was true. It seemed he was getting what he had wanted.
A brand new start.