Author's Note: I do not own Vampires, Edward, or Bella.
Edward stared into her eyes.
Not truly - not truly. He was looking into the dead eyes of a mannequin, longing so much for the statue to be the real Bella, the real flesh and blood that he had come to love. For all his powers, for all those skills that dwarf every common man, he felt a thrall to his love for Bella. And in this slavery, he had conceived the life sized doll...to provide some semblance that Bella, that Bella was still there for him.
The mannequin was crude, but effective. The rough shape of the face mirrored Bella's, and if there were any wig upon the doll's head, it could convince anyone. But despite that, despite all his efforts, the doll was still rough around the edges. Edward's grief had made the construction hurried and emotional. Lip stick from his personal collection had been smeared all over her face. Oh, how he wished to feel those sanguine lips once more...he leaned into the doll, holding one cold cheek with one quivering hand, and lightly pressed into the doll's face, taking in the taste of so many combinations of lip stick.
Now he looked into the mirror. Lip stick had been used to draw a smooth and curvy outline of Bella. He frowned. It had been so long since Bella had been with him, so long since he had even seen her, and the outline did not truly look like her - instead it was like looking into himself, looking into the withering core of his soul.
But still, held up the mirror, tears forming in his eyes. He pressed the mirror close to his chest, whispering "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..." to it's mythical ears. He squeezed the mirror hard, deluding himself for a moment that this was really Bella, that his petite lover was once again in his arms, that was he alive again and feeling the warmth of companionship. It was oblivion, it was numb, and for a blink of an eye it was paradise.
Happiness was a fleeting and precious thing for him in these dark days, and his trance was interrupted by the high pitched ring of his cell phone.
He was startled, and his suprirse, the taint of vampiredom struck again. His arms closed in on the mirror like a guillotine, splintering it in a thousand wretched pieces, puncturing the soft layers of his skin. He shouted painfully, holding one bloody arm with another. He cursed as he saw the remainder of the lip stick still present on the glass that penetrating his arms, wishing he had never taken the endeavor.
The cell phone was still ringing, reminding him of the task ahead. As he forcefully tore the glass out of his marred arms, he was even more determined to get what he wanted: Bella - and he knew just how to do it. He would become the greatest hockey player in all of existence, and wrest Bella away from the chocolate clutch of Barack Obama.
Author's Note: I do not own Barack Obama.