A/N: This was just a pointless kind of ramble written in an inspired sort of state. *sighs* Sad that I should be inspired to write something like this. Anyway.

Rosalie, even if she is a biatch, has always interested me. There's depth to her. And I've always found her feelings for Edward very intriguing. So I wrote this little thing, about how I think Rosalie would have felt the day Edward was in the meadow with Bella.

It's not my best. Forgive any errors, SPaG and generally not-up-to-speed writing. I'm recovering from writer's block. *looks pathetic*

Anyway, writing this made me feel good.

Two views of the locations merging into three or more,

An endless flow of words and miles and miles of stars...

Re-focus

On distant stars,

Brings less voices to entertain us,

We will always be here,

Keep cheap platitudes again.


Disagree with my own self,

No such thing as 'Who am I?'

Growing weary...

Subdue these sounds forever,

Someone visited my mind in wonder,

Somewhere behind walls and halls another sight surrounds me,

Voices say: "If you could set me free?"

–Voices, by Theatre of Tragedy

Have you ever felt like...like you were this big joke – a joke you never really understood – and that the whole world was gathered around you; the whole world, all the people you trusted, loved, and respected were standing around you, like people crowding around a cage in a zoo?

Have you ever felt like they were all laughing? Some laughing slyly, some raucously, some cruelly? Some of them snickering behind hands covering their mouths, and some simply smiling at you, half amusedly, half pityingly?

Because that's how I, Rosalie Hale, felt now. I felt like Rosalie Hale, the one who had trusted Royce King and had been exploited in the most disgusting way by him. I felt like the Rosalie Hale that had stared at Vera, her husband, and her little baby, and felt envious.

I felt like that weak Rosalie Hale.

I was her though, always. But sometimes, like just now, I feel her. I feel like that old Rosalie, I feel as vulnerable, as shaking, and as stupid as that Rosalie.

This was one of those times.

The house was empty. Emmett, Jasper, Carlisle, Esme, and Alice had gone hunting, as a kind of celebration. For what? For Edward's happiness. For his being able to survive spending a whole day with her, with Bella, and not killing her. For loving her.

Edward was in her house.

One small part of my brain wondered what he was doing right now. Was he talking to her? Lying by her, perhaps? What did he do with her that made him so happy?

And the rest of my brain...the rest of my brain, well, was Rosalie Hale.

I'd chosen to stay here, to not go hunting. Edward had come, a few hours ago, his beautiful face exultant and glowing.

"I did it," he'd said. "And...and I love her. I love her."

And then everyone had become ecstatic. Everyone had wanted to go out, into the night, to rejoice in their brother's joy, and his newfound love.

But I...I'd stayed behind. I'd smiled, I'd pretended to be happy for him. I'd kept my thoughts as blank a white parchment, and I had hugged Edward and told him that I hoped he had found his destiny at last.

So now, I stood here...in my room. In front of my mirror.

I stared at myself now. My coiling, rippling golden hair. My pale, milk-white skin. I large, long-lashed golden eyes. My full, supple, crimson lips.

I knew I was the most lovely thing in the world.

And yet, I felt like that...like that joke, Rosalie Hale – that mean, cruel, pathetic joke. Because years, years and years after knowing Edward, even though I'd learnt to control my thoughts around him, veil everything about my mind except the shallow thoughts that he was sure were the only things I thought of, there was still me inside. Rosalie Hale. The one, that had...that had yearned for him, for Edward, ever since the first day she saw him.

Don't get me wrong. I do not love Edward in that way. Emmett is my true mate.

But I have always known that there was a part of me, deeply embedded inside my cold heart, that had a wild, secret, forbidden sort of desire for him. Edward Anthony Masen Cullen.

Ever since that day, the day I'd been introduced to this life.

Slowly I'd realized that he had no use for me. I was his sister, nothing more. He had no appreciation for my beauty. Perhaps that was precisely why I wanted him so much. And every time he heard that desire in my thoughts, Edward would glance at me, a small smirk on his lips. Then the smirk would immediately fade, replaced by a concerned, apologetic look.

That look would then be followed by pity.

And then...and then indifference.

I'd become used to the routine. Amusement, remorse, sympathy, and then...no feeling. Disinterest.

I'd become used to it, but I had hated it with all my might. It was like Royce all over again. I was making myself weak, submitting myself to someone else's power.

Over the years, I learnt. I learnt how to think of only weak, trivial thoughts when my craving for him was strongest. I learnt how to be with Emmett, and think only of Emmett. I learnt how to pretend to forget Edward.

But of course...it was just that. Pretense.

There it was again. That feeling. I could hear the cackles now. The amused chuckles. That suppressed, derisive little snort. I could see someone's pitying smile.

And then...she'd come along, hadn't she? Bella Swan. Totally plain, uninteresting, and nice. Good. Even I could see that. I could see the purity in her.

And that's what he wanted. He wanted that which I had least. Purity. Goodness.

I knew now that if he would just look at me, the way he sometimes looked at Bella, with his eyes intense and warm...if he'd just touch my face with his long, pale fingers, and murmur in his low, velvety voice, "Rosalie...You're so beautiful," I'd be happy.

After that, I'd stop wanting him. Because then, he'd just be one in a crowd of thousands. Everyone thought I was beautiful.

I ran a brush through my hair, and watched the waves ripple down to my waist. I watched how the strands gleamed flaxen in the dim light in the room. I assessed how this dress suited me...it was a wine colored organdy, off-the shoulders. It brought out the paleness of my skin, and the vivacious curves of my body. I could see how the immortality had improved on every part of me – and even as a human I had been flawless. I saw the curving, tantalizing collarbones, curving down to the pale chest, the full breasts. I looked at my narrow hips, and then at my long, shapely legs.

Rosalie Hale...

But what had he said to me, that day?

He gazed at me unfathomable from across the room. I stared at him with my crimson eyes for one more second, then defiantly looked away.

He stood up, his lean, tall frame upright, and walked towards me. And then he looked down into my face, his eyes speaking an apology, and said, "I'm sorry, Rosalie. No."

"What?" I demanded petulantly, tucking a lock of golden hair behind my ears.

"I can't. You are very lovely, but you're like my sister."

I stared at him incredulously, and then scowled. "But why? Why are you being so difficult?"

He looked away, past my shoulder, eyes very thoughtful. "I'm not searching for love," he said slowly, "but if I ever do find it, Rosalie...I'm sorry, so sorry, but if I ever find it..." He looked into my eyes again, his own liquid, pitying gold. "It wouldn't be you."

And I felt no great sadness. No sorrow that the man I had yearned for, for so many years now, could never be mine. For good. No unbearable misery that he loved someone else, and was probably with her right now. I didn't even feel the need to repeat Emmett's name to myself, to remind myself that he was the one for me.

I just felt this great emptiness, somewhere in my chest. Not a painful emptiness. I just felt...resigned. I felt like I had expected this all my life, for Edward did indeed deserve true love and happiness, and if he didn't and couldn't find it with me, he'd find it with someone else in due time.

I felt like how someone might feel, driving slowly down an empty dark lane. Nowhere to go. No reason to stay. Just...going. Because to go was the thing to do.

This knowledge of Edward, his finding his true love, didn't hurt me. Images of Bella and Edward simply echoed repeatedly inside my chest...like an bell clanging through an empty, deserted, dusty chapel.

I just wished...that those people, the ones standing around my cage, would stop laughing. I wished Rosalie Hale would stop trembling with shame. I wished that there was no joke, and that if there was, I could laugh with it. I wish that muted little snigger of the person standing closest to my cage, that man with the bronze-colored hair, would turn to a full laugh, until perhaps I could see and appreciate what they were all laughing at...and then realize that it wasn't me that was the joke, and laugh with them.

I laid down my hairbrush, giving myself one last glance at the mirror. I smiled, slowly, provocatively. A lock of golden hair fell over my eyes. I looked beautiful.

I walked to the window, and gazed out into the night. And for that minute, when I was all alone, all alone with my beautiful self, I became Rosalie Hale. I shed my pretenses.

Rosalie Hale.

A/N: Please, tell me what you think! :D

~starlit skyes~