2. Revive
Burn.
Fire.
Burn.
Those words repeat in my head as I look out at the world above me. My hands slowly and involuntary touch my throat. My skin sends an electric current that makes me shiver.
Burn.
Fire.
Burn.
Those words repeat because that's what I feel. I feel a burning sensation in my throat that I don't recognize—thirst? And then I remember the lava and fire that once controlled my body. Than the burn again.
Burn.
Fire.
Burn.
What are these words repeating anyway? What meaning do they hold in such a small world? What piece of my mind could they possibly hold interest for? Not the part of my mind that's thinking, certainly.
Burn.
Fire.
Burn.
Why do I feel the breeze that hovering over me, but not the cold content of that breeze? Why do I not feel the fridge of Iceland like I should? What am I? What are—
Burn.
Fire.
Burn.
—UGH!!!
The part of me that is so irritated it's beyond my control to calm, springs from within making me sit up. But that's not all I do. I'm out the door before I could even blink, into the cold wintry air.
Is this a trick? Is this some sort of sick joke to make me pay for my sins of letting Laurent take my blood? Wasn't losing Edward en—
Edward?
I look around me like something's going to pop out and yell: "I'm Edward!" But no one does, and I don't expect anyone to because I would be able to hear their breathing or something like that. But who's this Edward that triggers something inside me?—something sad? Who's this "person" that has value for me? Shouldn't I know if someone has… Who's EDWARD?!
"Bella? Sweetie get down from there, it—it's not safe."
Why didn't I hear him—that man named Edward? And even though I don't know who this man is—was—I know that's not his voice, because, oddly, I can hear a velvet, sing-song voice in the back of my mind. That voice that just spoke is nothing like the voice in my mind, though. Wouldn't I—shouldn't I—be able to recognize that velvet voice? Even now?
I turn and swing my arm—
Sparkles?
Why is my skin sparkling in the sun, even if it's barely getting through the clouds? Is that even normal? Is that even what's happening? What is happening? Who's doing this? Who am I?
I turned toward the crimson eyes that are looking at me. Then, for the first time, I realize that I'm on top of the roof—a very different thing since I don't realize it until then. Should my senses be more pronounced? More…clear?
But what is clear, is that I'm not supposed to be on this roof. My mind tickles at a memory—more like a thick haze I can't see through correctly—but I can't recall it clearly. I take, though, the recognition as something for granite. I know this person I realize faster than I normally—anyone, really—would. A name that is a little hazy—like the memory—is whispered into my mind as I slowly come to—resurface.
"Laur—Laurent? Is—is that you?"
My mouth is instantly touched by my hand in astonishment. My voice is not normal anymore, it's beautified into song. So beautiful that it could make a whole room fall silent. Although it is beautified into something like a swan in the sun, I cannot help but feel like something is wrong with it. Shaky and worried are the words that come forth in my now oh so perfect mind.
"Yes, Bella," he answers, now beside me. "I—I changed you," he says as his hand lifts my hair in a slow moment.
I don't need to breathe now, but my breathing is now hasty. I don't know where we are, but I do know what he saying—wanting—is something I may never be able to do.
"You said you would do anything if I did," he whispers. His lips are right at my ear and I feel my impulse to move—but I'm frozen beyond my control. "I want you to do something for me, all right?" His voice is a hazy moon of silk or the soft velvet plumage of a robin, but, even with the dazzling tone, his voice says something I cannot handle. "You will kill the Cullens' for me…do you, Bella, understand? You are the only one capable of it."
