He ran gracefully, faster than anything I had ever felt. Was this just a dream? Or was I dead?
But the pain did not cease,and I slipped into darkness, dizzying, spiraling darkness, as Dr. Cullen and I hurtled somewhere, anywhere where I had no pain.
I opened my eyes, and the light blinded me. As my disoriented eyes settled, I saw that I was in a room, a warm room without many furnishings. I started to descend again into darkness, but there was something sharp slicing me.
The knife was everywhere at once, my throat, ankles, wrists. I screamed. Why was he hurting me more?
Then I started tingling. A sudden fire gripped me, and as I writhed in the glare of the inferno, I did not care, I did not know, all I was sure of was that I was burning. Was I in hell?It certainly felt like it. What did I do to deserve hell? All my memories flashed before me before being silenced abruptly by the spreading of the flames. Was I in hell? Why was Dr. Cullen there too, then?
"Kill me," I begged Dr.Cullen, "Kill me, please."I figured maybe, just maybe I was alive. He held my hand and it cooled the burning sensation, but only fractionally. I had never begged for anything before, and a small part of me remembered that. But the pain was there, and it was all I could see, all I could feel.
I heard more voices, lovely musical voices. I recognized them as the voices of Mrs. Cullen, and her brother Edward. I forgot how I resented them, and their beauty that distracted people from me. I begged them too, to kill me now.
Dr.Cullen was still holding my hand.
"I'm so sorry, Rosalie," he said, sorrowfully, "I'm so sorry."
He told me that it would end. I didn't believe him; the pain was endless, never ceasing.
He told me how he and his family were a kind of immortal, one that drank animal blood, and never aged.
I didn't believe him; the pain was endless, never ceasing.
He kept on explaining, and I tuned him out in the throes of agony. I screamed often.
"I'm sorry." He apologized after every screech of pain. His pale face looked even paler than it usually did.
The screaming didn't help dull the increasing pain. I stopped for a short time.
"What were you thinking, Carlisle?" Edward said incredulously. " Rosalie Hale?" I didn't like the way he pronounced my name. I opened my mouth to retort, but the fire only let me whimper.
"I couldn't just let her die," Dr.Cullen replied, quietly, and slightly defensively. "It was too much-too horrible, too much waste." he finished fervently.
"I know" Edward responded airily.
I was even madder. Who was Edward Cullen to judge me? I wondered why he could sound so nonchalant about it. I wondered what the whole conversation meant.
"It was too much waste. I couldn't leave her." Dr.Cullen replied, almost silently.
I then heard Mrs. Cullen's warm, comforting voice.
"Of course you couldn't." she assured him
I felt a little better when I heard her friendly voice. But my sudden margin of security was cut harshly by Edward's sudden rationalization.
"People die all the time." He said, "Don't you think she's just a little recognizable, though? The kings will have to put up a huge search-not that anyone suspects the fiend."
I was puzzled. They knew it was Royce? I felt a surge of rage, at the thought of Royce, who tortured me for a few laughs with his friends. The rage fed off of the fire, and I was spitting mad. At least they knew he was guilty., I didn't notice the fire hardly as much as earlier. My mind was free to think about other things but torture, dying, then the fire.
"What are we going to do with her?" Edward questioned, a tinge of arrogance, resentment in his tone.
Dr.Cullen let out a sudden sigh.
"That's up to her, of course. She may want to go her own way."
What did he mean? I remembered his words earlier.
Was he sincere? I realized then that my life had ended. Then what or who was I now?
The pain was gone.
They noticed my absence of screaming and writhing immediately, and rushed over to reiterate what they had explained earlier.
I believed them. My skin felt hard, like marble, smooth white marble, and I felt the burning in my throat that they had explicitly described. I was horrified that I wanted blood. The thirst however, took over the moral twinges of my conscience. They had said that it was possible, with abundant self-discipline, to only drink from animals. I didn't care what I drank from. All I knew was that I was thirsty, aching as if I had gone a month without water.
Dr.Cullen solemnly handed me a mirror. I took a breath, looked in, and saw. I saw how my face, already perfect, had at least doubled in beauty. My pale skin was smooth and flawless.
My eyes were a glaring, crimson red. Scarlet was to dark of a red to describe them. They shone with fervor, driven by thirst.
I was beautiful.
I was a vampire, a blood drinker. At least I was beautiful in my new existence.
I only felt one emotion at the time, glaringly powerful.
Lust for Revenge
