A big thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/followed this story so far. You all keep me writing.
My biggest thanks to my beta, Frannie (SunFlower Fran) and pre-reader, Angela (Angela Abbot), who make my story so much better.
'Never apologize for burning too brightly. Or collapsing into yourself every night. That is how Galaxies are made.'
– Tyler Kent White
She was a small thing, all skins, and bones.
Shoulders hunched, she lay stiff as if to resist curling in on herself.
Her brows furrowed, nails dug into her palms until she drew blood. But, nothing of her turmoil showed on her face as she talked with the two policemen.
Her torment, her hardships, nothing seemed to faze her.
The men told her they had sufficient evidence to keep her mother and stepfather behind bars for a long time, and she thanked them.
They asked if she knew where her abusers might be hiding and she denied any knowledge.
Any question about the abuse was met with silence.
Her unruffled flatness unsettled the cop. He was as aware of their uneasiness in her company as he was of their relief when they took their leave.
But he Edward knew better, and not because he could read minds. No, to his boundless frustration, she was immune to his ability.
Yet read her, he did.
They say eyes are the windows to the soul.
And the naked pain in Isabella's eyes gave Edward a glimpse into her soul.
If bravery had a color, it would be brown.