Rosalie's POV
***
The agony of my transformation was my crucible. The searing pain in my body along with the betrayal in my heart burned away everything that once was good and decent within me. I shielded myself from the blistering hot fire with glorious rage. Thoughts of revenge were the only thing capable of carrying me through the unspeakable torture of the all-consuming flames.
Rage seethed within my chest. I clenched my jaw tightly, glaring murderously at his sleeping form. I could hear his wet heartbeat. Venom filled my mouth, but what I thirsted for was not this man's blood. What I thirsted for was his pain, his fear… my revenge.
As I sat in his window, watching him sleep, a cool breeze caught the strands of my golden hair waving them about my head like Medusa's snakes. I glared at him with my brilliant crimson eyes. He owned this town, but soon enough I would own him.
Suddenly he sat up in bed and looked over towards the window. My muscles tensed. I didn't move an inch, though I longed to rip every limb from his body, laughing while he screamed in terror.
Hate burned inside of me as I looked upon his shadowed face. I loathed this despicable creature, this pathetic man. A look of surprise crossed his face; he was trembling. He closed his eyes and shook his head. By the time he opened his eyes again, I was gone.
I smirked, pleased with my self-control. Revenge was a dish best served cold. I would witness the death of this man before long, but first I would own him through his fear. He would beg for his death, but it wouldn't come tonight.
I remembered the cold disregard in his eyes the night he left me at death's door. He betrayed every promise he made to me. I remembered the sharp pain in my ribs, glass carving trails in my delicate skin. I remembered the searing pain on my skin when they pressed lit cigars into my flesh.
I remembered the humiliation, the betrayal, the pain -- oh the pain! But the pain of my transformation was worse than every kind of hell he put me through. The physical pain he and his friends inflicted on me that evening was nothing compared to the agony of transformation.
I remembered the searing hot agony burning my flesh, boiling my blood. I screamed out for someone… for anyone to kill me. It was too much to bear.
I dreamed of white, delicate petals flitting down… happiness swirled around me. But my happiness became engulfed in flames, turning into ashes and smoke. The flames clawed at my skin, I could feel my bones glowing from within, hot embers. All of my beautiful dreams were gone, burnt away by the fire. All that remained was hatred, anger. I held within me a desperate desire for one thing… revenge.
I remembered feeling the flesh pull away from my bones. My bones cracked in the heat, my marrow turned to steam and the steam burned me further still. There was a sharp ringing in my ears as I burned -- pain, anguish. I realized it was the sound of my voice -- screaming. It didn't feel better to scream; nothing brought relief from the fire, it only burned hotter.
I hated him for bringing these events to bear. At first I felt weak, pathetic, lost. I cried, begged, pleaded, for it to stop. Make it stop, Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!
No one would listen.
No one would come to save me.
The flames burned within my flesh, scorching my bones, and screaming brought no relief. I steeled myself against the fire, fighting back with flames of my own. My anger raged against the fire. My tempest burned, I fought fire with fire. I imagined turning the flames against him, burning his flesh. I laughed darkly as I imagined his features distorted with pain. I imagined the screams were his. I imagined him clutching at his flesh, tearing at his eyes, begging me to stop.
I turned the fire within. I was no longer the victim; I turned the flames on Royce. I felt the flames lick my skin, burning me as I held the fire, but I could delight as he suffered with me. The only thing that lessened my pain was the knowledge I could hurt him as well.
As the burning of transformation left my limbs I could feel a different sort of fire burning in my chest, in my throat. The fire burning within me now was lust for my revenge, my burning desire for justice.
The only salve that could soothe this burning desire was the death of this low man. Even the burning agony of my transformation paled when compared to the inferno raging within me now. From the burning flames I was born, a glorious phoenix: white hot, tempered with rage, anger.
Every fiber of my being burned with my need for revenge. Royce King the Second was a marked man.
**
**
**
NOTE: Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight Series from which the story is inspired and from which the characters and basic storyline for this composition have been derived.
References: Stephenie Meyer's Eclipse
A special thanks to liebs8181 for her help with this chapter