Disclaimer: I'm out of ideas to make this even moderately amusing. New Moon and Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer, not me.
She had stood there before me, heart beating wildly, stuttering at every beat. I could smell the thick stench of fear envelop her naturally sweet scent, see the blood pulse under the thin, pale veneer of her flesh.
Her presence washed over me with all the force of a tsunami. I was captured by her, held deep down in the currents of everything she was.
A bright swatch of lightning lit up the room, and I noticed how terribly her limbs trembled and how very wide her eyes were. I heard the joints of her knees unlock and the shallow breath she drew in as she lost consciousness and fell.
I rushed to her side, catching her prone body before gravity took her all the way down to the wooden floor. I pulled her close to my chest, the warmth of her flooding into me. Her hair draped over one or my arms like a silk curtain, softer than I had remembered. One unconscious hand had landed against my chest; the fingers of it were now curled tightly into the fabric.
I kissed her forehead lightly and then wiped away the soft sheen of sweat that had appeared against her creamy brow.
I picked myself up from the floor, bearing her burden lightly. It was silly of me, but I couldn't settle her into her bed just yet. Instead, I pulled a quilt off of her bed, wrapped her into it tightly, and then settled myself into the rocking chair in the corner of her room.
My Bella.
Il mio cantante.
My singer.