In Midnight Sun Edward says that Carlisle did not agree with Rosalie's choice, but he gave her advice on how to do it. But what about Esme, and all of the parallels she sees of herself in Rosalie?
TW: rape, domestic abuse

Liminal: of, relating to, or being an intermediate state, phase, or condition

Prologue :Esme

She watched them restrain Rosalie, watched as the rage tore through her and pushed outwards in a furious roar, echoing off all of them.

And Esme understood it. She understood it acutely.

"Let her go," she ordered quietly. "Edward. Carlisle."

Her husband looked back at her, and his fingers loosened around Rosalie's upper arm. But there was doubt in his eyes and he held still, bracing against the girl lest she lunge again.

"Let her go."

Carlisle turned to her; his anguish written all over his face as he finally released Rosalie from his grip. Sympathy for his panic was fostered in her momentarily, but it was short lived as her attention was drawn back to Rosalie, whose livid agony was alight in her scarlet eyes.

Rosalie was shuddering with fury, with unsated desire. With her pulsing need for her revenge.

For her desperate need to be heard.

And that was the pain, that the sadness for Rosalie, which hurt Esme most.

"She's feral," Edward snarled, beautiful teeth bared. "And she wants to do terrible things."

Haven't we all she thought, bitterly, and Edward's grip loosened from Rosalie's shoulder – his shame shooting across his face -but he stayed right beside her, prepared to assail her again if he had to.

"I would like you both to leave," she said, her tone clearly brooking no protest, as she moved towards the door to open it for them.

She knew both of them well enough to recognise their incredulity – their very masculine, very irritating, doubt – about her ability to be left alone with this powerful newborn; this feral, beautiful girl, as she turned back to look at them. She locked eyes with Carlisle for a moment, hopeful he would recognise her confidence. But he was consumed by his own rigid, unbending morality right now. She wouldn't humiliate him by disagreeing with him in front of Edward or Rosalie, but – with a sudden, powerful urge - she was determined to defend the girl against her husband and son's forceful will.

Edward moved to protest, but she turned hard eyes on him.

Don't you dare, she threatened silently, and Edward touched Carlisle's shoulder briefly in warning.

"Rosalie won't hurt me," she looked the girl in her scarlet eyes; unafraid, entirely confident in Rosalie's already startling ability for self-control. Confident in Rosalie. "Will you Rosalie?"

The girl sucked in a breath, more of a growl, then straightened up, "No."

"There you are," she said softly, holding Carlisle's gaze. "Please, leave us. And I mean leave."

He nodded then, forced to entrust her to Rosalie, and Esme knew it went against every one of his impulses to do it.

She would address that later, of course, but right now her focus had to be on Rosalie; not least of all because she wanted to ensure the girl would not make a mistake she would later regret.

Carlisle moved towards the door, motioning to Edward, who reluctantly followed. Both lingered, slowed, as they passed her, but she resolutely ignored them, holding Rosalie's gaze.

Esme had no particular powers; she couldn't read minds like Edward, or do all wildly startling things that Carlislie's many acquaintances and friends could. She was relatively new to this life too, she didn't have the centuries of knowledge her husband did. Nor did she possess his rigid moral compass, which was paradoxically deeply comforting and baffling in turns.

But Esme did have experience of pain, and of horror, and of fury so rampant, so deadly, that it could consume a person.

She remembered it not only in her mind, but in her body.

And she could see it reflected in Rosalie now.

"Let me help you, Rosalie."