You wonderful readers should really thank Dragonslayer164. Well, here's that chapter I probably promised to you all like seven months ago. Any mistakes go ahead and point them out for me? Please, really? Alright then...
Headspace
The deer halts in its tracks, all movements stilling with the certainty that death is stalking its wake. A brief period of trepidation overcomes the innocent animal. Yet when the wind continues its virtuous whisper, the deer proceeds with its leisure amble. It's a tad bit ironic. Too cynical in her opinion. She had previously marveled at any and all creatures of nature. Admired the factions in which they formed, wondered in awe at the mere purpose with which they moved with, and yet there never seemed to be a distinct destination they had set—but were never quite tentative in the eyes of tranquility. Rosalie envied their oblivious freedom, and was a little fascinated by the simplicity of every animal. They were truly creatures with an entitlement of honest beauty.
She merely finds it one of life's many woeful calamities that the very life she reverend is the very life she was reborn to hunt. Life moves in all cynicism, and she becomes fortified with the semantics of irony locked within her vision—she supposes these were the flaws with her existence.
Her limbs maneuver tentatively, mind tinkering with the repercussions of letting yet another prey ease into a willing escape, only a moment flickers before the sinister ache expands past her throat and into her primitive intuition. Rosalie eases into a sharp leap, swift and deadly. The movement becomes a deathly reminder that one should never seem so sensitive to even one of the most empathetic of predators. Her hands work dutifully; rueful with her ritual of snapping her meals neck. She'll remember the short wail the animal let out in surprise at her stealthy hunt.
The feet are heavy, alibit clumsy in its emphatic wake. A burdensome scent permits the air quite irritably. The scent of a predator. With the sudden tracking of her own movements the blonde sets the kill down onto the mossy ground delicately, her eyes stray from the unearthly neck sticking left far too much and onto the fast approaching beast—she supposes now she is the one being hunted.
An eerie silence apart from the previous heaving of the animal welcomes her, yet all peaceful desires must indeed come to an end.
"It's not polite to interrupt a dinner," The lean body emerges from the woodland. "Or do you mutts simply do away with all human ideals?"
Jacob merely regards the blonde with a feisty sneer, eyeing the kill with a shallow remorse.
"We eat actual human meals. But I'm not here to trade jibes with you leech." His timbre is not malicious, but harbors so much revile in its simply manner.
Rosalie reflects upon their previous encounters. A certain curiosity has arrived in the dark irises of his, and it nearly leers at her from his location, a weary shiver overcomes her. Only she will not allow him the advantage of sensing her unease and merely contemplates in silence—her calculative orbs watchful.
"What's your motive?"
The certainty, momentarily stuns her; him believing she's committing a crime fills in the blind inquiries of his vague assumption. And for one to claim to seek no rhetorical talk, his introduction is shrouded with it. In attempt to have the already frustrated wolf marinate in his innocent ignorance.
"Charlie told me what happened between her and him. And how he hurt her, but he doesn't know what I do. He doesn't know what we both know. That you're the reason she was in a bad state in the first place. She deserves to know. Bella deserves to know that you're the leech that's—"
She is not quite fond of his accusations.
"I know that. And I understand your concerns over Bella, but what you must come to terms with is that this is my decision. One that will surly have its repercussions but this is between me, my family, and most importantly Bella. It will do you well if you will accept that none of this involves you."
And she utters the denial of his pleading request with a delicacy to which she'll only differ to when handling someone who's desires are for her mate's wellbeing. He earns her mutual respect for the aspirations, yet the evident discontent speaks his views on her decisions; a very unpopular decision that seems to unsettle the one's that matter most to her.
The vampire offers the trembling teen a smile, lips low in sincerity, but a produced smile in all its rarity—directed at the very bane of her existence, in its irony of course. One that does not dwindle once he reacts with a threatening growl. She can practically feel the heat radiating from his body, the tidal waves of a vexed beast during the first stages of birth.
"She'll hate you!" Jacob snarls.
Her reaction is far too tranquil, far too certain, a complete distraction from the distinction in her features. A little disturbing for the absolute complexity that shadows the entirety of her defeated stance. The affliction is residing within her eyes with a perturbing serenity that even rattles the wolf momentarily.
"As much as I wish she could, and presumably as much as she'd like to. She can't ever find it in herself to. She won't ever have the ability to hate me for all of the pain I've allowed to be inflicted. But I promise you that I will—I will do that for her. It's the least I can do."
Jacob merely accost her in a particularly affronted snarl, she remains impassive once his perfervid manner does not improve. His intentions are pure and she will regard his firm stance on the wellbeing of her mate with the utmost respect, but it will do him well to recall that he has no influence over her decision. She's rather irked by the severity of everyone's concern over her relations with Bella, or rather the critical connotations that presumably will never cease to exist on the matters of her own decisions.
Rosalie allows her lips to part in order to release a certain breath; she would rather finish her prey than be rendered to idle chatter that was more quips than productive.
"Your concerns are heard," She informs politely. "Yet I am afraid we'll forever be at an impasse if we continue to contend each other's perspective. And blood has proven to be more delectable when fresh."
A howl slices into the wind, it occurs as such. Jacob bristling in her direction before bounding into a frustrated stride past her, leaving her with a leer of deterrent. The sudden interruption will be one of which she is indebted to. It allows her to once more concentrate on her meal. The scent of animal kindles an eruption within her as her eyes explode into an obsidian hue, porcelain teeth radiating with the idea of a fresh kill.
He was always habitually lured into the novelties of life—often fascinated by the deviations which presented itself in any manner that would be able to be decoded by his very own eyes. He would loom over the anomalous specimen with a sincere wonder that simply cheered in all its exuberance. He often preached that he himself possessed no soul, even with acquiring his mate. Yet a naivety would twinkle in his left eye, a sort of innocence that one which owned no soul could never replicate. Carlisle proved to be the most compassionate of their kind. His emphatic trait rivaled one the very mortal he deemed himself not to be. Any kind could perceive many mannerisms that would still assume him to have a soul. His entire essence was compassion, but even most kind was flawed. Carlisle still held a care in his eyes, watched her with a delicate responsibility. Yet there was a scowl within the ambers of his honey irises—a contemplative friction. It leered at her idly, so very cautious, yet determined. He was ignorant of even his own resentment concerning her. She had created a faction of his son against his own family; a son which he loved dearly. Rosalie simply remained silent in her observations, leaving the wiser to perceive his own emotions. She very well desired for this situation to become more ideal before that moment arises.
While she may have decided to ward him from herself, he other than herself was the only one in the family who had studied the human anatomy. They had the allotted capability of interpret her relations with Bella as a mate; she valued her mate more than his reticent affairs.
Rosalie finds him in his study. Hunched over a medical publication, form weary, eyes stoic. He can perceive her scent, her step pattern, yet he remains stationary. Only an uncertain clear of her throat to announce her presence prompts him to swivel around in his chair. That perpetual twinkle lurks over his kind and inquisitive stare. His lips twitch into a peculiar smile—familiar and distant. Rosalie sidles into the space and settles into the crevice of the desk. Adjacent to his own position.
"You seem troubled." Carlisle inserts politely.
Rosalie weaves a hand into her blonde tresses and shoves the locks back into place. Even his timbre has become altered by her decisions.
"The bond Bella and I share. There are matters that I cannot quite decipher."
Habitually lured he truly is. She calculates the emphatic interest invoked, tempted to alter her own tentative approach. He would invest himself into the information, delve into the study under the direction of her probabilities, speculations. While he exhibited the weary produced by a phenomenal woe, maybe the fanciful practicability residing with a human and vampire bond could provide for him a revived distraction.
It was evident to her the irrefutable devotion Carlisle would treat her concerns once he darts before her and arrives within an instant, tattered journal captured within his pale clutch. He offers her the journal and promptly vanishes, weaving into the inner workings of his own miniature labyrinth of a library.
"I have collected many journals, parchments, and even novels on the matter," He settles back into his seat with an impressive collection before him. "Not many provide much true insight on a vampiric and human mating. Seeing as they are seldom to the public, to the point where they nearly do not exist. Yet there is some very useful information you should know."
The dulled red journal in her hand is littered with scratches and doubtful tearing's. A manicured finger slips beneath a fold for her to peak into the ratty item. A breath easily slithers past her lips after her honey orbs are able to behold the leisure scribbles, hurried scrawls, and possibly a crude sketch. Even with the dubious appearance, her instinct propels her to tuck the journal underneath her hold.
"Bella," Rosalie clicks her tongue bitterly. "Is insistent in her belief that my touch is warm."
Carlisle inclines his head, crinkle appearing between his eyebrows. The action of him easing into his chair without flipping through the numerous references tells her of the conclusion. He ponders the information.
"I haven't stumbled upon anything like her observation before—there is a possibility that she is unconsciously disillusioned by the bond. Yet if the wolves have the ability to alter their own genetics to accommodate their imprint. Then I cannot condemn the probability of a vampire being able to modify themselves to better fit their mate to none."
Rosalie inclines her head in concurrence, yet the doubt swindles her into reality. She had come to the same deductive reasoning, yet that would merely prove genetically implausible; her body was halted. She truthfully held no blood cells that were not stifled with the venom. If she held the ability to adapt to better fit Bella's human form, then her heart would need to beat a breath. If she did acquire a heartbeat, then with the most adept hearing then surely, she could hear a rhythm not even a foot away.
"Yet the theory will never be plausible." The comment trickles into the room spitefully.
A stale silence overcomes them—a rueful stare links them. An honest delore that can now be reflected within each distinctive pair of eyes; his remorseful, her own brilliantly gentle. Rosalie averts her stare and concentrates: on the thunderous laughter of Emmett below them, Casey and her muttered insults to the man, Alice and Jasper's playful banter, and the low murmurs of Esme mulling over an idea. Then she is reminded of the Carlisle's great loss, and his melancholic affliction.
Rosalie maneuvers away from the man with a faint nod, easing towards the door tentatively. He does not stifle her in her intent, and it leaves her to wonder the depth of his resentment.
The melody drifts into the air evocatively—firm, and low in its peaceful tune. She is poised in her position atop the duet piano bench, spine set like her instructor would rebuke her for until it was nearly inelastic. Yet her fingers wander across each note with a delicate ease. The melodic tune exuding an atmospheric tranquility. Rosalie is steady in her flow even with the lulling scent drawing nearer with every step. Her lips curve into a smile at the confidence radiating from the certain footsteps.
The tune succumbs to her desire at a glimpse of her mate. An action that is not mourned once her eyes fixates on the beauty; head tilted towards her with an inquisitive stare. A smile settled on the brunette's mouth, peaceful, and brilliant. Bella blinks, unfolds her clasped arms, and maneuvers away her resting position in the doorway.
"It's beautiful," Bella murmurs softly. "I didn't know you played."
The brunette eases into the room, joining the vampire at the bench. Rosalie inclines her head and returns her eyes to the instrument. Mind momentarily drifting to the jaded memories of her human life.
"A must my mother insisted upon. I was never too fond of the piano neither did I enjoy the company who taught me the basics. But after being turned I—I found it to be quite soothing. As well as time consuming. Though I much prefer the violin" Rosalie voices the afterthought lowly.
She perceives the contemplative rumpled crease of Bella's brow, and allows herself to feel the moment of appreciation of exactly how her mate is not hard to adore. Even with the vibrant ache of her painful recollections, the mere presence of the teen subdues the emotion into an alleviating hush. It's more than enough for her to travel into the narrow ends of the abyss of her sorrows.
"My instructor was a little too delighted with the idea of teaching me," Rosalie chuckles with a staled humor. "He was rather foolish in his excitement. My father was a wealthy man. Even in the face of the Great Depression. So, of course with the many not having the funds to pay for such an expensive piano instructor the man found it to be a necessity to find money elsewhere."
Bella slides closer into the space of the blonde, shoulders touching; doe brown irises attentive to the remote stare of the stoic, still vampire. Perturbed at the silence of Rosalie and the evident reveal of pain detaining the blonde's features, Bella confines in the impatient instinct to feel and comfort the vampire and allows her hand to cover the pale one settled on the piano. The action garners a reckless tune to invade their ears—Bella flinches at the sound and immediately draws her hand into herself, but it does manage as a distraction for the vampire to escape the silent trance.
Rosalie blinks, slants her shoulders to face her mate, honey orbs flickering towards the retracted hand then to the startled frown gracing the humans face. Her mouth uplifting into a gentle simper.
"He never attempted to get... Intimate with me, but he did hint at the possibility of wanting to become one of my suitor to my father. Who of which never took a liking to the man, and promptly fired him. Thus, ending my mother's insistence and gave me all the incentive to never delve into playing—well at least until after I was turned." Rosalie finishes with an even breathe.
An emotion flits across a pair of dark brown eyes, tinkers with the idea of faltering, before evaporating from existence; Rosalie cannot decrypt the precipitated reaction. The look was sullen, eerily deviant from the kind, and atypical calmness that followed the human. Rosalie had seen the pessimistic stare previously, yet she could not decipher exactly where the look had derived from. A concerned scowl adorns her face at the suddenly silent teen, even more so at the clenched hand bundled at the human's thigh.
"Bel—"
"When were you turned?" Bella asks stiffly.
A crinkle appears in the middle of her forehead at the abrupt query. Hands craving to abate the fierce tension exuding from her mate. It was not her intuition that drives her to maneuver around the bench to straddle the seat, rather it was the diverted emotions captivating her anomalously detached mate that propels her to warp her arms around the rigid body; mindful of the humans recovering injuries. Bella remains stiff, yet her head immediately takes a place on the vampire's chest.
"I was eighteen when Carlisle turned me." Her timbre bitter, and frustrated.
Bella deflates, body limp in the blonde's arms. Rosalie merely strengthens her hold—ears attentive to the tremulous breath weaving from the silent brunette's lips, intently directed at the erratic heartbeat that is leisurely decelerating in pace. She contemplates the peculiar behavior, deducts any far-fetched rationality that may seem eager in its endeavor to be the potential offender, and merely sums the despondent reaction to the brunette subliminally mourning her own loss. A concise conclusion that reminds her of the absolute extremity of their bond.
Bella is very receptive to her emotions, virtually formulating an identical pain that was previously hers to endure alone; the human was far too attuned to the intuitive mind of the bond. Handling the emotional tether required much more earnest attentiveness on her end.
"I feel this," Another dispirited scowl lures the features of the human into a lapse. "Frustration. Or this deep anger." Bella falters in the account.
The lone heartbeat falters, stutters, shivers into a moment of turbulent emotions. Bella meticulously, reluctantly, veers away from the blonde. Head averted onto the custom windows and leer directed onto the inky nightfall, moon light scarcely visible in the secured forest. A curious: frustrated, perplexed, lamentation covers her features, lurks about her antithetical eyes. Rosalie startles once the stare is fixated on her, calculative, and intense. A direct reflection of her, it merely petrifies her that it is her mate that is presenting the severity of the substantial, and vivid emotions.
The concern overwhelming her, must be the demonstrated worry Bella directs at her upon first glimpse. She is involuntarily cornered to wonder if she exhibits the emotions habitually.
"There's this hatred. And so, so much sorrow. The pain feels so frequent, so raw and normal. I can't—It feels so familiar but. It doesn't feel like it's mine to feel."
Her hand delicately sidles upon the human's cheek; a movement that inclines the brunette to take one cruel blink, then another, one more mellow before a tranquil leer is upon her. The vacant trance evaporates and a thick mist replaces the lost intensity. Bella is watchful, a contemplative flicker, then a determined inclination slides into existence. Rosalie plummets into the soft orbs of her mate, leisurely lured into an incantation. The sorcery is innocent, pure, and radiant. In a certain lull, her neck cranes, and she becomes fixated on the heart shaped lips captivating her actuality. The wake of her intentions be condemned, yet she's merely a parted breath from breaching contentment. Only—a hand comes to gently shove her shoulders a few intentions back.
Her honey eyes hurtle open. Then her retinas consume the calculated stare into her memory. Burns the wonder in those doe brown irises into her mind. A flurry of a heartbeat is left in the wake of the silent room; and Rosalie can only stare at the human with fond eyes, and a meek and apologetic breath. Bella takes a merciless glance at her own lips, and Rosalie falters. The vitality stampeding the air between them becomes fierce, and she must avert her stare from the intensity of Bella's heated study.
Silence; fatal, and detached looms over them. The blonde licks her lips testily, and clears her throat harshly—her peripherals notice the quiet stare of the brunette. Gently moving back into her earlier position at the duet bench, the vampire shoves the waves of her hair rearward. A quivering breath leaving her mouth, and tempting her tongue.
A first occurs; she cannot gather her mind to form a coherent, neither worthy reply. Instead she allows her fingers to glide over the pianos keys, applying no pressure.
"Would you like to learn?" Rosalie inquires softly.
Bella does not react immediately, but shifts back into place, stares ahead momentarily, then inclines her head mutely. Meditative look adorning her mien.
"I would," Bella murmurs. "I would like that."
...
I can will the devastation to peace. I may have the ability to break past my preconceived notions and truly mend the ruin. Yet the beauty of her essence is that she may be able to wield the offending desolation with coming to terms with the fact that she is capable of innocent beauty. Her pain ravishing in its wake, developed in its wise endeavor, the endless abyss of a destined soul—it leers at me. Kind and gentle. Only because she does not intend to burden me with the scarred memories. Yet the mere thought alone of her carrying the burden of her own demons in a lonely quest makes me ache. Ache with a want to grasp the plaguing occurrences and make them my own. I can see the distant pain, but there is something akin to a new scar radiating, perched within the walls of her mind. She is hurting from a recent memory, yet only now I think it's a possibility that the recent memory may not be one at all. I stare into her pain, the abyss, and I crave to ease it. To cradle it and plead with it to become less of a burden and more of a story. One that does not hurt, does not teach, but learns. Learns from Rosalie that it is occupying a host that can overcome its haunting presence.
There's something that I can't fathom, something that's tethering her and I together. I adore her, but there is some conspiracy lurking about the pain. And I cannot grasp it. I am beginning to believe that I may never truly decode everything that is Rosalie without that lone conspiracy.
- Bella
"She has a potent sense of smell Casey. What will you do if she does find that you've been sneaking into her mate's quarters?" Emmett teases lowly. "Even more so when you've been taking things?"
With a twitch of her fingers, she kindles a flame, weary breath weaving from her lips.
"She must tell her," Casey states somberly. "Bella seems to be more than willing to grasp her affection and yet she has not exhibited any signs of revealing herself."
The luminous brilliancy of the moon strikes an eerie radiance about her beautiful features, an almost sinister mien upon first examination—if it were not for the melancholic countenance worrying her appearance some would fear the vampiric woman. Her facial lines relax upon the firm arms winding around her waist, she leans into the solid body nicely, gently.
"Rosalie doesn't need to be coddled. But maybe a little meddling will do some good. She hasn't even revealed the full extent of her abilities. However intelligent she is...she'll ruin it all if she doesn't make quick work of this tiny setback." His words weaving from his lips lethargically.
Her eyes tinker with bemusement at the statement, bitter reply diminishing. Victoria; certainly, a thorn in her side, yet not entirely a setback. If the prophecy did indicate to a certain blonde leading them to their salvation, they would indeed need to remove the red-headed vixen swiftly. Yet even then her makers did part with her a very detailed quest. He was very profound in his stipulations. She would do well to conform to them in their entirety.
A low whine of approval emits from the blonde's throat, as she arches her neck upwards to grant him preferable access.
"This is no tiny setback. Indeed my elders did not inform me of Victoria but she mustn't be a vital chess piece in this entire game if they decided not to. And as much as I long to simply tell Bella. They must come together with the strings of fate. It just so happens that my senses can feel an evolution over the horizon."
Emmett inclines his head apathetically. Continuing his pace of gently nipping at her skin—he's not at all stunned by the sudden reversal of their roles, a switch the occurs nearly swiftly. She merely shoves him into a quick backtrack once he nips at her neck one to many times. She is the author of where exactly the pieces fall. An exuberant hiss exhales from his lips after a particular movement settles into him.
"To think everyone believes you to be innocent." He mumbles into her fervent kisses.
He can feel the wicked smile depicting her intentions.
...
Rosalie falters in her notes, hands hovering over the keys, a tunes vibration eerily reverberating about the air—ears trained afar. Mind striving not to rebut the equivocal occurrences her ears have perceived.
Brown orbs filet from the piano and land on the static vampire in concern. Bella tries to decode the vacuous stare in which defines the still blonde at the moment. If not for the blink which occurred a mere instant prior to the peculiar stare, then she would have presumed Rosalie to be a vacant host.
"Rose?" Bella inquiries lowly.
Rosalie inclines her head to allay the worry.
"I believed," Her eyebrows knit in concentration. "I believed I heard something is all."
Bella compiles various replies, yet she is fixed by a delicate smile in all brilliancy that commends peace, a shifty retort disbands from her lips as swiftly as a comprehensive comment peaks from the depths of her mind. The radiance of the upturned mouth allays her concern over the matter. A gentle tinker moves about her lips and it lurks even when Rosalie's deliberation is settled on the instrument once more.
"If you intend to learn then all of your focus must be on the task at hand." Rosalie reminds; certain kittenish quality simmering under the comment.
A pink hue adorns the human's cheeks.
Rosalie continues to murmur constructive criticism: voice fond, eyes soft, mind preoccupied with venturing her abilities into the expansive forest—only silence greets her speculations. She was nearly certain that the voices were familiar, if not plotting, then certainly defined in their intentions.
It's been long, so somethings going to occur next chapter. It'll likely have you angry, happy, or sad...Who knows? Do you guys like the little entry's from Bella? If not could you maybe give me some insight?
Write Ya Later,