AN: 'Kay, this chapter is back to the regular Esme's POV.

PLEASE read the poem. It's about the last moment of human Esme's life...it should explain some of chapter 8. I actually wrote it for Lit. class :) I'm not usually a poet but I like this poem. It fits the story and it's probably the most original part of this chapter since the rest is too obvious.

I've also signed up for beta-work. SO if anyone thinks I can be a good beta...

Chapter 9: Dreaming

Spirited winds whip her silky hair into impossible tangles,

Tendrils of palpable force curling around her ankles,

Rippling the light sundress she wears.

A trace of weightless, earthy vapor touches her uplifted face,

The golden mist flowing upwards to the high cliffs her toes cling to.

A bittersweet smile graces her delicate features,

And for the first time in days-months-years, she feels free.

But beneath her trembling figure,

Lies the fury of Mother Nature,

A looming abyss of icy waters,

Churning, roiling, writhing with a wild passion.

The coppery rock the girl stands upon is slippery with moisture.

Like quicksand, the soil loosens and melts away…

The rock wobbles on the edge for a moment ― unsure, undecided ―

And then it falls.

She travels through a shimmering haze, the spray drenching her caramel hair.

Dense mists slow her descent,

And it's almost as if she is a drifting feather,

Floating aimlessly through a bronze cloud.

- - -

Pain.

I was used to pain. My earliest memories of it included Father and Mother. Harsh words. Father brandishing a supple switch across my palms. A slap across the face for spilling milk over Mother's homemade quilt. Breaking my leg as a teenage girl on the farm. Crushed hopes and dreams. Later, the horrible first night of my marriage to Charles Evenson. I can still feel the scars from his leather belt across my legs and back.

My poor, sweet baby. Cold, stiff, a fragile bundle of my own flesh and blood.

Dead.

And the exhilarating rush off the top of a cliff. The fall through thin air, sweet and gratifying, after the days of deadening nothingness. After that, the last thing I remember is seeing a bone protruding from the skin of my knee.

Pain has been my constant companion throughout the years.

This was different…and terrible.

Something sharp and cold slashed at my neck, wrists, and ankles, startling me. It was very cold, so ice-cold it burned, and pulled me into awareness. The burning started out like the glowing embers of a fire inserted under my skin. It tingled and throbbed, heightening the original pain from the fall. I stirred, and a stabbing pain shot up my leg, making me hiss in pain. I wanted to scratch them out, the stinging, burning parts. It became much worse soon after that.

The smoldering flames flared into all-out torture. The blaze seeped through my bones to the marrow. It was a cutting, blazing, scream-inducing agony. In all my life, I had never imagined Hell could be anywhere close to as painful as this was.

And then I heard the voice of an angel. It was the voice that I hadn't forgotten in a decade. The most beautiful sound in the world, a melody that filled my spirit with hope.

Carlisle.

A cool, sweet breath caressed my face. "Esme." My name. The pain was forgotten, if only for a moment, as my name slipped out of his lips. The way he said my name made it sound like the brand of an exotic silk.

What was he doing here? Why was he here, with me, in the fiery inferno that was eternal Hell? I didn't want Dr. Carlisle Cullen to see me in the depths of my humiliation. What must he think of me now? The last time he'd seen me was ten years ago, when I was sixteen ― frivolous, hopeful, and naive.

My unreliably damaged brain must have fabricated the whole thing.

And then the fire intensified and made it impossible to understand anything. I wanted to listen to that voice again, but it quickly distorted into an incoherent rumble. I writhed and twisted, trying to claw myself out of the cocoon I was trapped in. I knew that by the time the fire was done with me, I would be a pile of smoking ash.

Yet…this could not really be Hell. The firm softness I lay upon, the splintering agony flowing in my veins, the soft, indiscernible voices that broke through the thick haze from time to time ― it all felt too concrete to be a dream…but at the same time, too surreal to be earthly. Whatever the circumstances, I had been thwarted of the solitary death I'd aimed for. What was happening to me? This was a thousand times worse than any pain I had encountered before.

- - -

When would it ever end? An unknown power kept me conscious and detained me from the relief of death. The flames never relented their hold on me and I despaired of any break from the pain. I screamed out to the world for mercy, death, oblivion, although none was forthcoming. I thrashed about, like a demon possessed, and the sheets I lay upon ripped and disintegrated in my hands. How could they be so cruel as to watch while I burned under all this suffering?

Periodically, I caught a few words from the voices around me.

"…So sorry."

"…changing…"

"Esme…"

"I'm sorry for…"

"…end soon."

"I promise."

But nothing I heard made sense. I couldn't concentrate on the words long enough to gather anything useful before the pain rendered my mind incapable of rational thought again.

- - -

I felt like I was getting stronger ― I was able to understand more and more of the conversation around me ― and maybe, just maybe, that meant that the pain was fading away!

But I didn't want to get my hopes up. That I didn't feel as much fire in my fingertips and toes could also mean that they were burned to such an extent that the delicate nerves were damaged beyond function.

Then I realized that someone was rubbing soothing circles across the back of my hand.

I opened my eyes carefully, bracing myself for the inevitable explosion of pain that accompanied movement, and was shocked to find that other than a spicy tingling, it did not hurt.

And I was equally shocked to see the flawless face of my former doctor peering at me intently.

"Carlisle?" I rasped. Immediately, I regretted speaking, for it set anew the rescinding fire in my throat.

The ten, long years had done nothing to his vivid beauty. More likely than not, the time had, in fact, increased it. Carlisle's eyes were as intensely gold as I remembered, and I found myself mesmerized under his gaze. Abruptly, his gentle mouth flashed into an enthusiastic smile, and the agony was forgotten again.

"She spoke to you?" I remembered this voice from the previous days. A teenaged boy appeared in my line of vision to stand just behind Carlisle. Brownish-red hair flopped into his light-colored eyes untidily, grazing his high cheekbones. The two looked somewhat alike ― both beautiful, both pale, with shadowed, honey eyes. He watched me curiously.

"Just my name. I can't believe she still remembers me." Carlisle's voice, colored with wonder, was pure music. "Esme," he breathed. His distinctive scent swirled around my face; he smelled even better than I remembered. "Can you tell me where it hurts?"

I shook my head. I didn't want to incite more pain, as much as I wanted to talk to Carlisle.

"She's still hurting a lot. Her throat burns too much." The boy understood my pain.

Carlisle nodded. "I'll be right here for you, okay? It will be over soon — a few more hours at the most — I promise."

I nodded weakly, an almost imperceptible movement, but he smiled kindly at me and continued to hold my hand. I feasted my eyes on the angel before me. Had Carlisle been here the whole time? I couldn't remember. It was too good to be true.

"She thinks she's dreaming." The boy said casually.

Carlisle sighed and rolled his eyes. "Esme, this nuisance is Edward. He's my…son…I guess you could say that. Well, he's not actually my son but we'll just leave it at that for now." He added quickly, seeing my look of disbelief.

I closed my eyes. "Er…Do you want me to explain everything to you now? Or do you want to rest?" He asked uncertainly.

My eyes snapped open. Of course! I nodded.

Carlisle looked very grim. His voice took on a more serious tone. "You're changing. Your body is going through a…healing process. When the process ends, you will be an entirely different person, Esme. You need to be prepared for that. Do you understand?"

I had anticipated this speech. I knew that I would unavoidably be scarred and misshapen after all I've been through (had the burns obscured the scars I'd accumulated from Charles' abuse?). My skin would be burnt beyond recognition ― possibly discolored as well. I winced at the brief vision of myself limping along with a shorter right leg. Maybe my broken bones hadn't set right either. I nodded at Carlisle to go on.

Then he began to talk. Really talk. I remained silent while he explained everything. Carlisle told me about what I would become. My previous fears of scars and deformation were utterly eclipsed when he first mentioned the word: vampire. I was dying, dead…but not completely so…I would have the rest of eternity to live undead. I would need to drink the blood of others to survive. Carlisle apologized profusely for changing me, his kind eyes and the compassionate set of his mouth showing me how much he really cared.

"When I saw you, broken as you were that night, I remembered your face. Ten years ago, you were a happy girl. Whole, innocent to the world. I couldn't let you go, as selfish as it was," he apologized softly, his remorseful golden eyes pleading for forgiveness.

I struggled for words, having just realized a crucial matter. "And, three days ago, you bit me?" I asked, incredulous.

Carlisle blinked several times ― surprised, and just a tad uncomfortable. "Well, yes, that's how it works. It's one of the few factors that are actually true about our kind."

I eventually decided it didn't really matter. Carlisle, my savior, was a vampire, so it couldn't be too bad. And there was also the option of going "vegetarian" ― feeding on animals instead of humans. He told me that it could take years to get my new vampire instincts in control, but that it was possible. If both Carlisle and Edward could do it, I could do it as well.

There were perks. The transformation had changed me inside and out. I would be virtually indestructible by human standards, my body being as hard as diamonds. Sunlight, crucifixes, holy water, garlic ― all myth. Carlisle fully slashed those beliefs, assuring me that I had almost nothing to fear as one of them. He also said that I would be enhanced in every way: agility, hearing, taste, sound, scent, even beauty. Edward got a little excited when Carlisle mentioned the speed ("It's a thousand times better than an airplane ride!").

And then there was the superhuman strength. Hmm. I had a hard time believing that. I had been raised up on a farm, but I'd never really done any back-breaking work. I mostly stayed indoors with my mother and ran errands. I could possibly be the first vampire to have only the average human's strength.

As if he'd been reading my mind, Edward sauntered to the door. "Look at this," he said ominously. He tilted the large trash bin so that I could see its contents.

"What is it?" I asked, perplexed. Irregular clumps of white fluff infused with scraps of beige fabric filled the container. As I stared at it, realization dawned on me. "Is it ― "

"It was once a very thick, very cozy blanket ― yes," he smirked.

I clapped a hand to my mouth in shock. "I'm sorry! I didn't realize…"

"Don't worry about it, Esme," said Carlisle. "And enough of that, Edward," he added crisply. Edward scowled and disappeared with the trash bin.

"You can clean up in the bathroom. There is a change of clothes in the cabinet. And remember, use as little pressure as possible when you touch things ― the power can be difficult to get used to. " With that, Carlisle smiled seraphically (I stared back in awe) and left the room.

For the first time since I'd opened my eyes, I took in my surroundings. Moonlight washed in through several floor-length windows along the wall behind me. I'd never seen moonlight so pure and bright before. The wide room was furnished simply, but with good taste. There was a large fireplace directly in front of me, at the foot of the queen-sized bed. A sturdy, mahogany desk stood to the left of the bed. It was dusty. This was probably their unused guest room.

Gingerly, I placed my bare feet on the polished wood floors. There was no more pain, although every inch of my body tingled in a delicious, potent way. Dream-like, I floated to the door with surprising speed. I closed the bathroom door quietly behind me and gently twisted the knob above the water faucet with the lightest pressure, keeping in mind Carlisle's words about my new strength. I didn't feel the metal rotating underneath my fingers, but a flood of water gushed forcefully out of the faucet.

Then, I undressed in front of the mirror.

A surprise. My eyes were a sinister, lustrous red. They stood out from the rest of my features ― beautiful, fascinating, and dangerous. I quickly dismissed it, remembering what Carlisle had said about the unsettling color. Only one year of this, I told myself.

My skin glowed silver, illuminated under the pale, wonderful light of the full moon. It was flawless and perfect. As beautiful as a newborn's. I ran slender, white fingers along my legs and back, feeling a faint sense of pleasure as they glided across only smooth skin. There were no telltale bumps of scar tissue. Not even their ghosts remained. Erased.

I grinned and my perfect teeth (no fangs) glinted wickedly in the mirror.

Reborn.

AN: I know you've probably read a gazillion vampire transformation stories so I hope this one wasn't too cliché. Until next time...Please give me feedback (especially about my poem)!