Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything in the Twiverse. I'm just playing around :)

I'M BAAAACK!

Good news: The remaining prompts are complete! The Twilight25 contest deadline has long since passed, but so many of you enjoyed these as much as I did, so I'm stoked to present these to you anyway!

Better news: I'll be posting twice a week (Monday and Thursday)

Best news: I'm writing again :)

If you're still out there, thank you for sticking with me! From now on, anytime I update/load a chapter, the story is complete. No promises on what's next, but I'm hard at work. So keep me on alert, would ya?

And because you've been so patient, I'm starting with the longest one-shot of the Rosalie series.

It's good to be back! :)

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: #12, "Forgotten"

Main Character: Rosalie Hale

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,651

Alice peeks at her brooding brother as he picks at the piano. "Where is she?"

He changes keys but does not look up. "I do not know who you mean."

"Mmm-hmmm." She bumps him hard enough to send him to the floor, taking up the melody. "Where is the lovely Ms. Swan this afternoon?"

Edward is hard-pressed not to smile, but he manages as he resumes his seat. "She is on the reservation with Chief Swan and will return this evening."

"And then?"

"And then." Edward increases his pace. "Is none of your business."

"You know I could Look."

"And I could vacillate for the rest of the night." Edward glances her way. "Playing this game with me is useless."

She claps her hands, startling him. "Oh, I don't care. I'm over the moon for you! After all these years alone, it is so good to see you with someone."

He doesn't reply, but his eyes are brightened by agreement.

"Tell me true: have you ever been this happy?"

Again he is silent, but she is undeterred.

"Of course you haven't! I have it on good authority that you never smiled before Bella Swan tripped into your life. Not once."

He finishes his song with a flourish. "Well, if your authority is good…"

"The best." She taps his nose with a finger. "Carlisle is never wrong."

"Then you need no confirmation from me."

"Would it kill you to admit I'm right?"

"Yes, it would. So you will have to enjoy your triumph without my help." Edward dodges her attempt to swat his shoulder. "I need to hunt before tonight. If you promise not to badger me about Bella, then you can come."

"I promise no such thing." She springs to her feet. "But you've decided to let me come anyway, so quit stalling."

Edward rolls his eyes. "Why do I bother?"

They speed out of the room together, and as the door slams behind them, Rosalie emerges from the garage. Her lovely façade is the envy of most women she knows, but there is pain behind the mask.

And in this moment, she aches.

Walking to the piano, she takes the bench with a heavy sigh. It has been ages since she played, decades since she wanted to, and after the conversation she just overheard, it will be a dry, sunny day in Forks before she does again.

It will be his luck if she does not turn his precious instrument into kindling.

How could he forget?

** R ** R **

It was her second year of immortality, and Rosalie was miserable. Beyond the loss of her family, she continued to mourn the death of possibility. What could she hope to achieve in a frozen body that would never change?

She had never given much thought to how she would age, but being eternally denied the chance and stuck in a useless eighteen-year-old body forever with nothing of consequence on the horizon?

It was a fate worse than death.

Not that she blamed her…adoptive parents, for lack of a better term.

Dr. Carlisle Cullen was as kind as he was handsome, a combination Rosalie was loath to trust at first. But his gentleness and patience won her over, and she could tolerate him in small increments when necessary. He believed her misery was his fault, and though Rosalie would never use his guilt to her advantage, it was nice to see it all the same.

His wife was maternity incarnate, and Rosalie wondered how Esme could be so content knowing her body would never again bear children. Rosalie would have resented Esme for having once enjoyed the maternal privilege if not for the heartbreaking story of the boy's death and Esme's tragic reaction. Such an entrance to this life bound the two women somewhat, and their connection would have been solidified had Rosalie chosen to confide in the benevolent brunette about her own death. But Rosalie buried that story with the cruel men who wrote it and had no intention of ever revisiting it again.

Though for the other one among them, her confession would have been superfluous.

Rosalie had every reason to despise Edward Masen, as he was then called. For one thing, he was unspeakably beautiful, which vexed her greatly. Rosalie's vanity was undoubtedly exaggerated, but she detested any man too lovely for his own good. Dr. Cullen was properly handsome in the way that made women feel safe and was wholesome to boot, giving his aesthetics additional appeal.

Not so for his bronze-haired counterpart.

Edward's attractiveness was rivaled only by his apathy which made for an unholy combination. A man of his physicality owed it to the world to be civil, and Rosalie hated him for wasting his aesthetic gift. Edward seemed disgusted by the world and all it contained, and for all that, he and Rosalie might have become friends.

His initial slight upon their meeting notwithstanding.

But his telepathy was a surprising, unbearable thorn in her side, and she thus abhorred spending more than a cursory minute in his presence. Dr. and Mrs. Cullen assured Rosalie that Edward could control his gift and was discreet enough to stay out of her head, but Rosalie could not take the chance. He might break his word just as his name crossed her mind, and she would die of embarrassment if that ever happened.

So she avoided him at all costs, a feat simplified by the size of their mansion on the outskirts of Gaitlinburg. She could pass entire weeks and only see him a handful of times, and that suited her just fine.

If not for the one thing they seemed to have in common.

For everything she hated about her immortal life, Rosalie relished the prospect of learning to play piano well. Her mother had insisted on lessons in her youth, but Mrs. Hale could siphon the sheen from sunshine. Rosalie's instructor was old and mirthless, and Rosalie did only what was required to avoid being scolded. But with Ever After at her disposal, Rosalie reasoned she could properly learn piano at her pace.

If the infernal instrument did not belong to him.

Carlisle and Esme insisted she could play whenever she wanted, but she had never seen them enjoy the privilege. She could not touch Edward's things without permission, and she would not condescend to ask his permission.

But it happened one day that he was on an extended hunt with Carlisle, and Esme was in town running errands. Rosalie needed a distraction and had exhausted every book and diversion in the house. Resolved, she entered the room where the magnificent parlor grand resided.

She inched toward the piano and circled it several times without touching it. Each time she drew closer, the telltale tingle igniting her fingertips. She ran a nervous hand around its smooth outer curves, feeling relaxed for the first time in months. She took a seat on the bench and slowly raised the fallboard.

The perfect keys lay before her, begging to be stroked. With a quick glance left and right, Rosalie played her first chord. A tangible hum of happiness resonated in her soul, and she closed her eyes to savor it. So long had she gone without the simplest of pleasures, she thought she might combust from joy.

She started with the scales and moved on to simple childhood songs. She could see her former instructor's scowl, her mother's cosigning disappointment, and she deliberately butchered the notes, laughing aloud as the obnoxious tones echoed through the empty house. Louder and louder she played, drunk on dissonance, and she paused, wondering if she should add her voice to the chaos.

"Perhaps you are better suited to the triangle," came the voice from behind.

Rosalie leapt from the bench in fright, dropping into a defensive crouch. Raising her gaze to his face, she was stunned to find it reasonably affable.

"You are not supposed to be here." She came to her feet, sweeping invisible dust from her dress. "I was told you were…"

"Hunting with Carlisle." Edward sighed heavily. "I was, but now I am not."

His terse reply piqued her curiosity, but she would not ask for details. "Please pardon me."

"No. I mean…" He gestured toward the instrument. "Do not let me interrupt."

"You mock me," she said, wounded by the notion.

"On the contrary." Edward entered the room. "I find your rendition of 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star' inspired."

She folded her arms. "For your information, I was playing 'The Alphabet Song.'"

"My mistake."

He seemed of the mind to stay, making her ill at ease. "I did not expect you here," she reiterated. "Otherwise I never would have…"

"The piano belongs to the house and all its occupants." He moved toward it with an elegance she resented. "Naturally this includes you."

"You play with such possessiveness." She scolded herself for voicing the thought. "I did not dare intrude."

"But you have." He sat on the bench. "So now we must play together."

She narrowed her eyes. "I cannot tell if you are serious."

"I am always serious. But in this moment, my seriousness has a pointedly polite aim."

"Have you read my thoughts since entering this room?"

"I have not." He glanced her way. "Though your posture reveals as much as your thoughts ever could. You may want to unfold your arms."

He began playing a complicated version of 'The Alphabet Song.'

She uncrossed her arms and recrossed them with a huff. "What are you doing?"

"I am playing the piano." He lingered in the higher keys, tickling her ears. "What are you doing?"

"I was playing the piano before being so rudely interrupted." She half-stormed, half-sauntered back to the bench, taking a reluctant seat beside him. "You must wait your turn."

He made a show of lifting his hands from the keys. "Ladies first."

She shot him an icy glare that melted a bit when she noticed his amusement. With a thorough roll of the eyes, she began playing 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat.'

Edward nodded along, though she tried not to notice, then he did the unthinkable.

He began to play with her.

She stopped mid-verse. "What are you doing?"

"Did we not have this conversation once?"

"I am serious," she said, though her voice suggested otherwise. "It is my turn, and I do not need your interference."

"My apologies." He sat on his hands. "Please proceed."

She tossed back her hair, keeping an eye on him, and continued her rendition of the childhood favorite. Edward did his best to abstain, but her irritation was too glorious not to court.

So he joined her again, this time two measures behind.

She growled but did not stop playing. "I thought I told you to stop."

"Have you ever played in a round?"

"What?"

"A round, Miss Hale." He stopped playing and faced her. "Have you ever played the song in a round?"

"Do not talk to me of rounds, Edward. If you must speak, let it be in explanation of your sudden desire to interact with me at all."

"Why should that surprise you?"

She banged the keys, glaring at him. "Because you treat me like a pebble wedged in the corner of your shoe. From the moment I stepped foot in this house two years ago, you made perfectly clear your wish that Carlisle had let me die in the street or at the very least lodged me somewhere far from you and your delicately balanced life. Why should I believe civility is no longer beneath you?"

Her fury blew all over him with every exhale, but neither of them blinked. Their nonexistent relationship had inched toward this precipice since the beginning, and now they would either pull each other toward friendliness or fall into the abyss of indifference.

His reply would decide, and she would wait for it if the suspense killed her.

"You have every right to think ill of me," he said softly. "And I offer no viable excuses for my previous behavior. I…I am unaccustomed to the company of anyone save Carlisle and Esme and found adjusting to you difficult."

"Why?" Her heart was in the question. "Why am I so difficult?"

"You have an indelible effect on everyone around you." It was then he looked away. "You are impossible to ignore or forget, forcing one to answer the question your very existence presents. And I…I do not perform very well under pressure."

His confession shocked her into silence, and she swallowed hard.

"Realizing your abhorrence of my mental gift," he continued. "I felt it best to keep my distance."

"But…" She could not believe it. "It was never my intention to…"

"It was nothing you have done," he said kindly. "Nothing you could change if you wanted to. You are the rare sort of creature God designs for the sole purpose of showing off. We could no sooner blame the peacock for its features."

"It is the male who preens," she said after a moment. "Not the female."

"Are we still speaking of feathered fowl?"

There was a lilt in her voice. "That is not for me to say."

Breaking with all her good sense, she met his gaze. And as they stared at one another, a slow smile spread across his face, giving it an appearance of such cheer and youthfulness that it stole her breath. Rosalie had never seen anything so lovely in all her days, and she was helpless to do anything but return the gesture.

Their mutual smiles were a hard-earned baby step toward camaraderie, and they savored the moment before turning back to the ivories.

"So," Rosalie said. "Tell me about this round of which you speak."

Edward explained the nature of the round, and Rosalie listened with rapt attention. She thought the concept silly and unexpected, which suited their present mood perfectly. He let her begin "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and waited his turn. When he jumped in at the proper interval, a blinding smile split her face, causing him to laugh aloud. Rosalie never imagined he could be so altered, and she nearly hit a false note in her incredulity.

So passed the remaining hours of the afternoon. They played everything from "Mary Had a Little Lamb" and "Good King Wenceslas" to Mozart and Debussy. Sometimes one of them abruptly changed tempo or chords hoping the other would falter, both amused by their childish attempts at sabotage. Other times they played in amiable silence, the music conveying what words could not. Rosalie had never so enjoyed another's company, and if Edward's crooked smiles were any indication, he too felt the rarity.

When at last Esme's thoughts reached Edward's mind, he alerted Rosalie to their mistress's nearness. Rosalie sighed, not wanting the day to end, and Edward turned to her.

"Might we…" He cleared his throat. "That is, if you wouldn't mind, might we play again tomorrow?"

Rosalie beamed, nodding with alacrity. "I would like that very much."

He bowed, rising from the piano. "Until then."

And with another smile, Edward quit the room, leaving Rosalie fluttering in his wake, waiting for tomorrow.

But when tomorrow came, Rosalie and Edward did not get the chance to play. Carlisle returned from his hunt, he and Edward had terse words in the woods, and Edward reverted to his broody ways, ignoring Rosalie as if their sonata-filled siesta never happened. She knew his quarrel was not with her but could not forgive him for making her an accidental casualty of his perpetual war of wills with Carlisle.

And she holds the grudge to this day.

Snapping out of her memories, Rosalie resists the urge to damage the flawless instrument. But as she heads upstairs humming "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," she cannot stop a brief smile from touching her lips.

Glad to be back, y'all. See you Thursday! :)