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And Yet They Shine
Chapter 12: Slip
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Edward brought Isabella back to the palace in the time it took her to draw a breath. She felt something coming off of him – anger she thought, but she wasn't sure. What she was certain of was the loss of equilibrium she felt from his quick change in temper. He was at one moment kind, another lustful, another joyous, another angry.
Isabella wondered if she'd ever be able to keep up.
He led her by the wrist to a pair of doors. They were large, with ornate pictures carved into dark wood, and highlighted here and there by gold.
"These are your chambers. I'll leave you now."
"Wait! What did you mean…I'm yours now? I don't understand."
"No, I'm sure you don't, and I'm not inclined to explain it at the moment. Good evening."
He turned and left in a motion she couldn't track. It was as though he'd disappeared.
Isabella stared into the empty space for a moment, and then she pushed open one of the heavy doors to her "chambers." She expected opulence – gold and gilt and velvets. What she saw instead caught the breath in her throat.
She stood at the threshold, her fingers still resting on the opulent door handle (it was made of sapphires and some silver precious metal) and stared. The room before her was…an exact replica of the bedroom in her small apartment.
She peered around the room, noticing the single bed that she'd moved from her father's home into her first apartment, shared with three other girls, and then into the small studio apartment that she'd leased after graduation. The dresser, battered from multiple moves as well, stood covered with the detrius of her life: receipts and small change, a pair of tights she'd pulled out of the drawer while trying to find something else, a jewelry box, and a couple of framed photos.
On her nightstand, she found the pile of books that she'd haphazardly placed there – some were meant to be read, some were old favorites, and some she'd just finished. They should have gone back on the bookshelf that stood in the corner of the room, but it was overflowing with even more books and odd knick-knacks: a vase from a bouquet that her mother had sent one year for Bella's birthday; a small tin that held various ticket stubs from concerts and events; a wooden puzzle box that was meant to hide treasures, but which was empty, because Bella had never found anything important enough to hide in its tiny chamber.
She spun around once more, then went to the closet, where she found all of her clothes – nothing was missing. As she sank down onto the bed, she found herself on the verge of tears.
Had it all been a dream? Was she really back home?
As her fingers gripped, and then smoothed the bedding, she realized no – this was not her home. It was a copy, made by some magic she couldn't fathom. The linens beneath her fingers were softer than anything she'd ever owned. When she perused the clothes in her closet, she found them all the same, yet…different. The cut of the clothing was sharper, with each item seeming to be tailored just for her. And yet, her favorite sweater, which had hung down to her thighs and had sleeves that enveloped her fingers – that sweater was exactly the same. Only softer.
The comfort of being surrounded by her own, familiar things was overwhelming, and the thoughtfulness of his gesture brought tears to her eyes. Whatever it was that Edward wanted from her, she saw he was willing to give of himself in return.
Isabella lay down on the bed and tried to catch up to her thoughts, almost all of which centered on Edward. She'd enjoyed his company, his playful smile and the way he'd grin at her sometimes, like he knew everything in the world. She'd also loved watching his smile fall as she'd said or done something he wasn't expecting. He seemed omnipotent, and yet…he wasn't.
She remembered the smile on his face – that dazzling one he'd given her when she'd eaten the pomegranate seeds. He'd shined then – so beautifully – that Isabella had wanted nothing more than to bask in the center of his world. And then he was angry…so angry that Isabella trembled, because truly, it was a fearsome sight.
Still, whether he frightened or delighted her, she found herself longing for his company. It was a curious thing – like yearning for a jar full of fire and brimstone, understanding she might get burned – but she wanted it all the same.
At some point, Edward had slipped under her skin. She was in awe of his world, of him. She wanted him to be open with her, to let her inside. She wanted him to talk to her – no more half-riddles and cloaked statements. She wanted him to see her as his equal, and not some insignificant human girl, who knew almost nothing of his godly world.
Isabella turned onto her side and hugged her pillow close. She understood how he might desire her, as a plaything. But equals? He could never hold her in that light. And she? She could never hold him at all.
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