Edward was in deep sleep beside me, sitting on a chair with his upper body collapsed on the bed; I held his hand, cool and soft, and watched the dawning, fiery and intense above the silhouettes of the trees. The pain was gone and so was most of the weakness; now I only felt shy around light, since its touch hurt. And yet, it held an unearthly beauty to it.
Listening to the lark and to the breeze in the leaves, I thought of the amount of strangeness I have encountered since I met Edward, came here. Of Garrett's and Vladimir's impossible healing gifts, Edward's and their ability to hypnotise, of the liquid that apparently saved my life. What was there beyond simply talking with the dead? Was there something even stranger, even more incomprehensible?
I decided to just go along with it, just exist and let it flow.
The feeling of flowing. I recalled again the night I had woken up amidst a nightmare at the Forks Hospital and glimpsed someone; I thought it was Garrett. But was it really? Somehow as I replayed the scene, hung onto any detail I could remember, something did not add up. Had it in fact been Vladimir? But, why would Nurse MacFayden and Edward tell me otherwise? The image had been a blur in many ways; overlapping, perhaps, with images from other nights. Now that I thought of it, watching the fire in the sky, a sensation different to peaceful flowing came back; a sensation of hot energy filling me up, giving me strength to fight the nightmares on my own. Did they, Garret and Vladimir, in fact take turns healing me back then?
Edward stirred in his sleep, grimacing as if in terror and pain; I rolled on my side to him with a certain difficulty and stroked his head, until his tense muscles eased and his face grew so-so relaxed.
"Bella?" he murmured.
"Shh," I hugged his head and kissed it. "It's okay, I'm here. And I'm okay, don't worry."
At that he drifted off again into a somewhat troubled sleep, gripping my hand tight from it. I still stroked him with the other, darting a gaze at the life-sized painting of Orpheus leading Eurydice out of the Underworld next to the windows.
Many renditions of Orpheus and Eurydice I have seen were overly dramatic or unnecessarily bawdy – this one was solemn and restrained, with determined focus in Orpheus' expression, focus on getting her out, his arm tenderly around her waist; and with tired, loving sadness of someone who has experienced the hopelessness of the Underworld in Eurydice's face and posture. She seemed too worn out to walk on her own, his hold supported her, her hand on his shoulder appeared so weak it might slip away any moment. I liked this simple realism of it.
And somehow it reminded me of a trip to Crete in my childhood; of the way the island, the sea and the sky still seemed to breathe out myth, to belong still to dead gods and to the people who had treaded upon the rocks and the soil there thousands of years ago, whilst the Minoan palaces were yet fresh and new. Moments of sad longing for who knows what, for what was lost to earthly sight, then and now.
When I turned around, I flinched back.
On the bed, by my side, there sat a little girl, staring at me without any motion. She studied me with unabashed curiosity, beautiful and doll-like beyond belief; and strangely serious.
I pulled up on my elbows. "Hi?"
She shook her head, putting her finger on her mouth. She had the same startling blue eyes like Vladimir, only hers were crystalline rather than icy; Garrett's kid? Or his little sister?
Where is her mother?
Somehow that thought would not leave me be; she was wearing a mourning locket. And she looked so lonesome. She was dressed oddly; with a silk ribbon in her wavy hair and in batiste dress full of pintucks and tied with a wide silk sash, she looked like a child from long ago, somebody from a daguerreotype, scratched, half-vanished and faded.
At first as I noticed her dress I thought she was a ghost, a lonely child ghost trapped in this castle for over a hundred years who came to play with someone who could see her – she would not be the first. And even later, when she touched me, I was not entirely sure.
A big, fluffy, wonderful Siberian cat with mischievous blue eyes and a diamond nametag hanging from her collar that read Mirana jumped up on the bed and snuggled between us. The little girl petted her and with a nod to the cat and a question in her eyes, invited me to try it out, too. So I joined in, offering the kid a smile.
A spirit or not, if you mean no harm, you are welcome.
Of a sudden, she reached for my cheek and I saw an image of a white doe looking at me and wandering through a forest in the mist.
The white doe. Not seeing something. I had a feeling somehow what Bree had meant was connected to that doe I may and may not have seen when I came to Forks. But, how?
When I gave her a stunned look, speechless, she wrote into my hand with her finger: Tell no one about me. And she slid off the bed without making a single sound, the cat with her, and the duo vanished in the door.

Curiouser and curiouser. Will there ever be an end to logical impossibilities, strangeness, wonder and secrets here?

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Drifting out of the sleep again, I noticed the dawning was gone and the red and orange has given way to the clear blue of forenoon, with intermittent clouds. It was likely to be a lovely day, slow, lazy, full of sunshine. I covered my eyes a moment to adjust to it. I felt languid, as if I should still be sleeping and had no business being awake during the day. I looked forward to the evening; somehow the thought of it energised me.
Then a bout of pain. I grimaced and curled up a bit. Funny, it was only then I realized all the tubes and machines have vanished.
"It got you through the worst, but it looks like it's wearing off," Edward commented and wiped the sweat off my forehead with a handkerchief. "Good morning, by the way. Don't worry if you aren't feeling too good. Vladimir and Stefan will have you walking and as good as new in no time, as if nothing has ever happened. For a while, at least."
I remembered the feeling of being able to haul rocks. That definitely was gone; but I was alive, with the perspective of staying alive, and I had, more or less, the control of my limbs; what more was there to ask for?
"So, it's temporary?"
"Sorry. Yeah. It's just to keep you well till they find you a new heart. They're already looking for it."
"I see," I muttered and turned to face him and snuggle to him. "Who's Stefan?"
"Vladimir's brother." He checked his watch. "He's gone off home to Romania, but Vladimir should get back from there in a few. He'll have a look at you. Now, how does breakfast sound?"
"Wonderful. If it involves lots and lots of stuff to drink."
We smiled at each other and he nodded, standing up and pecking me on my cheek. "Okay, be back in a minute."
When he returned, I noticed he was bringing food for one. "And you? You won't eat?"
"Nope, I already did," he smiled and sat down by my side, putting the breakfast tray down in front of me.
Thirsty as I was, I downed the water in one gulp with an apologetic glance at him. "Sorry. Not very polite."
"Want another one?"
I nodded. That burning in my throat was still there.
"It's the side effect of the meds Vladimir's given you. Don't worry, it will pass."
"So... has he told you any diagnosis yet?" I asked as I ate and he was pouring me a new glass of water from a glass pitcher.
"Partial one. He thinks you've got Lyme Disease. And that you've had it, undetected and untreated, since childhood."
Mum had asked them back then to run tests for Lyme. The doctor refused to do it because it was expensive. Then I got better and it was all forgotten. I took a deep breath. "Okay. Meaning, in practical terms?"
He sighed. "That you might be in for a nasty period of intravenous antibiotics treatment. And it's not guaranteed to work at this stage. Practically, it has messed up your entire body, Bella." He poured me more water and handed it to me with the beta blockers. "The ATBs can destroy your gallbladder and pancreas, they're already not in a good shape as it is. So, if you think you'd rather not risk the antibiotics, a longer period here with Vladimir might be a good idea, when we can arrange it. He can wipe it out of your system."
I swallowed the pills and knit my brows, tilting my head. "Can he? Lyme? Seriously?"
Edward shrugged and nodded. "So long he's got enough time to do it. Won't happen overnight."
So that will have to wait till I'm eighteen. I intertwined my fingers with Edward's and looked him in the eyes. "So, you still want me, transplantations, crazy health troubles, hospitals and all?"
He arched his eyebrow and gave me a pointed look: "And you still want me, suicidal ideation, beating up teachers, crazy family and being always with one leg in jail and all?"
We stared each other in the eyes a moment, I bit my lip to keep in the chuckles and then let it out. He joined me.
"What a pair, right?"
"Yeah," he chuckled and brushed his fingers against my cheekbone. "But the thing is, we can make each other laugh. And that should count for something."
He pulled me closer and gave me a tentative kiss. We smiled at each other and he leant in for another kiss.
His phone rang. "Oh. Sorry, mother."
He rushed away, arguing with the voice at the other end in hushed, angry tones. Returning after some twenty minutes, he plopped down on the edge of the bed, on the other side from me, giving me his back, and buried his fingers in his hair.
"Edward?"
"Yeah?" There was a slight warning in his tone.
Alright. Quickly, find something else than asking about the call. "I would... kinda like to wash."
He scanned my hair, which was a tangled, sweat-smelling mess, and relaxed a fraction of an inch. "Yeah, sure – come, let me help you get up." He pulled me up and I had to grab him, because my head spun. He sat me back down. "You know what, you're weak. Better if I draw you a bath first and then take you there, okay?"
"Uh... okay," I tucked my hair behind my ear. Now that was awkward. But hey, we are going to live together, maybe, aren't we? So it doesn't matter. I'd better get used to it.
The door was hidden in the panelling, undistinguishable. He vanished behind it for a while before coming back to fetch me. It was a relief to make those shaky steps, even if it was only with Edward's help, perhaps more so than it should have been given the situation. Edward was paler than usual, somehow withdrawing into himself, as if turning his emotions off. I wondered what on Earth could have happened.
The bathroom surprised me. I had expected a bathtub; instead there was a pool of pink marble. Somehow the arched columns surrounding it reminded me of Alhambra or the hammam in the Çırağan Palace, but not quite, carved as they were with a frail motive of peonies and plum blossoms more associated, methinks, with China or Japan. Like the room where I slept, it was distinctly feminine. And incredibly beautiful.
"Wow."
"Hmm, yeah, it's nice," he dismissed it.
That stung a little.
"Well, you might be used to living it up, but sorry, I kinda come from a humbler background," I said wryly.
"A regrettable flaw, but I promise never to hold it against you."
"Ha-ha-ha," I rolled my eyes at him.
Gently, he laid me on the heated floor by the pool, put my head on his knees and washed my hair. He was simply practical and professional about it, like a nurse; he seemed miles away. Somehow that didn't make it any less awkward. Maybe it was that bathroom; with the breeze-light, sheer drapes of changeant silk, peonies filling the vases and the Oriental vibe to it it evoked images of nostalgia and romance. I wondered whom it used to belong to once upon a time. The lady of the house? Did the previous owner, the ancestor of Edward's uncle perhaps, wash her hair here, too, not as a needs must measure, but because it was a moment of intimacy to be shared?
"Edward?"
"M-hm?"
"Do you ever wash your mum?"
"Sometimes," he nodded and shrugged, grimacing. "When she's not well enough to do it herself. Or better to say draw her a bath, bring her to the bathroom, wash her hair, help her undress and then get out and wait till she's done." He hung his head, clenching his jaws. "Then I sometimes have to dry her and dress her and I lead her to her bed, where she lies down, all catatonic like a doll. I doubt whether she even knows who I am in those moments. But maybe yeah, since she won't let anybody else near her, except for my sister Rose."
"Edward... what happened?"
He frowned and looked away. I squeezed his hand.
"C'mon. Just tell me. It's no use if you let it eat you up."
"She's tried to kill herself. Again."
"Oh God. How?"
"She's drank hydrochloric acid. Again. Damn those fools to Hell, I paid them to watch out for her! I expressly forbade it to keep any acid in the house. Oh Hell!" he punched the floor with his fist and covered his face.
I reached for his cheek and stroked it. "How is she?"
"Stable. She'll live. She always survives it, but always keeps trying."
I went on stroking him in a soothing rhythm. "And how are you, love?"
He gave me a crooked smirk. "Like my mother just tried to commit suicide?"
I smiled at him. "Yeah, I gathered that. No suicidal ideation of your own right now?"
"Homicidal is more like it. I'll kill Rose for this. I thought she at least is responsible enough to keep her safe for a couple of freaking days."
It's never that easy with suicidal people. They tend to be incredibly resourceful. No matter how responsible or watchful you are, something can always slip your attention.
But I didn't say it. Instead I brushed my fingers against his temple. "Do you want to go there? Have a look at her and make sure she's okay?"
He wavered, glancing at me with weary eyes.
"It's alright," I squeezed his hand once more. "Go. I'll be fine here. Jesus, you must be scared out of your mind."
"I'd much rather stay here with you," he muttered and rinsed my hair. "You at least recognize me when you see me."
As he went on rinsing my hair, he cried without a sound, avoiding my eyes. I pretended not to see it, hoping that privacy will make him feel better.
"When did she try it?"
"Yesterday. On my birthday."
"Your birthday was yesterday?"
Now that sucked even more.
He gave a grim nod and looked away. "Well, it's not like I expected any presents or a cake or a party. I hate birthdays. They just... remind me that nothing ever changes. But still. Still I kind of wonder why did she have to do it exactly yesterday."
I cupped his cheek in my hand. "Perhaps she didn't have any idea what day it is."
"Very likely," he agreed.
"So... I guess no 'Happy birthdays' are in order, are they?"
"No," he shook his head. "They're not."
"Can't your uncles or Garrett do anything?"
He shook his head, averting it in pain. "She wants to die. That's all she wants. How can you help someone like that? All they could do was soothe her for some time. But still she just wanted to die."
I pulled myself up on my elbows and soaked though I was, I hugged him tight. "You sure you don't want to go to her? To calm her down, for you to know she's alright?"
He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my hair. "You... you wouldn't mind? This was meant to be ours. You and me. Nice holiday in France."
"It's okay. It's already not going according to plan, is it? You do what you need to do. I'll be fine here. Your uncle seems nice enough. I think he'll be a much more efficient babysitter than Rose for your mum."
He chuckled. "Don't tell him you've just called him that. I think his princely dignity would be quite outraged."
"Wait, what? Princely?"
"Yeah. If Russia hadn't abolished titles, he'd be a Prince. So be on your best behaviour while I'm away, will you?"
"I'll look up some Victorian etiquette books on the net."
He chuckled again and kissed me on my forehead. "Alright. I fly tomorrow. I'll tell her about you. I'll tell her you're the sweetest, most understanding girlfriend in the world and I'm crazy about you and want you two to meet. Perhaps I'll be lucky enough for her to be lucid and listen."

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After the bath, he led me carefully to a small library where there stood a grand piano, pulling an overstuffed armchair close to it and sitting me down in it.
"Just wanted to show it to you," he gave me a half smile, stroking the black, glossy lid hiding the piano keys. "It's a wonderful old thing. Still has a magnificent sound for its age. Gives me a headache when I want to tune it, but I wouldn't exchange it for anything. Well, listen," he quickly strummed few bars from Debussy's Reverie with an enthusiasm I've never seen in him before. Suddenly he seemed alive and very much his age.
I leant forward to him. "Play it whole, will you?"
He smiled at me and obliged me, this time in the proper dreamy tempo. Then he sobered up, frowned, and changed the melody to something much more fervent, angry even; there seemed to be some kind of religious zeal in it and majesty reminiscent of old Baroque churches.
I watched his fingers fly over the keynotes in fascination. "What's this?"
"Stabat mater," he murmured.
"It's wonderful," I said quietly. "Whose is it?"
"Mine," he lit up a cigarette.
I stared at him dumbstruck. Then I said: "You compose?"
He nodded slightly, staring off.
"Can you go on?" I asked him, just as quietly again, afraid that my voice will break if I speak out louder.
He did. And I had to close my eyes and clutch the seat to stop the tears from flowing.
It was incredible. This boy, with those mad, passionate fingers galloping over the keys, this violent, moody, angry boy that assaulted teachers, grew aggressive at the sight of blood and messed with minds of therapists, was a genius kissed by angels. Note after note, phrase after phrase, what he produced was that kind of music makes you think this is what pure beauty is, music that was intense, soulful, beyond belief.
"You were a child prodigy, weren't you?" I asked him when he stopped and he nodded after a while, taking a smoke. "Why Forks High School then? Why aren't you at some music school or college?"
He took another puff of smoke, his face cold and tight, his eyebrows knit. He exhaled and said: "Punishment. I'm too difficult."
I wanted to be sure I understand. "How do you mean?"
He shrugged, smoking on. "They threw me out of the music school for brawling. So Forks High School it is."
I looked at the keynotes. "I thought your dad bails you out of every problem."
"I guess this time it was too much even for his angelic patience." The heavy sarcasm in that sentence was impossible to miss.
"But it's such a waste! Can't he see that? Normal high school can't possibly give you anything, it's a waste of time and talent. You belong in the concert halls."
"Yeah," he smirked slightly without mirth and dragged on his cigarette, staring off. "Not gonna happen soon."
"It could still happen!" I shook my head, grabbing his hand. "As you said, you've just turned eighteen. If your dad is the problem, then how can he stop you now? If that's what you want, Edward, Jesus Christ go for it. Or... or I will just lock you up in your room like Constanze locked up Mozart until you give it a go and finish this," I gave him a wide smile and he chuckled, his eyes gaining a shine to them.
"You'd do that?"
"You bet," I grinned and he kissed me.
"Oh girl, marry me," he laughed and wiped a tear of laughter away.
"I just might. But I expect a lovely wedding march of your own first, there's no way I'm walking down the aisle to Mendelssohn."
"Slavedriver," he wagged his eyebrow and flashed me a crooked smirk.
I nodded. "The worst you can imagine."
He started playing something different at once. "And how about this? Well, it's not a march exactly. It's a symphonic poem. But... I hope that doesn't lessen my chances at gaining your hand," he grinned shyly as he stopped to play.
"Wait – wait. You... you mean it?"
"Kinda... yeah. And why not?" he tilted his head to the side, suddenly pragmatic and serious, but still shy. "I think the world is so much easier to bear for us when it's the two of us, facing it together. And say we do live together, won't it be more practical and easier that way, with each of us being the other's next of kin and so on and so forth? I'll be happy to move to England if you'd prefer to live there, so long you wouldn't mind I'd take mother along and find her a house few yards away from ours."
I started to laugh. I couldn't help it.
"What?"
"And to think Charlie Swan had thought you just want to get into my pants!"
Edward guffawed. "Me? Really?" He wiped away a tear of laughter and smirked wide. "Now, that's a good one."
"Why?"
"Well... I think you should know the fine print before you say yes to being my wife." He sobered up at once and turned on the chair to face me, taking my hand, suddenly tense. He linked his fingers with mine and glanced at them. "Feels nice, doesn't it?"
"Yeah?" I smiled at him.
He leant down to me and kissed me. "And this?"
"Wonderful."
He smiled at me, still tense, then hugged me. "And this?"
"Sure, but – what are you getting at?"
He let go of me and sat back a bit, putting some distance between us. He looked me in the eyes. "These things, it's wonderful for me, too. And I will always love being close to you, kissing you, holding you, stroking your hair or hand. Always. It's incredibly precious for me. But that might be as far as it will ever go."
I took a while to process that, to examine how I feel about that. I was not entirely sure. "Well, with the state I'm in, sex is the last thing on my mind, don't worry," I grinned at him, took a deep breath and raked my fingers through my hair. "But, you know – why?"
He squared his jaw and knit his brows, averting his eyes. "I... don't like sex, Bella. It's safe to say I hate it. Well, with you, that might change, but..." he took a deep breath and raked his hands through his hair, "I wouldn't bet on that."
"You're not asexual by nature, are you," I muttered, studying him with a sudden heavy weight on my chest.
He pressed his lips together, stared away and shook his head.
"What happened?"
"Does it matter?" he growled and I reached over for his hand and stroked it.
"Shhh. I won't hurt you. But someone did, right?"
He wavered and gave a barely noticeable nod.
"Who was it, Edward? Mr. Banner?"
He looked at me with bitter, jaded eyes and smirked. "There are many Mr. Banners out there, Bella. Far too many."
"Yeah." My throat was tight. "There are."
For a while we stared at each other without saying anything.
"Hug me, Bella?"
I wrapped my arms around him and laid my chin on his shoulder, rubbing his back in a very slow, soothing rhythm, trying to give him as much warmth as I could. He pressed me to him tight, resting his cheek above my ear.

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Author's Note: This story was nominated for the 2017 TwiFic Fandom Awards! It didn't get to the second round, but wow, I was overjoyed when I got the message in my inbox! I'm not sure exactly how it works, but in case it was someone of you who nominated it, big thanks, it really made my day - and big thanks to everyone who keeps reading this fic for your continued support. Special ones to Kochabilka, Silversimon and Traceybuie, as always:-) I hope you will like this chapter.