I became aware that I was becoming aware.

"Bella?" whispered a voice with all the depth and clarity of a silver bell, struck by a god.

"Ssh, don't press her," hushed another voice—this one rich and deep. I knew these voices. I knew I knew these voices.

"Laelia," I croaked, but strangely the voice that came out wasn't a croak at all. It was low and smooth and velvety.

"She's with Rose," said another voice, and at that voice I found the strength to open my eyes. In the presence of that voice it was impossible to keep my eyes closed.

And there he was, more captivating than I'd ever seen him before. Edward, my soul mate and my partner, the father of my child, the love of my life. I knew peripherally that there was a whole room around me; I could hear lungs filling and emptying, could hear gentle noises coming through the walls, could smell several totally distinct personal aromas, but there was no point looking at anything but him, my Edward. How had I ever failed to see just how lovely he was? His eyes, so expressive and so kind, his boyish face so much more knowing than a face that young had any right to be. His lips—oh, those lips, how I wanted to devour those lips.

I reached up to stroke Edward's cheekbone, and felt his face give way before my fingers like a kitten pushed by a grown man's boot. That was new. Now he was the breakable one?

"Ow," he said, rubbing his cheek. I watched his fingers graze his skin, listened to the delicate friction between parts, stared hungrily as he dampened his lips with the tip of his tongue. And somehow—I was never quite sure how—I found myself wrapped around Edward, my legs tied in a knot around his waist, my mouth fastened on his, my fingers raking his cheeks none-so-gently. Surprised by my attack, Edward staggered backward and nearly fell. His skin gave way to me; I felt his muscles contract and strain under my hands, and they felt like real muscles, firm but malleable instead of iron-hard.

"Bella!" shrieked Alice, and my senses returned. I was hurting him. I was hurting Edward.

I was hurting Edward.

"I'm so sorry," I gasped, which was a colossal mistake because inhaling immediately opened the door to a terrible aching thirst unlike anything I'd ever known. The lining of my throat crackled and flaked like ash. I fell into a crouch on the floor, hands pasted around my neck, gagging on the dryness and the heat. Every breath felt like it was delivered to my throat straight from a kiln.

"It will be easier if you don't breathe for now, Bella," whispered Edward, so quietly that I shouldn't have been able to hear him. "Just hold it in, love." I clamped my mouth shut and held my breath, swallowing and swallowing again until the dryness began to subside a little. My throat felt like it'd been through a rusty cheese grater. Edward's hand, patient and comforting, rubbed gentle circles between my shoulderblades.

After a long while—or a short while, I had no way of measuring time with this spectacularly sensitive new brain—I felt attached to my body again, like at least there was a head and torso and limbs attached to the flayed nerve ending that was my airway. I rose to my feet and looked around me, my breath still clamped behind my teeth. There was Carlisle, his most Doctorly look on his face. Esme, her lips turned sweetly upward into a welcoming smile, no trace of nervousness or doubt in her honey-rich eyes. Emmett, grinning openly at me from a corner, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his biceps flickering with suppressed energy. Even his dark curls seemed alive and eager. When I caught his eye, he winked and grinned more broadly than ever. Jasper, whom I had always thought of as tight and tense, I now saw was simply poised—or perhaps he felt he could relax at last, without my blood taunting him. His skin was tracked with shimmering scars that I had never seen before: they paraded up and down his arms, around his neck, across his hands. But instead of giving him a ghoulish appearance, the scars were strangely humanizing. And Alice, tiny but as brimming with movement as a dragonfly. Her teeth flashed in a grin, her thick-lashed eyes crinkled joyfully at the edges.

I could sense lines like spider-silk joining one Cullen to another: Alice and Emmett shared the same frenetic energy; Jasper and Carlisle held themselves with the same casual dignity. Esme and Edward could have been biological mother and son, they moved so exactly alike. It wasn't only that my eyes could now pick out facets on each face that had never been apparent before; it wasn't only that my ability to track movement was as fine as an eagle's. There seemed to be so much more room in my head now, each second impressing itself lovingly upon my brain before it passed. I was experiencing every droplet of the flow of time, perceiving in multiple ways every time one of them tilted their head a fraction of a centimeter, or shifted their hands and feet. Little tics and gestures that would pass human Bella by couldn't escape my notice now. There was so much more to see, so many more ways to see it.

And there were two notable absences in this room. One was Rosalie; the other was a certain little grasshopper who'd been a part of my own body for months now. It was time to start getting used to her living outside of me.

"Where's Laelia?" I asked, trying not to be too weirded out by the sound of my own voice. "I want my daughter." This used up the last of my air. If I wanted to talk more, I was going to need to inhale again. Terrifying.

"Bella, she's half-human," Carlisle reminded me gently. "Perhaps it would be better if you waited until you've gotten a better handle on your new senses. You should feed."

I felt my brow pulling itself into an irrepressible glower, which did nothing to reassure them that I had adequate control over myself, especially after that display with Edward. I would just have to convince them. Slowly, deliberately, and with every ounce of concentration I had in me, I inhaled. I filled my lungs to capacity. It was merciless, all that dry air whistling down my ravaged throat. If I hadn't had a determined purpose, it would have flattened me. But I needed to keep my shit together or they wouldn't let me see her, and the one thing I truly couldn't stand was waiting another minute to see the kid I'd just given up my humanity for. I wanted her as much as I wanted the burning in my throat to cease. If they needed proof that I could behave, I'd give them proof. "I'm not waiting," I said. Cautious, agonizing inhale. "I just missed her first three days." Inhale. It was getting easier, a campfire now instead of a gas tanker explosion. "I want my daughter."

"Carlisle," said Esme, "Laelia doesn't smell human. You know that."

"But to a newborn—" he tried once more.

"Just let me see her," I begged. "I promise I'll be good."

Carlisle's face contorted in something that looked like remorse. I wondered hazily where I'd heard those words before. But what did it matter? He was weakening.

"Laelia's scent is all over all of us," pointed out Edward. "And she hasn't reacted to it at all. Why don't we all get around her? She can see Laelia at least. Then we'll go out to feed."

My chest, which was as still as a graveyard, felt very much as if it wanted to burst. I felt four separate pairs of hands take gentle but firm hold of my arms; Esme and Carlisle positioned themselves between me and the door. I heard footsteps, and a tiny flutter that must have been a heartbeat.

Only one heart was still beating in this house.

The door opened, and there she was, nestled in Rosalie's arms, like I remembered but different, too. More expansive in some way, like she had all these extra dimensions my human eyes had lacked the power to see. Older, too, her face and form just a little more filled out. She was propped upright in Rosalie's arms, but she was supporting the weight of her head all by herself. Her little hands waved in the air; her brilliant green eyes brightened and she let out a musical squawk. I risked another breath, just to see if I could do it, and to my surprise this was the easiest one so far. Around the delicately appealing scents of Edward and his siblings was an aroma so heady and so enchanting that it poured a little trickle of comfort over the flames in my throat. Laelia reached for me, and the eddies of air she churned up with her movement carried more of that scrumptious scent my way. The pain at my throat didn't exactly go away, but breathing didn't feel like such a punishment if this was what I was taking in. There was something delicious at the back of it, but not delicious in a way that tempted me to take a bite. It was sort of like fresh jasmine and honey and warm milk and early-morning wind and that spectacularly good new-baby smell I remembered from before. I took a step toward her. Instantly the hands gripping my arms held me tighter, so that I couldn't move another step.

"Please," I said quietly, sanely. "Please let me hold her?" Rosalie looked at Edward questioningly.

"Bella—" he said warningly.

"It doesn't hurt," I said in a breathless whisper, my eyes riveted on hers. "I'm safe. She makes me safe."

Rosalie exchanged a glance with Edward. Then she handed me the baby. I felt her weight, warm and soft, drop into my arms. I felt her wriggle into a more comfortable position. I didn't dare hold her as tightly as I wanted to hold her. Hurting Edward a moment ago was one thing. Hurting this little girl, even by accident, would be quite another.

Laelia looked up at me trustfully, her teeny pink mouth fallen open a trifle. She was so beautiful, more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. Her face was a sunrise. When she dimpled in response to my intoxicated smile, I felt as if I must have died after all. There was so much room inside me and still I felt about to burst out of my own skin, atomized by this swelling existential delight. There was a sharpness to this joy; it hurt me like a physical thing. But it was a pain I craved.

"Hello, sweetheart," I said in a hush. "I missed you."

She reached her hand up to my face; I marveled at the translucent perfection of her dainty fingertips. She pressed one palm to my cheek, and it was like being caressed by a rose petal.

And then—something happened. The face of my daughter was replaced by a pale, sweaty face surrounded by straggly brown hair. Brown eyes burned into my vision. My brown eyes, my human eyes. I felt an indescribable sense of curiosity, of questioning.

I let out an involuntary gasp. At the sound, Laelia's hand dropped from my cheek and the image of my own face dropped from my mind.

"What was that?" I said—amazingly calmly, under the circumstances.

"What was what?" asked Edward, confused.

"Did she...did she just show me my own face?"

"You saw that?" gasped Edward, his arm snaking around my shoulders, his finger touching Laelia's palm so she could grip it as she'd done when she was not an hour old. "But—how?"

"I don't know how," I said. "She just—has she been doing that this whole time?"

"Well, yes," said Edward, "but...Bella, how did you see it? No one's ever gotten through your shield...I can't, Alice can't, Jasper can't—" No, that wasn't right. Jasper had, once. Hadn't he? When was that?

"You still can't hear my thoughts?" I asked.

Edward shook his head. "Now less than ever," he said with a smile.

"But she can just...just plant things in my head, huh? Well, that confirms it. Laelia is literally the smartest, most talented baby on the planet. I'm sorry, rest of humanity: my baby is the best. You can all stop trying now." I walked out into the living room, Laelia still perched securely in my arms. The family followed me, careful to keep within easy reach in case I lost my marbles and started chewing on Laelia's adorable head. It felt marvelous to walk, even if I could feel the wood floor cracking every time I planted my bare feet. The more steps I took, the more natural it felt and the less jerky my movements became. I inhaled and exhaled, again and again. As a human, that function had been involuntary, had not required so much concentration. My throat still felt terribly dry, but with Laelia's fragrant pink head right under my nostrils, breathing didn't hurt me specifically. But I was still careful not to look directly at the pain, lest it overpower me again.

Laelia twisted in my arms so that she could both face the room and reach her hand up to my cheek. I walked to the window with her, and it made a sort of frame for the pictures she was showing me: she seemed to love being held by Rosalie, but she was also extremely partial to her uncles. She was frankly curious about Alice, Esme and Carlisle, who had all held her briefly but who mostly roamed the edges of her consciousness; I gathered that they had spent the bulk of the last three days locked up in my room. She showed me what I guessed to be her memories of being walked around the mansion by various family members. She loved the portrait gallery that housed Carlisle's extensive collection of master paintings. And nothing could make her happier than to be laid on her back in the middle of the floor, on the brightly-colored quilt that Esme had pieced in her early years as a vampire, and look at the mobile of Cullens circling above her, talking and dangling their fingers for her to grab. All of these memories were, of course, seen through her own eyes, tinged with whatever thoughts and feelings had accompanied each. It was utterly enchanting.

Then the images in the window vanished, and we were looking outside again. She reached out and splayed her five fingers against the glass. I felt a very specific sense of wondering, and turned to Edward.

"Has she not been outside yet?" I asked in surprise.

"We thought we'd wait," he said with a smile. "We wanted to save as many milestones for you as possible. You've had a hard couple of days."

"It was worth it," I said sincerely, pressing my nose right up against her wispy fluff of hair. Did all babies smell this good?

The Cullens and Hales formed a parade around me as we trooped outside. I stepped too hard onto the back patio and felt a terra cotta tile crumble to dust under my foot. I couldn't take a step or touch a doorknob without reeling from the unfamiliarity of my own strength, yet the gentleness required to hold my baby girl was coming to me instinctively. Or perhaps it was more simple than that: maybe so much of my attention was on her that I was ignoring the requirements of the world around me.

Outside, my face was kissed by particles of wind and moisture and pollen and thousands of other unnamable outdoor entities. Laelia opened her arms to the wind and giggled, a bubbling, musical sound. I sucked in my breath at the pleasure of it. She was strong enough to hold her own head up and look around, her eyes so wide that I felt I might fall into them. I could see the sky reflected in those eyes; tiny birds high in the sky winged through her irises. There were so many sounds out here I could barely take them all in: insect life, birdsong, wind through leaves and blades of grass. The day was overcast, but with these sharp new eyes the heavy clouds became as soft and filmy as a lace curtain; I could even see the outline of the sun, faintly gleaming through. I peered at my own wrist and saw traceries of veins, glowing through my skin, moonstone-pale in the weak sunshine. Beautiful.

Laelia's hand returned to my cheek and she asked me what was that flying thing, what was that buzzing speck, what were those tall green towers? And I named each thing for her: bird, mosquito, cedar trees. Emmett and Rosalie ran laughing out into the clearing that formed the Cullens' side yard, and began tumbling somersaults and cartwheels and flying leaps for Laelia's amusement. She liked it so much that she blessed us with that laugh again and again, more beautifully each time. Then Jasper took hold of his hummingbird wife and began to toss her into the sky, catching her gently as she came down and then tossing her yet higher. Laelia loved it.

"When did you find out about her...her gift?" I asked.

"Edward should have been the first to notice it," laughed Esme, "but of course he thought he was merely reading her mind as he expected to do. It was Rosalie who actually figured it out. Laelia showed her a picture of her bottle, and that was how we knew she was hungry."

"What's really interesting to me," said Edward, his finger once again in Laelia's custody, "is that I can only hear the thoughts she wants me to hear."

"Seriously?"

"Well, that's what I think, anyway," said Edward. "Because I can hear certain things without touching her, but only certain things. Most people have structured thoughts that are loosely linked together by threads of unstructured thoughts. Like, maybe someone might think, 'I'm bored,' which triggers this subconscious, nonverbal repetition of the concept hungerhungerhunger, and then they think, 'I could really go for a snack.' In Laelia's case, I hear the constructed thoughts, usually images, but I don't hear concepts or ideas. For example, when she thinks at me from far away I might see an image of a bottle, but if she touches me and shows me that same image, I also smell the memory of blood and feel a sense of impatience and demanding, all those nebulous thoughts that give birth to the more structured ones. I think she's controlling it to an extent. I think she can choose what to share. Even with me."

"So, she's a genius, is what you're saying," I commented, watching entranced as she tried to stuff a moth in her mouth. Her attempts were unsuccessful: she apparently hadn't quite nailed down the concept of depth perception. The moth she was trying to catch was several yards from us.

Rosalie cartwheeled over to us. "Bella," she said, planting an unexpected kiss on my cheek, "I'm so glad you're all right now. I can't believe you're even able to talk. Isn't the thirst...well, doesn't it hurt?"

At the mention of thirst, the heat in my throat flared sky-high, and Laelia was out of my arms and into Rosalie's before my sudden, full-body spasms could harm her. I smacked my lips, frowning, and Laelia noticed and smacked her lips, frowning, and I found enough focus in this to settle my breathing again. I tried to get as much baby-smell with each breath as possible, tried to single out that calming milk-and-honey scent and use it. Gradually, I felt my sanity return. I looked down, noticed that my fists were clenched and made an effort to loosen my fingers. "It's not so bad when I'm near her," I said quietly. "She smells good. And if I think about it, it hurts way more. But if I just think about other things, I can manage. I'm pretty sure."

"Well," said Carlisle, "you should still have a meal as soon as may be. We oughtn't push it."

"Oh, let me wait till she falls asleep," I pleaded. "I don't want to waste a single minute—not yet."

The little traitor chose exactly that moment to yawn hugely, her plump pink cheeks stretching with the effort. Edward laughed at the expression on my face.

"She's been up for hours," he said. "I think she suspected she might miss something when everyone but Rosalie vanished into your bedroom. It's high time she had a nap."

At the word "nap", Jasper bounded over and shunted his sister out of the way in his hurry to hold the baby. "It's my turn to rock her to sleep," he said upon seeing my confusion. "We had to make up a schedule or else some people start hoggin' her. C'mon, Rosie, you been holdin' her all day." Goodness, if we weren't careful she would grow up unspeakably spoiled.

While Jasper strode into the house with the baby (with Rosalie, Alice and Emmett trailing behind him like puppies), Edward, Carlisle and Esme led me out into the woods. I felt it the instant Laelia's scent faded from my nostrils, and the knowledge that I was on my way to a meal made it hard not to think about the pain in my throat. I was cringing and fighting the urge to breathe before we'd gone a hundred yards. Every step was a struggle. Edward and Esme took turns coaxing and pushing me forward, until we made our way to an outbuilding I'd never seen before. It was built of the same materials and in the same style as the house.

I heard barking from inside and turned immobile as a stone.

"No," I whispered. "Wait. I can just go without...I can fast. I'm not hungry. Please."

Esme and Carlisle looked at one another. Edward pulled me close and held me while I stood there, still as a statue, a battle raging inside me. On one side, the unbearable heat and thirst that was no more than a breath away from overpowering me completely. On the other—well, whatever was in that building. I could hear yips and howls, not unhappy ones but excited ones. I thought of Schluppy. I shook my head against Edward's shoulder, my eyes frozen wide.

"Bella," said Carlisle gently, placing himself in my field of vision. "This moment will not be easy. We take overflow from kill shelters in Seattle, Port Angeles and Portland. We take the ones who are sickest, oldest, least likely to be adopted. We take the ones whose time is up. These animals were destined for death, Bella. There was never any hope for them; they are feral animals, the offspring of pets whose owners did not spay or neuter. They were never pets themselves, were never socialized to be pets, will never be pets. But they provide our family with sustenance. They will bring you some relief. And this frees up spaces for other stray animals in those shelters, spares the wild animals that we would be drinking if we didn't have this arrangement. I know this is strange, and frightening, but this is the best way. And it will bring you some relief for the pain."

I drew a searing breath. I'd been a meat-eater when I was alive. This shouldn't be a problem. But that meat came to me already slaughtered. And there was a world of difference between neatly-butchered cow and yapping dog. At least, to me there was. "You're sure they wouldn't have been adopted?"

"Most of these animals are very old. Those who are not elderly have chronic health problems. The chances of them being adopted are practically zero."

I screwed my eyes closed. I knew that this made sense. I knew it was better than every possible alternative. I would just have to get used to it.

I took a small step in the direction of the building. Then another, and another. Edward led me around to the other side, where there was a grassy, gated enclosure. He clambered over the ten-foot-high chain-link fence like it was nothing. I took a running jump and cleared it neatly, watched the top of the fence sail past beneath my feet, landed quite gently on the other side. It was easy.

Soon I smelled a powerful waft of dog. I heard thick, sloshing heartbeats. Esme opened the back door of the building to let a shaggy mutt slip through the door. It was very old; even I could see that. Its muzzle was completely gray and it was blind in one eye. It shambled over to the middle of the enclosure, plopped on the grass and lay there without moving. I glanced at Edward.

"We won't look, if you'd rather," he said. "It's pretty basic. Just listen and feel for the pulse in the neck. As soon as you find that…"

"I got it," I said. I walked over to the decrepit animal. It looked at me warily but didn't try to run away. Its fur was clean; I could smell doggy shampoo that had some sort of almond perfume in it. But the living-dog smell was stronger, more potent. The sound of sloshing and burbling, the warmth of its living hide all drew a flood of wetness into my mouth, sharper and less pleasant-tasting than the bland, unremarkable chamomile-flavor that had been there before. My body knew what to do, even if I didn't want to do it. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.

I dangled my fingers tentatively in the fur of the dog's neck. It whined plaintively and started to shift away from me. Perhaps it was beginning to understand its danger.

Too late. I bent over the creature, nipped a gash into the side of its neck where the pulse was strongest, and sucked it dry. The whole thing took about a minute, an instinct quickly carried out. It tasted like it smelled, but at least it served to dampen my throat. When I was done with it, Edward cleared it out of the way and Esme brought me another dog. Then another. I drank three stray mutts and four cats. My stomach was uncomfortably distended, my clothes were sopping with blood, and I was still parched. Esme made to let another dog into the yard, but I shook my head.

"That's enough," I said. "I think I hate myself enough for one day."

Many things to discuss here!

1. Morphine alone does not cause paralysis, although paralysis-causing drugs are sometimes administered along with morphine. So, unless paralytic drugs were included with the morphine, Bella should have been able to move during her transformation. (At least, move the parts that weren't paralyzed by the baby's kick-to-the-spine.)

2a. After all that talk about how debilitatingly painful newborn thirst is, Bella has practically no trouble ignoring it. She mentions here and there that it hurts more if she thinks about it, but she is able to resume her normal life almost as soon as she wakes up from the transformation. If it's really that easy to manage, then why do other vampires turn villainous so damn quickly? I thought the evilness of other vampires was some sort of tragic result of the overwhelming compulsion to medicate their unbearable thirst with blood until they're desensitized to violence and murder. But Bella seems to manage the pain just fine. She scents human blood on her first day as a vampire and then just holds her breath and runs away from it of her own volition. She's hanging out with her human dad within months. I mean. Come on now. Does newborn bloodlust hurt or doesn't it?

*I understand that Bella had an aversion to blood as a human. That would have served as an excellent explanation for her unusual resistance newborn bloodlust, but instead, the family described that resistance as being due to "mental preparedness", not a biological result of her prior phobia. Additionally, Bella lost her aversion to blood when she was still human and pregnant, so I do not count her pre-Breaking Dawn bloodphobia as having any significance to her later self-control.

2b. Still, I can understand the author's desire to keep the plot (such as it is) moving along without a year-long detour for Bella to get good at vampiring. I just think there are other ways to accomplish this than "And Bella turned out to be the very best and successfullest vampire in the whole wide world without even trying." Although it is not explicitly stated in canon, I am interpreting Laelia's balanced-between-food-and-perfume scent as having a meliorative effect on bloodlust. This means that Bella's thirst will feel (somewhat) less agonizing in Laelia's presence, but that when she is out of range of her daughter she will feel the full power and pain of newborn bloodlust. Additional short-term relief comes with feeding. This will offer Bella some pockets of normalcy and self-control without relying on that tired old explanation, She's just so special and unique. And of course, it makes evolutionary sense for this symbiotic relationship of mutual comfort to develop between hybrid infant and newborn vampire mother.

3. I'm glad that the family is cautious about allowing Bella near her half-human baby, but their approach makes no sense. Having lived with Renesmee for three days, shouldn't it be obvious to the other Cullens that she doesn't smell like food? Can't they just waft a lock of the baby's hair under Bella's nose to test her reaction? Furthermore, it's well-established in the series that no matter how much they feed, vampires will never be entirely free of bloodlust, and that this condition is particularly pronounced in newborns. So, if the baby smells delicious to Bella, how will feeding on the vampire equivalent of raw tofu mitigate her desire to drink Renesmee?

4. I can't get over how quickly Bella takes to kill living things with her bare hands. I could understand if it she were acting in a haze of overpowering bloodlust, but these forest animals don't even smell appealing to her and still she graphically slaughters them without the slightest internal struggle. Struggle a little, Bella!