Eep, I know that this is dragging on before her interaction with Carlisle, but I feel like her backstory is genuinely why she is the way that she is. Bear with me, an accurate portrayal now will make a lot of sense later on.

From here forward, there will rape, abuse, love, lust, depression, etc. I will not put a warning on every chapter so please be considerate if this is something that you struggle with. For those who do struggle, I'm so sorry.

Thank you for reading :)

Chapter III - Obligations and Societal Expectations

Esme's POV - Age 22 - Columbus, OH

A large, elegant golden mirror stood on an equally stunning vanity, the glass painting a pristine picture of a woman I did not recognize. The gold shimmered in delight as it was met with the open arms of sunshine through a stained-glass pane. The panels portrayed a colorful depiction of the love of my religion, each vibrant pane casting a new colour in each corner of the cage that I remained in. I shuddered as I looked down, watching the rainbows dance between expensive lace, a sign of everlasting love from the Heavens above. The irony.

I brought my gaze back up to my original focus, allowing myself to assume that the lovely message was not meant for this bride. The woman in the mirror was a stranger to me, her beauty and grace a mystery that I admired from afar but harbored deep resentment for. It was as if she was a painting, made of delicate brush strokes of light and darkness, the mirror reflecting a vision of perfection that portrayed an exact image of my mother's favorite dream. A veil adorned her hair; a white dress hung on a hanger of calcium, cascading down her figure and through the suite in a show of purity and virginity. I reached out with hesitation, pressing two cold fingers to the barrier between us, trying desperately to close the distance between the woman on each side. All I could do was remanence on the events that led me here.

After my leg healed, I succumbed to my mother's pleas to give Charles a chance. At first, I wanted to beg for my mother's forgiveness. He had an infectious charisma that was difficult to ignore, and I found myself admiring him despite my initial reservations. It was clear why everyone was so enamored, and I became increasingly suspicious of the rumours associated with him. I had started to forget the crush that I had harboured in my soul for a doctor that I had never a chance. He made me feel alive, always bringing gifts from his travels. Once, in the middle of the night, I was awoke by heavy hoofprints. Charles had brought steeds from his father's stable, offering me a temporary escape from the stress of the wedding preparations. We had ridden to the edge of the property, inquiring on where we may be in twenty years time.

And then, once, my father and his stepped out to discuss increasing the size of the latest stable. I turned to offer Charles a refreshment, though had moved a bit too fast. I stumbled, allowing the glass to slip between my fingers and shatter at his feet. A look of pure rage crossed his face before his left hand reached up, striking me across my cheek. He turned on his heel and left as quickly as he struck. When my father walked in, noticing the redness of my face and the impending blood, I had quickly described my fall, thus the broken glass. He seemed to believe me, but the look in his eyes betrayed his doubt. There was a thick understanding that engulfed the room as a small cry erupted from upstairs.

I learned that miracles do not come with sacrifices. While my mother and aunts excitedly whispered behind closed doors, what a miracle this is, can you believe how God has blessed us? I would shiver, whiping away tears as the weight rested on my shoulders. When I came to the realization what my family had needed, what they had deserved from me, what could I say?

As the wedding neared, and my father continued accepting payments in an old-fashioned dowry, Charles had learned that his role was solidified and unchallenged. What could I say when he entered, heaving and rude, baring thick flames and demands not of his own? I would turn my head, watching my mother plead, you've been raised well, a good girl, keep your tongue in your cheek. Nobody wants a broken woman.

I'd turn and smile, welcoming heat and fire into another room, my parents rendered silent when I exited, boring the burns and blisters of a sharp tongue.

Be hospitable to all and suspicious of no one. That is a good wife. My mother would whisper under her breath as she ran a bath. Coldness would help the swelling, hide the acid beneath my skin left behind. One night, she had ran her fingers through my hair, her tears mixing with the water that she poured. When you wed, run a hot bath. As hot as you can stand it, and stay until the water no longer holds the heat and you begin to shiver. Do this every night that you must. I did not need to respond, as we both understood.

I found myself entangled in a web of obligation and societal expectations. As the daughter of a struggling aristocratic family, I was forced to make a difficult decision - to marry a man I did not love, solely for his wealth and social standing, or allow my family to continue down a path of starvation and unacceptance.

A familiar gasp interrupted my thoughts as my eyes flashed to the reflection behind me. My mother stood holding a lovely, petite girl. She was barely six months of age, though my heart broke for her future before it had even started. I had already lived her future, staring at it's ugly inevitability in a glass pane flooded with white. Perhaps this decision would spare her, allow her the opportunity to grow up with wealth not provided to I. The ability to marry based on love and understanding, free to study and teach her passions rather than remain silent, unheard.

"You are the most beautiful bride, Charles will be so proud." My mother whispered, bringing me out of my nightmare. She sat Emilie on the floor before rushing over, gently pulling the thin veil away from my face for inspection. My eyes slowly moved back to my reflection in the mirror, joining her in judgement.

My full cheeks were now hollow, something that was unable to be covered by the makeup, though it did a splendid job to cover the thick bruise the shape of a thumb underneath the left side of my jaw. My mother had assumed it was caused by another adventure outdoors, though her voice had faltered when she handed over a medicine designed to rid of it quickly. My eyes were sunken, a thick powder covering all traces of violet and crimson that rested beneath my eyelashes. Almost every bone protruded from my body, a subtle request from Charles. His best man had spent many evenings swaying back and forth on his patio, a glass of whiskey in one hand and another pointed at his growing wife in disgust at the weight on her bones. He was determined not to be subject to the same fate.

I smiled, tears welling behind my eyes as the gravity of my situation swelled in my chest. I was raised in a world where love played second fiddle to financial security and social status - my family's diminishing fortune and mounting debts left us with limited options, and I became a physical pawn in the game of high society. Charles was a wealthy businessman known for his opulence and influence, though starkly traditional and containing high expectations that seemed impossible. I felt like my spirit had been extinguished, yet I was still alive. I was no longer my own person, but a mere shadow.

With a startled jump, I focused my attention on the echoing piano hidden behind the grand door ten feet ahead of me. My father's hand wound around my back, giving me a gentle push forward as the door swung open. I slowly began my descent down the aisle, my heart pounding in my chest so harshly that I felt as though I could not hear anything else. Eyes fell upon me, but I kept my gaze focused the tall brunette waiting at the altar.

-0-

My fingers fumbled with the lace beneath my collar, though I couldn't feel the fabric anymore. My attention seemed to constantly be focused on the sobs brewing in my chest, trying to remain contained and collected.

Charles was directly across from me, the smell of alcohol strong enough to drift in my direction despite the space between us. My husband was swigging from a bottle of whiskey, his words slurred as he spoke, his mouth twisting into a manic smirk that I had grown familiar to. I felt my heart shatter, the glass pieces sending violent shivers down my spine and the blood rushing from my body.

His eyes came in contact with mine, his face twisting into a violent expression that could only be described as a snarl. My eyes flashed to my father, who seemed to already be too busy offering business arrangements to my new father-in-law to notice his daughter's suffering.

Pain

Charles fingers dug into my side, forcing me to lurch forward before standing up. His fingers wrapped around my skin, tearing at it as though I had committed the greatest sin and begged for punishment. I had learned long ago that struggling was useless - I stumbled after him with tears streaming down my face. I was completely powerless against his strength. If I remained quiet, perhaps nobody would notice.

I turned once more in an effort for someone to notice, someone please save me. But no one did, no one ever did.

As I stumbled through the crowd, I caught a glimpse of ivory skin and golden eyes, staring directly at the scene. While I heard a gasp, I wasn't sure if it came from my lips or was a byproduct of Charles rush to the nearest exit. I prayed that I would be saved once again, but when the door slammed and darkness flooded my vision, I understood that those days had ended and my imagination was cruel.

"You had no idea how long I've been waiting for this," Charles husky voice growled behind me, his calloused hands working their way up my thighs. I started to shake, a sign Charles took as excitement, though I would not correct him unless I wanted a matching purple necklace to go with my pearls. I was too scared to move, too scared to refuse him.

I was thankful for the rain beating against the tin roof, loud enough to drown out my sorrows as I shook. Blood ran down my thighs, my palms, and for a moment, down my throat. This was not love, no, this was him carving his name on my bones, brushing away the calcium phosphate in an aggressive gesture of territory.

As soon as it started, it was over - in silence. Defeating, defeating silence. I was thankful that he was unbothered enough to catch a glimpse of me before swiftly removing himself from the suffocating cold. I could no longer cry, no longer sob, and suddenly, I longed for a bath. The door opened gentler this time, a strong scent of chamomile and a feeling of warmth.

She swept me into her embrace as the howls erupted from my core, her gentle touch turning black from runaway kohl. My mother knows about the darkness surrounding us, she had befriended it long ago with venom pooling at the back of her throat. She no longer needed to pretend to be appalled, for she understood.

"We are meant to split open, to be sucked, to be eaten, for possessive hands to dig inside of us and carve us from within. We will die and die and die until we do for hungry mouths. I am so sorry that you were cursed with the blessing of being a woman." She whispered, barely audible beneath the cracking of thunder.

Though oxygen rested deep in my lungs, I was unsure if I was able to breathe.