Yeah...I have issues with Rosalie's treatment. So I'm treating the poor soul with some agency in here!
Go Rose!
So basically this probably won't be a linear narrative, more like scenarios where Rose should've kicked a few butts and set a few boundaries. So she will. In this telling, of course.
It was strange, the things people noticed when on the threshold of death.
Rosalie was on the snow-covered ground, turned on her side as she watched the men leave, still jeering and laughing about finishing her off before Royce could have married her. She heard him reply, but couldn't fathom what he could have said after what he did to her.
He never looked back and she heard nothing when they were out of sight.
She was too weak and in pain to move. She had no strength left to muster a cry for help. Her throat was raw from her suppressed screams and their brutality.
Even her tears had dried up now.
But all she could really comprehend was the cold.
It was so cold.
She missed her warm bed, with the fire beside her in the grate. She wanted the warmth of her mother's hand in her hair as she brushed her hair.
Instead, she was here - and she was cold.
She was dying. And she was dying on the cold, hard ground.
A shadow crossed over her and Rosalie instinctively flinched. She had nothing left to give, to be taken away.
But the coldness returned again, amplified now as she felt herself float up.
Ah, she thought, that's that then. She was dead. It was Death that had come to take her.
And then she was flying.
If this was death, then it wasn't very comfortable. She was still cold and the bone-deep pain of her body didn't leave her.
What kind of Heaven was she being taken to?
She hadn't deserved Heaven.
Rosalie had never considered herself a sinner. Granted, she wasn't the purest of souls. She knew she tended to be self-absorbed and she liked the envious admiration that had been her constant all her life. Still, she had wanted more from her life. More, more and more…
And yet…
Had her desires for more really earned her a spot in Hell?
Because this couldn't be anything but that.
She had been laid onto a softer surface, a ruse to sway her into trust. She had believed herself in a version of home that the angels had crafted to cushion the horror that she had endured.
She was still in pain, only less cold now.
She could die somewhat satisfied now.
And then the pain came.
It was unlike the one that already plagued her. This pain seared through her, ripping her apart in ways that were much more vicious and relentless than the one she had faced before.
She found strength in that pain.
She screamed, arcing off of wherever she was lying, anything to get away from the burning agony.
But it never let up.
The fire coursed through her, setting her organs, her nerves and every inch of her skin alight.
It seemed years that she had been hurting, before the agony began to recede. Rosalie managed to turn her head, catching a sliver of glass that reflected her now pale, ghastly face. She was still beautiful, she noted. But she wasn't human…she couldn't be…
Perhaps, the conversation she overheard was a clue.
She had barely managed to identify Edward Cullen and Carlisle Cullen's voices, one was contemptuous of her that struck a nerve but otherwise she could really not bring herself to care.
The pain was almost gone and that was the one thing she really cared about.
Her senses were beginning to come back to her.
She smelled damp, and aromatics; she could hear a clock ticking, the sound helpful in grounding her.
And then she opened her eyes, one singular emotion colored crimson in her mind.
Rage.
Yep.
Please do let me know your thoughts on my take on this!
And if you guys have any requests for specific scenes, feel free to send them in!