A/N: I started a job right after my Masters and I want to just SLEEP FOREVER.
Feel free to request any drabbles you want to see from Rosalie's POV!
Rosalie was given her own room.
She sat at the very edge of the bed, her fingers digging into the mattress and her head bowed. She looked almost doll-like, a beautiful statue carved to entice the minds of the most devoted of poets.
A sharp sound of a bird call in the forest makes her raise her head. Her eyes find her reflection, across in a gilded mirror from the bed, where it had been left for her to see herself. Unlike the times her parents had done the very same thing - so her beauty was always on the forefront of her mind - the gesture this time wasn't to appease her at all.
She had laid, gasping for air when the pain had finally subsided. Nothing seemed…the same…normal.
For one, the air she seemed to take in was sharp, crisp. There were a ton of smells in each gulp of breath and she struggled to identify them. Her sight was crystal clear and she could see the very folds of the wallpapers upon the ceiling. She could hear everything…
It caused her no relief.
It just made everything worse.
She felt the softness of the mattress, the silk of the sheets and while they were comforts, all they did was cause her further distress. She was panicking, her lungs refusing to cooperate…
And then the door swung open slightly.
She lay there, prone and still, in her bloody clothes. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling as if the molding and wallpaper foldings were going to have any answers…
"You're awake, Miss Hale."
Rosalie flinched.
The voice was soft, soothing with no maliciousness in it. And yet, she instinctively knew that the owner of this voice had caused her pain again.
"It is alright, you're alright, miss."
She didn't answer.
She felt the bed dip when the person sat down at the very edge and heaved a great sigh. There was a long silence in which Rosalie would've silently cried if she could've. However, no matter how she wailed internally, her body refused to produce tears.
She knew her life was over. It had been over the second they had gotten their hands on her…but it was really over now. That sigh implied that very exact thing.
What had she done to deserve this?
Had she been too cruel? Too snobbish? Too vain?
Had she not prayed enough?
Why had this happened to her?
The stranger sat with her as she stared up, unblinking, not crying and almost too soon, it was evening and the room had darkened.
"Do you remember what happened? Who you are…who you were…?"
She didn't answer, but the silence was clear. Yes, she remembered everything. How could she not?
"I must beg for your forgiveness. I did a…I don't want to call it selfish…because I wasn't thinking about myself. But I couldn't find it in myself to let you simply pass away. It would've been a terrible waste."
A terrible waste…who was he to decide that? What gave him the right to decide if she was worth saving or dying?
It burned her with the one emotion that still coursed to the surface every time she thought about her lost life.
Rage.
She couldn't sleep either, she found out as the stranger left her for the night. She sat up the whole time, rigid, refusing to test out the newness of her body.
But the bird call was a wake up call, her reflection a reminder that she was a product of unfinished business.
A new emotion bloomed alongside her anger. One that was fuelled by determination and not bitterness…
Vengeance.
Thanks for reading!