Forks, Washington
1940
The repetitive sound of a comb being pulled through hair and the soft pitter patter of rain hitting the window echoed in the room.
Rosalie Hale sat at her large vanity, as she did most days, but now, she rarely looked at herself in the mirror.
She couldn't meet her own gaze.
She couldn't bear to see the tumultuous emotions that raged in her eyes. It was bad enough to feel them every waking moment.
Rosalie felt like she was living in the aftermath of some cataclysmic event, but only she had been affected by it.
The feeling of perpetual loneliness and the desperate need for solitude waged a bloody war within her mind.
So, no matter how much time she spent with her family or the many hours she wasted locked away in her room, nothing made her feel better.
To make matters worse, the only remedy for her suffering was also the one tormenting her.
Tennessee Mcclellan tortured her through brief memories. All of them had been replaying over and over in her mind for years now.
Yet, she never tired of them.
A knock on the door woke Rosalie from her somber dissociation and she sighed.
"Come in."
Esme entered the room, and she hated the hesitance in her movements.
It was as if her adoptive mother were afraid to step too loudly or move too quickly in her presence.
Like she was a skittish animal.
"We're going for a hunt. Would you like to join us, dear?"
"I'm not hungry."
Out of the corner of Rosalie's eye, she caught a glimpse of her jet black irises.
Venom pooled in her mouth at the prospect of a hunt, but she didn't have the energy to do anything except this.
She was content to continue brooding in the prison of her bedroom, dodging her own gaze in the mirror.
Rosalie would never say it aloud, but the pain of the thirst was a torture she was becoming quite fond of.
It was a welcome distraction from the longing that sank its claws into her bosom.
"Honey, you haven't fed in months," Esme said sadly. "It seems like you barely hunt since Tenn-"
"Don't."
The sound of Rosalie's favorite comb hitting the floor in pieces resounded through the room.
She stared at it for a long moment, wondering if she was losing her mind.
Not losing, Rosalie mused.
It was already lost.
"Fine, I'll go," she whispered. "But please... don't say her name."
Esme nodded somberly, wishing she could take her daughter's pain away, but knowing she wasn't capable of it.
"I won't. I promise."
There was nothing Rosalie hated more than being pitied, but that was the norm nowadays.
That was one of the reasons she locked herself away in her room and barely joined her family to hunt.
When she finally told Carlisle and Esme that Tennessee was her mate, she regretted ever opening her mouth.
Because now, the whole family tip toed around her.
Especially, her husband.
They loved her and they meant well, but Rosalie hated that they saw her as someone who needed commiseration.
It made her feel weak.
Tennessee's absence unraveled her at the seams like a ball of yarn, and nothing could resolve the entropic chaos that was now her heart.
However, they didn't have to remind her how tragic her life was every day.
They didn't have to look at her with those soft, sympathetic eyes.
"Something came in the mail for you, Rosie."
Emmett's soft smile lit up his face, confusing her.
For the past few years, he'd been rather somber just like everyone else, and she knew deep down that her depression was to blame.
She was quite literally haunting her house. She was a spirit that brought negative energy into every space. A heartbroken ghost drifting from room to room.
Perhaps that was why Edward spent so much time in Alaska.
He couldn't handle the purgatorial abyss of her mind.
"Who is it from?"
Rosalie took the small box Emmett handed to her and turned it over in her hands curiously.
"Oh..."
Pure, southern honey.
The faint aroma was a punch to the gut.
When she opened her eyes, Emmett was gone, and she silently thanked him.
For, violent sobs quickly began to escape from her body, and no matter how hard she tried to fight them, they wouldn't stop.
Her hands trembled, and she could barely gain enough control to open the box.
When Rosalie finally managed it, she found a small letter and a vintage, diamond necklace inside.
It was in pristine condition, but with her superior eyesight, she could see just how old it was.
Rosalie held it in her hands carefully, admiring the craftsmanship and intricate details. The pendant that hung from the necklace was a rose.
When Rosalie opened the letter, she was disappointed by how short it was.
There was no mention of Tennessee rejoining the coven. There was no word of her stopping by for a visit. No vague description of where she might be, just in case Rosalie wanted to find her.
Merely three sentences.
This was my mother's. It made me think of you. Consider it a gift for saving me.
-Tenn
"I love it," Rosalie whispered. "Thank you."
After placing the necklace around her neck, she spent hours smoothing out the creases in the letter until it was as crisp and straight as the day it was manufactured.
She stood on the tips of her toes and stuck the letter in the corner of her mirror, making sure it wouldn't fall down.
Once Rosalie was certain, she closed her eyes and leaned in to inhale the scent of Tennessee Mcclellan that still clung to the piece of stationery.
It was faint, but it was enough to soothe the mind-numbing ache in her chest. It was enough to clear the thick fog that loomed over her mind.
If only for a moment.
"I should have made you stay. I should've done something," she whispered with tears stinging her eyes.
"Please be safe, wherever you are."
When Rosalie opened her eyes again, she caught a glimpse of the pitiful, broken woman in the mirror.
For the first time in her life, she could not recognize herself.
She was merely a shell of the person she prided herself to be. As if she had been drawn by someone with only a fleeting memory of her.
In that moment, Rosalie realized she had become a fleeting memory to herself.