In the tranquil hours before dawn, the second youngest member of the illustrious Cullen family, Edward, an omega with a gentle soul and a keen intellect, would often steal away to the manor's expansive library. There, amidst the musty scent of old books and the soft glow of oil lamps, Edward would lose himself in the pages of his favorite novels and poems.
On this particular morning, he had settled into his favorite armchair, a worn leather-bound copy of Wuthering Heights open on his lap. The house was still quiet, save for the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
Edward's fingers traced the lines of text, his mind's eye painting vivid images of the moors and the passionate love story unfolding within.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the library's grand windows cast warm, golden light upon Edward's face, caressing his soft cheeks and casting a glow on his hair.
His green eyes were like vaults of emeralds, his lashes were long and thick almost touching the pages. His lips were plump and pink.
He was the epitome for beauty. Suddenly, the gentle rustling of pages was interrupted by a soft knock at the library door. "Edward, dear," called a kindly feminine voice from the hallway, "Breakfast is ready. Your mother asked me to inform you."
Edward closed his book, marking his page with a delicate, embroidered bookmark, and called out, "Thank you, Martha. I shall be down directly."
He rose from his chair, the hem of his lavender silk dress swaying gently around his ankles. He paused for a moment, gazing out at the manicured gardens, the verdant foliage beckoning him.
Perhaps after breakfast, he thought, I shall take a walk in the gardens. With a content sigh, Edward descended the grand staircase, his fingers trailing along the polished banister. As he entered the dining room, the aroma of roasted meats and fresh bread enveloped him, making his stomach rumble in anticipation. His family was already seated around the large mahogany table - his father Carlisle at the head, his mother Esme to his right, Emmett and Alice flanking her.
Edward took his usual place across from his sister, smoothing his skirts beneath him as he sat. "Good evening, everyone," Edward said, his voice soft and polite, as was customary. His mother (omega) smiled warmly at him, while Emmett (an Alpha) grunted a greeting and Alice (beta) chirped a happy hello. Carlisle (an alpha), ever the stern patriarch, simply nodded in acknowledgement.
The first course was served, a delicate porridge ladled into fragile porcelain bowls. As the family began to eat, the clinking of silverware against china filled the silence. Edward savored the rich broth, his mind drifting back to the chapters he'd read earlier that day.
"Children," Esme said, breaking the silence midway through the main course. "Your father and I have decided that we shall host a ball two days hence. It is high time we entertained some of our neighbors, do you not think?" She cast a hopeful glance around the table. Edward's eyes widened slightly at the announcement.
A ball? How...unexpected. He set down his fork, considering the implications. It would be a chance to showcase the Cullen family's standing.
Carlisle cleared his throat, his gaze settling on Edward. "Indeed, a ball is an excellent opportunity for Edward to...meet potential suitors." His voice was low and measured, but there was a glint of something - approval? Anticipation? - in his eyes.
Edward's cheeks flushed a delicate pink at his father's words, and he felt a surge of indignation. Suitors? He was hardly a child to be paraded in front of prospective husbands! (He is 20) He opened his mouth to protest,
but Esme spoke up before he could. "Yes, Carlisle is right," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "It's time Edward started thinking about his future. And what better way to do that than to mingle with the young men of our acquaintance?" She turned to Edward, her eyes warm with motherly concern.
The rest of the breakfast passed in a haze of polite conversation and forced smiles from Edward. As soon as the meal concluded, he excused himself, pleading a headache. He decided to fleethe garden, which he noted he might want to walk in earlier. His mind racing. A ball. Suitors. His future looming large and uncertain.