Status: slow posting.
Ever After You
Prologue
Prologue
June 6th, 2006
He hadn’t changed, of course. He was frozen, forever, at the age of seventeen.
His bronze hair was, as always, in disarray. She wondered, as she often used to, if he achieved such a casual look with much time spent in front of a mirror. A couple strands of his hair hung into his topaz eyes; she had to restrain herself from moving to push his hair out of his face. The very sight of him tormented her, just as it used to.
But despite the pain, despite the hatred she felt for him and everyone else, in the back of her mind, she wanted to go to him. She wanted nothing more than to hold his cold hand in hers. She wanted only to feel his fingers caress her face again. She wanted to be close to him as she had before.
Pushing away such traitorous thoughts, she clenched her fists tightly, her pale skin stretching over her knuckles as he stood so cold and still before them all.
It had only been four years. That wasn't enough time for her to forget her human life entirely. She could still recall faint memories. Sometimes they were clear, sometimes they were blurry, dizzying recollections of her past life. She did not remember everything, only some things. That was more than enough.
She remembered her father and his ways. She remembered her mother and how she had abandoned her and her brother.
And she remembered the boy. How he appeared suddenly in her life, how everyone fawned over him and his siblings. She remembered how he had always been around that year. She remembered that he wouldn’t go away, especially when she wanted him to. She remembered that he was gone, that she couldn’t have him, when she needed him. She remembered that she had been so desperately afraid to tell him the truth. She remembered him but she now only wanted to forget.
The memories of him were the ones that tortured her during every long hour and every spare moment. Memories of his smile attacked her mind at night when she had nothing to fill the hours that she used to spend sleeping. It was nights like those when she pined for sleep and for her human life, but only parts of it.
And yet every time she wished for the ability to sleep, she was struck painfully again with the reminder that even if she could sleep and dream, she’d only probably dream of him.
But now she could not sleep, now that she made her choice. She could not hide away from him in the realms of sleep anymore.
Aro told her that she would remember the transformation as the most painful experience of her human life, but he was wrong. She remembered him and the moments they’d shared.
And now four years later, after the five days of transformation and the year of uncontrollable thirst and anger had passed, he was standing before her.
He remembered. Because vampires do not forget. He remembered her, for four years were nothing to a vampire who’d lived for a hundred. And he knew she remembered.
He stood before Aro and his brothers and–without a glance in her direction–he asked the Volturi to take his life.
June 6th, 2006
He hadn’t changed, of course. He was frozen, forever, at the age of seventeen.
His bronze hair was, as always, in disarray. She wondered, as she often used to, if he achieved such a casual look with much time spent in front of a mirror. A couple strands of his hair hung into his topaz eyes; she had to restrain herself from moving to push his hair out of his face. The very sight of him tormented her, just as it used to.
But despite the pain, despite the hatred she felt for him and everyone else, in the back of her mind, she wanted to go to him. She wanted nothing more than to hold his cold hand in hers. She wanted only to feel his fingers caress her face again. She wanted to be close to him as she had before.
Pushing away such traitorous thoughts, she clenched her fists tightly, her pale skin stretching over her knuckles as he stood so cold and still before them all.
It had only been four years. That wasn't enough time for her to forget her human life entirely. She could still recall faint memories. Sometimes they were clear, sometimes they were blurry, dizzying recollections of her past life. She did not remember everything, only some things. That was more than enough.
She remembered her father and his ways. She remembered her mother and how she had abandoned her and her brother.
And she remembered the boy. How he appeared suddenly in her life, how everyone fawned over him and his siblings. She remembered how he had always been around that year. She remembered that he wouldn’t go away, especially when she wanted him to. She remembered that he was gone, that she couldn’t have him, when she needed him. She remembered that she had been so desperately afraid to tell him the truth. She remembered him but she now only wanted to forget.
The memories of him were the ones that tortured her during every long hour and every spare moment. Memories of his smile attacked her mind at night when she had nothing to fill the hours that she used to spend sleeping. It was nights like those when she pined for sleep and for her human life, but only parts of it.
And yet every time she wished for the ability to sleep, she was struck painfully again with the reminder that even if she could sleep and dream, she’d only probably dream of him.
But now she could not sleep, now that she made her choice. She could not hide away from him in the realms of sleep anymore.
Aro told her that she would remember the transformation as the most painful experience of her human life, but he was wrong. She remembered him and the moments they’d shared.
And now four years later, after the five days of transformation and the year of uncontrollable thirst and anger had passed, he was standing before her.
He remembered. Because vampires do not forget. He remembered her, for four years were nothing to a vampire who’d lived for a hundred. And he knew she remembered.
He stood before Aro and his brothers and–without a glance in her direction–he asked the Volturi to take his life.