The True Meaning of Fidelity.

"I saw you play." Edward leaned forward to tell the girl, "At Curtis. I was there with your piano instructor, Dr. Nigel."

She nodded, obviously recalling the day, murmuring absentmindedly, "My last big show."

Edward bit his lip, watching memories flash through Cecille's mind. From the keys underneath her tiny hands, to the astounded faces of the audience, then to Dr. Nigel's proud face in the lobby...

Unfortunately, when the chronological flashbacks reached where he and her first met, an odd blank spot swelled the front of her mind.

Cecille snapped out of her daze, "'That still doesn't explain," her voice was hard and sharp, "Why insist on following me." The incredulous tone stung Edward.

"Because, you're a teenage girl who's out on the streets in the middle of the night," His posture regained it normal eloquent-ness, " Anybody could just come up to you--"

"Ah, yes," she threw her slim, pale arms into the air, exasperated, "You're completely right. I wouldn't want strangers following me home."

"At least I'm not a total stranger." He shot back, his voice losing a bit of it's usual maturity.

"You saw me play piano once. When I was seven." Cecille muttered from behind her drink, lips pressed to the rim. "Honestly, I'd be less creeped out if we'd never met. Then I could just write you off as a creeper, and get on with my life."

Edward didn't respond, honestly having nothing to say.

Cecille, not nearly as peeved as she had been at the beginning, asked, "What's your name, anyway?" The girl found herself oddly trusting of this curious stranger. She found him him ironically intriguing, his company tolerable, to say the least... Though that was mostly due to his highly attractive face.

But, no one needed to know that...

"Cullen," he sighed, "Edward Cullen."

Edward noticed a thought flicker into Cecille's head.

'Seventeen... No, not seventeen...'

He fought a smile from his lips.

"Tell me, Cullen... How old are you?"

"You tell me," Edward leaned back in his chair, no longer fighting his grin, "I thought you were really good at telling people's ages."

She sighed, and Edward could tell by her thoughts that she finally had remembered their meeting. Tugging at one of the bright-orange locks near her temple, she murmured, "I played Chopin that night... Nocturne, I think."

"You played it flawlessly." He added the complement.

Cecille's drink was empty, so she stood to throw it out . When Edward noticed she grabbed her violin too, he knew she wasn't going to join him again.

As she walked off, long legs stretching forward at a brisk pace, he sprung from the cafe table chair, calling after her, "Where do you live? I'll walk you home." With a few quick bounds, he was beside Cecille again.

Cecille was tentative, but she still trusted this odd boy. He seemed genuine enough, plus he praised her music, which she highly enjoyed. "Fine." She finally agreed, "I live about seven blocks west from here."

Satisfied with her answer, Edward offered Cecille a gentleman's elbow, to which she snuffed, walking even faster to the lead, violin swinging by her side.

As she strolled westward, Edward by her side, Cecille almost pretended he wasn't there, even though she did notice she felt safer on her walk home than she normally felt. With him here, she wouldn't have to take to the main roads or make detours through out-of-the-way neighborhoods that her friends lived in, just in case she needed a quick place to hide.

Edward bounded cheerfully next to the highly talented musician, "So, what made you go orange, Cecille?" He asked curiously, subconsciously reaching out to ruffle her short hair, much like he did to his younger sister, Alice.

Cecille swatted away his hand, shunning a bit in avoidance. Her delicate hand hit his hard, probably leaving a slight bruise, which she found quite surprising, even suspiciously so. Edward, praying she wouldn't ask questions about his stone-like limb, retreated his hand back into his pocket.

"It's my favorite color," She answered starkly, "And don't call me Cecille. My name's Cadence."

"What made you choose the name Cadence?"

"What made you think you can ask me such personal questions?"

"I'm just curious."

"Curiosity kills." She shot back, the faintest wisp of spite lacing her words.

Edward chuckled, "Doesn't that only apply to cats? Besides, it'll take a lot more than that to kill me."

Cecille stopped abruptly, spinning on heel to face Edward. She pursed her lips, he raised his eyebrows.

"What are you?"

Edward hid the fact that he was indeed bothered (if not, taken aback) by the question, but he supposed he deserved it, after interrogating her for so long.

"That's and odd question to ask. Do you think I'm an alien or something?"

"No, I think you're a vampire." She huffed, crossing her arms.

And, she floored him.

He completely stopped his steps. There hadn't been an inkling of the word in her thoughts (which he made sure to faintly listen to at all times) before the word escaped her mouth.

"Vampire?" He chuckled, trying to play it off as an obscure notion, "What on earth makes you think that?"

She rolled her eyes, clearly seeing through his cover. "Hun, this is New Orleans. We're known for our vampires."

"Oh, so Ann Rice has filled your head with such thoughts that any dazzlingly good-looking guy automatically drinks blood?" Again, he attempted to play it off, beginning to walk again.

Cecille wasn't convinced, jogging in front of him, stopping again, "Not Ann Rice," she said, pulling down one of the straps of her tank top. "But this sure did."

All Edward could do was stare at the double, white crescent-shaped marks, spaced only a few inches, symmetrically mirroring one another. The top one curved down, resting in the dip above her collar bone, while the other curved up, laying on the flat of her upper-chest. Both were permanently implanted in her skin.

"You've... Been bit."

She held a bland look, "No shit," Then paused, "Though... Your reaction does prove my theory."

He didn't respond. He didn't need to. Instead, he slowly reached out his fingertips to brush against the cold skin of her marred shoulder.

Cecille allowed him to hold his touch for just a second, until the painfully familiar feeling of a vampire's cold skin made her flinch, pulling away, re-adjusting her strap.

"One attacked me when I was ten," she explained, "I was in foster care, living on a farm. Luckily, my foster parents found me right quick, believing I was bit by a snake. They sucked the poison out."

Edward's forehead crinkled in thought, "That's not how most vampire's hunt..." His amber colored eyes glanced over the spot, "They don't just bite and leave."

"That's cause he wasn't trying to kill me." She spat the statement, clutching her violin case much tighter than necessary.