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Death is Intimate

Life as a vampire is much like a dance...To Rosalie, the dance she participates in is just as intimate as any other: the dance of death. The dance of predator and prey is one that she knows well.

I do not own Twilight, that honor goes soley to Stephanie Meyer.

1. Death is Intimate

Rating 5/5   Word Count 510   Review this Chapter

Rosalie didn’t feel like running, or going fast, or really even moving, for that matter. She was quite content to sit on her tree branch and watch the family of deer that were picking their way slowly through the meadow. She wasn’t hungry just yet, so they weren’t in any danger of losing one of their numbers to her.

Rosalie didn’t mind spending time by herself every once in awhile. She’d learned during her long life that being alone and feeling alone were two different things. She’d felt alone before she’d found Emmett, but she was alone whenever she wanted to be. The same word, completely different meanings. . .Rosalie enjoyed things like that. It was just like the word bitch.

A movement from the meadow caught her attention. Something new had entered the clearing. It was a wolf. Just a normal, everyday wolf, not one of those smelly werewolves from the reservation. Her nose twitched as she recalled having to fight alongside them. The smell had been horrific!

As it was, she watched this new character enter the play of life that was laid out before her in the open space. "Life," she murmured to herself as her eyes stayed trained to the predator. She knew, even without Alice’s physic abilities, that one of the deer wouldn’t be leaving with the rest. This was a dance she knew. The one, stalking forward, staying low and silent. The other, stepping along, bending gracefully to enjoy a mouthful of green. The two together dancing the oldest duet in the world, that of predator and prey.

Rosalie leaned forward slightly, inhaling, attempting to pinpoint the exact moment when the deer would realize that they were no longer alone. . .no longer safe. Fear. There it was. The heads came up, the bodies stiffened. The wolf, lying almost to the ground, tensed. Rosalie refused to blink. She wanted to see this. This was, after all, what she herself now was. She knew this dance well.

She left the wolf to his meal, it was only fair. She had already spied on something intimate. That was what the dance was. Death was intimate. You had to get close to kill. You had to feel the lifeblood of the being that you were forcing out the world grow cool on your hands. She, however, unlike the wolf, felt guilt afterwards. Rosalie would never admit it, and she kept it well hidden so that her mind reading brother couldn’t find it, but she disliked the need to feed on the deer. They reminded her of humans. Unaware and open to attack, with no true defense. She had been one once, and look where it had gotten her. More importantly, look where it had gotten her one-time fiancee and his friends.

Rosalie wandered away from the opening as the wolf ate. She would need to feed soon, as well. She didn’t want to have to take the wolf’s meal from him, he wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, she didn’t really like the taste of wolf. . .it left a bad taste in her mouth.