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The Falling

In the action itself, she is weightless and free. The flight is not to be feared, only the impact. A story on the life of Esme Cullen. Image Hosted by ImageShack.us Banner By incredible Iris!

I may submit this to the official site. What do you think?

25. Chapter 25

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But only stupor,

He’s afraid. I don’t know why, but that’s it. There’s something about being with him that could endanger me, and it’s making him terrified. That’s why he had to go, or more accurately wouldn’t let me stay. Because somehow, he’s dangerous.

Maybe that’s why he’s so obscure when it comes to his past. It’s the reason why he won’t tell me anything. The danger isn’t him, of course not. Carlisle would never hurt anyone. But maybe his family is somehow related to the sort of folk one ought not associate with.

That’s it. Yes, I never liked the sound of his father anyway.

And maybe he doesn’t want to bring me into a world like that. He doesn’t want to corrupt me, because he loves me. He doesn’t want me hurt.

Silly man. To think he could endanger me, to think I cared! I’d follow him to the end of the earth. I would do anything he asked. If only he hadn’t left!

But maybe it’s best.

The thought gives me pause. It seems somehow a betrayal. But it isn’t, not really. I have no hope of ever seeing him again. Maybe the best thing is to make some faulting halting attempt at a normal life. Not pretending he never happened, but living in order to be the sort of person he would want.

That’s a good philosophy, isn’t it. Maybe he’s some kind of angel, sent from heaven to make young girls stop disobeying their parents and climbing trees by instilling in them a love for the perfect goodness that wears that perfect face.

Ah, his face. I could remember it all day long, down to the exact shade of his eyes. Strange, that his eyes and hair are the same color. I’ve met such a thing in a brunette before, but never golden.

That is decidedly both. Like the color of gold. Spun gold, gold in delicate jewels, gold shining on the surface of coins, the gold in a prince’s sword and his lady’s crown, noble and royal and pure. It shines.

I can see every inch of his face, skin white as snow, features even and straight, jaw wide and strong. I can see his lips curving into a smile, his teeth white and identical like a baby’s.

I can see him, and I regret the vision.

It is very painful.

I know I will never see him again. Yet even knowing that, I know he is all I will ever see.

What a pretty conundrum.

And then I imagine him here beside me, that perfect hand like a statue of purest marble laying on my shoulder, pale pink lips leaning towards mine, eyelashes dancing from the undiluted power of his eyes…

I am lost in the memory. Well, maybe half memory and half daydream.

I lie in bed and close my eyes.

No sleep falls, just his lips… into mine. It is perfect, utterly so, and equally impossible.

I smile in my despair.

Falling into nothing…