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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?

28. Chapter 28

Rating 4/5   Word Count 569   Review this Chapter

And the thing about forever is it never ends…

The knock comes suddenly. I am still fiddling emptily with my hair, trying to figure out which way it looks most becoming. Costuming is an important part of any part. I don’t have a whole wardrobe, so I do the best I can. It’s really rather fun. Now I know why all the girls my age are constantly giggling over fashions, though I personally am rather disinterested.

I survey myself with an objective eye. Not bad. The dress is high-cut, not at all immodest, the skirt ruffled and dragging on the floor. It is light blue, a color I don’t particularly care for, but that is currently all the rage. My hair is swept off my shoulders.

I want to cry, looking at myself. I look like a woman, and I don’t look like I’ve enjoyed anything for the past twenty years. Not a woman in the sense of maturity. I look like I’m older than my mother. Matronly. Stodgy.

Not interesting in the least.

I won’t let myself go down the destructive pattern of thought that shows itself. Is that why he left? Because you’re boring?

No. I’m not going to do that to myself. Carlisle loved me, and he presumably still did. I’m not going to doubt that. His leaving had nothing to do with me.

I have to believe it. I cannot afford insanity at this stage of the game.

I look pretty enough, as beautiful as my features will afford. It isn’t much. I am the picture of today’s lady, despite that this style makes me look like a grandmother.

I walk slow and stately down the stairs. My mother smiles and nods at my grand entrance. It’s exactly the way she wanted it. How fantastic for her.

“And this is my daughter, Esme.”

“A pleasure,” the man says. “I’m Mr. Masen.”

“Charmed,” I murmur. I am making myself ill with all this feigned sweetness. I may never be able to eat dessert again.

“The same. I’m Elizabeth, and this is…” she indicates the boy. I like the woman. She shares her son’s bronze hair and bright green eyes. It makes her look a bit on the wild side. And I’m always fond of an adult who respects me enough to let me use their first name. This is where I pointedly don’t say “Carlisle” under my breath.

“Edward Masen.” He is surly, and shockingly short.

“A joy to make your acquaintance, Edward. I’m ever so glad to have companionship my age.” I wouldn’t be surprised if this boy runs away from my act screaming. In fact, I’d probably like him better if he did.

“Well, we’ll leave you children to get to know each other. Mr. Masen, Mrs. Masen, may I show you to the parlor?”

My mother escorts the adult visitors out.

You children. I scoff.

“So, what do you do, Edward?”

“I attend school and play piano.” His voice is perfectly monotone.

“A most respectable pastime.” For a while, I await his response, to ask me anything, make some kind of conversation. Finally, I give up and sit in an awkward silence.

This is more of an ordeal than I’d anticipated.

It’s not so fun to fall forever...