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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?

6. Chapter 6

Rating 5/5   Word Count 591   Review this Chapter

Fall in his arms…

“What do you do with the days, when not waging epic battles with trees, of course?”

“Nothing interesting, I’m afraid. Mostly, I shirk my obligations and scrounge time outdoors.”

“Do you go to school?”

“Not anymore. My parents are trying to marry me off.” Curses! Why must he be so easy to talk to? I didn’t mean to say that. Not at all…

However, he is surprised when he answers. “You’re not wed?”

I proffer a ring-less hand. “No.”

“And you don’t have a suitor?”

“Not one I’m interested in.” I could name a man I wouldn’t mind the courtship of. He’s blonde, kind, sitting in this room right now, and has a name that starts with a C and ends with an –arlisle.

“Ah.” Carlisle looks away from me, and I wonder why.

“Are you married?” I ask. It’s not exactly a proper question, but I doubt he’ll care.

"No. I live by myself."

I am shoved into the recollection I am little more than a child in Carlisle’s perspective, barely old enough to be called a woman, much less a wife. “Oh.”

“You sound dissappointed?”

I don’t know what the response to that was. Well, I was hoping the subject of marriage would get you on one knee? Not precisely something I can say. “I do?”

He smiles. “Shall I get some ice for your leg? It must be uncomfortable.”

Not so much as this conversation has become. “Thank you.”

He returns in instants, leaving me no time to consider the ramifications of this chat… and what my options are. Because I am sure of one thing. If I ever marry, I will marry him.

I am surprised at myself. I do not recall coming to this conclusion, but it is quite determined. Strange, and most unlike the Esme Anne Platt I thought myself familiar with.

He places the ice on my leg. I notice his hands are no warmer. Perhaps it’s a result of carrying the ice, though I recall similar thoughts when he set the bone. No matter, really.

He resumes the conversation. “Do you like to read?”

“Yes.” It’s a most scandalous pastime for a girl, especially the sort of novels I prefer… no, don’t look at me like that. I mean adventure stories, with true love and wild escapades and dragons, et cetera.

“Have you ever read Shakespeare? I know it’s old and musty. Most young people prefer to touch classics only with the largest of sticks…”

“My favorite play is Romeo and Juliet,” I interrupt. His ramble was beginning to sound almost insecure.


“It’s most famous for the love, of course, which is really compelling… but I enjoy that even though it’s a tragedy, there are so many lighter moments. The scenes between Juliet and the nurse are my favorite.”

“I like the sword fights,” he says. “Have you ever seen it performed?”

“Been to the theater? No. My parents… would never allow such a thing.”

“A shame.” I see him consider something, and then dismiss it.

“What’s your favorite?” I ask.

He looks curiously, weighing. “Until very recently, Macbeth. But I think I may agree with you.”

Could I be this change in him, even so minor a one?

Fool and fail and fall safe…