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Broken Sculpture

Rosalie Hale takes her revenge on the man who took away from her what she wanted most. Too bad she forgot to pick up the pieces of her life.


1. Chapter 1

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1036   Review this Chapter

She watched with pure satisfaction at his tortured eyes as the knife pierced the flesh in his arm. His blood poured down from the now gaping wound and she smiled as she extended one white finger to catch a falling drop of blood as it flowed down his arm. She curiously raised it to her beautiful face and gently sniffed.


She felt a slight flicker of disappointment, then hot rage for feeling it. She was disappointed? Who was she for thinking such things? Did she honestly want him to smell of something enticing, exotic, something she could desire?

Instead of answering herself, she stabbed his other arm, allowing his scream to completely drown out her thoughts of self-hatred.

She wanted to love somebody, anybody, watching the kiss between Vera and husband and the delightful squeal of Henry had told her that. It showed her what she didn’t have then and what she couldn’t have now.

She was used to being desired, used to being watched under a wandering man’s eye as she walked past him. She could do it without even trying… the sway in her hips was naturally built in her walk, the long blonde hair bounced with life and caught in the wind at the right time, those perfect, deep, violet eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

She was perfect, like an expensive crystal sculpture. There were no marks on her smooth surface, she was carefully formed with no cracks or scratches… and completely untouchable.

She wanted not only the most out of life, but life itself, to grasp it in-between her neatly polished fingernails, to suck everything worthwhile out of it, to live her life to the absolute fullest and continue to do so until she could do no more.

Yes, to have men stare at her with a far-away look in their eyes was something she did enjoy, for who doesn’t enjoy the attention of the opposite sex?

But the attention was dark and devoid of feelings, these admirers only wanted her, Rosalie Hale, the crystal sculpture. A glamorous trophy, like a decorative medal to prove to all the other lusting males that she was taken, and never to be exchanged for another, that she had been earned by effort and bucket loads of charm

But did anybody want her, Rosalie Hale, the living, breathing girl with a mind and feelings?

Perhaps, after they had gotten over the stunning beauty that she was, they might try and see her for what she actually was… but she was never guaranteed it.

Royce, the pitiful waste of space that lay gasping on the floor, was trying not to lose his consciousness. Perhaps he knew that if he did that, then he would have handed himself over to the dark arms that was death.

Or perhaps the fool thought he was dreaming, and that he would wake up soon and find his new shiny trophy lying next to him in a luxurious bed.

The fool.

So, this is what spiteful feelings were, Rosalie was new to this.

A few days ago, she found out what betrayal felt like, and that emotion she hated more than anything.

To think, that this blooded mass of flesh that slumped against the windowless wall made her feel real terror. He, and those pieces of slime he called his friends, made her curl up on the ground in an attempt to defend herself as they kicked and spat at her repeatedly, ignoring her painful screams. But why should they stop there? They wanted to touch this crystal, to see how easily she could shatter now she was becoming brittle with their painful beatings. Their drunken slurs were discussing about who should go first.

Who should go first and touch the brittle crystal as she lay in frozen terror on the pavement, the cold stone chilling her bones and her blood steadily seeping across the stone tiles.

Who should be the first to break her, the first one to see her without her pride, her beauty and her charm? They could do what they've always wanted to do to Rosalie Hale and forget the tortured soul that was inside her battered body, silently screaming, as they would repeatedly violate her privacy and respect.

When they were finished, they left her to die right there and then. Running away from the broken girl who was dying from the atrocious torture that they had afflicted upon her.

She was unable to talk, unable to scream and cry, unable to shout and curse, she desperatly wanted to run after those animals and beat them down furiously for daring to even touch her.

But she could only stay there, salty crystal drops falling from closed violet eyes and mixing in her blood as she fell unconscious, the strange echo of footsteps in her ears.

She couldn’t stop now… she towered over the slumped figure. Her stolen dress that she would never get to wear down the aisle was splattered in his blood. She shone in the darkness, her skin reflecting in his dark bottomless eyes and her own newly established topaz ones aflame with bitter revenge.

The broken crystal had reformed itself, the pieces put back together, but now it was made purely of stone that was cold to touch. It no longer held its gleam and instead it was worn and faded.

He was dying if not already dead. The flowing substance was now spreading out around him, it looked as if it was heading towards Rosalie, taunting her as it creeped across the floor, daring her to take the liquid that she now and would forever crave.

She stared at with a sickening expression on her face, and then looked at the lifeless body. She was past all sense, and believed that this was Royce, trying, yet whilst dead, to place once again the chilling terror into her by taunting her into drinking his blood.

How ridiculous, she had no time for tasteless liquids.

She refused have a part of him inside her, to have him rushing down her throat in a continuous flow. She wouldn’t sink to that level, she would rather watch the bland liquid seep across the floor, a memory for her to keep in years to come.

The stone statue walked out of the windowless room, taking care to step over the two dead guards as she walked through the door.