Crown of Thorns: The Life and Death of Rosalie Hale
A collection of one-shots about Rosalie's transformation and her life as a vampire before Forks.
2. Chapter 2
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Glorious. Absolutely glorious. Oh, what a creature I had become! I sat on the plush, velvet stool by my glassy reflection, gazing at the epitome of beauty that stared back. That horrendous night was merely a memory - no physical reminder of the damage that had befallen me lingered upon my perfect, diamond-hard body. Golden ringlets fell to my waist in soft waves, framing my striking face with an amber halo. Those ruby-red eyes - they were the only things that marred my stunning form. Not that I minded. I was still the most beautiful being I had ever seen, and the vibrant color that ringed my pupils would fade soon enough.
I stood fluidly, admiring the way my shapely legs looked in Esme’s borrowed heels. My well-fitting dress swirled around my knees as I spun before the mirror and critiqued every angle of my flawless body. Except there was nothing to critique - I was, without a doubt, perfect. Once I was allowed to go out - beyond hunting, that is - I would turn heads with every step. But first, I must learn to control my thirst. That insufferable burning sensation that flared angrily in the back of my throat at the slightest hint of the sweet elixir that was human blood. No matter. For now I would be content to remain cooped up in this tiny house, awaiting the day that I was sufficiently in control of my perpetual hunger to venture outside. I frowned at the thought of the coming months I would have to spend in this house, my smooth brow crumpling into angry lines. Quickly, I returned my expression to normal. Unnecessary, really; my forehead would never wrinkle. Old habits die hard, though.
I twirled again before my reflection, stopping to marvel at my full, ruby lips, my slender, perfectly angled nose, and those bloody, piercing eyes. Stunning. So why wasn’t it enough? Why was the only suitable male in this household completely uninterested? Oh, I didn’t want him like that. I only wanted for him to admire me…desire me. Even just a little. I would give him one last shot.
I strode into the living room, where Edward Cullen - my chosen object of seduction - sat, toying with the guts of some electrical device he had taken apart.
“Hello, Edward,” my voice as smooth as honey. “What are you doing?”
He kept his eyes on the device - or what was left of it. “I acquired a radio, and as you can see, I’ve been making some…adjustments.”
Look over here, you fool. “Oh.” How thoroughly mundane. What a way to waste eternity.
“I’m not looking over there, Rosalie. Go back to drooling over your appearance, why don‘t you?” he said, viciously. Damn it. I always forgot about his stupid ability to read minds.
One last attempt. “So, I don’t suppose you’d like to take me hunting, tonight, would you?” I asked in as alluring a voice I could manage.
“Well, maybe,” Edward began. At last! “But unfortunately, I have had the displeasure of discerning your less-than-pure motives, Miss Hale.” Smug bastard.
I stalked back to my room, an impassive veneer hiding my seething fury. I flung myself face-down upon my bed, burying my beautiful face in the fabric. A piercing scream of frustration rose from within my chest, muffled by the soft comforter. From somewhere within the house, I thought I heard a low chuckle and the sound of a radio playing.