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CHAPTER NINE birds don't sing ☾
Though Violet had asked her countless times, Celia did not accompany her on a walk in the woods that evening. Perhaps it had been for the better. The quietness was welcomed dutifully- for the entire day, her head had been working at a hundred miles per hour, and only then, as she made her way through the trodden pathway around familiar trees, could she feel the lightening and fog begin to clear.
As always, she headed to the Falls. Her eyes found the tail of the stream, hiding behind stalks of tape grass that gave the water a greenish appearance. She neared, fighting the urge to remove her shoes and sit with her feet submerged as she would do with her mother before she'd left. Instead, she hiked to the top of the stream, climbing over the small mounds of mossy rocks, hands stained green on contact. Violet slipped once, hiking boots sliding against the damp algae that peppered the boulders, but pulled herself upwards, glancing down at the short drop and the slow flow of water that spouted off from the edge.
From the top, the Fall looked larger than it was. It looked as big as it had when she was younger- as big as the waterfalls that erupted from the earth in pictures from her dad's favourite nature magazines. From up there, Violet was given a certain feeling of accomplishment, which let her turn back to the unmarked path, stepping carefully over the remainder of rocks and separate streams.
Then a glimpse of blonde caught her gaze.
It was a stark white, yet at the same time the colour of spun gold. Even without a glimpse of the woman's face, Violet could recognise her in an instance.
"Rosalie?"
The blonde's head turned ever so slightly, angled in acknowledgement, but she said nothing. From where Violet still stood, she could see the outline of her face, and the downward tilt that played on each feature. She looked so human then- more than the robotic person Violet had seen since she'd first known of her. Rosalie then, even in her sadness, seemed more herself- more of the girl Violet had only seen glimpses of- than she ever had before.
When Violet stepped forward around the tree, Rosalie turned her head away, leaning her other cheek against her bent knee. Violet swallowed and sat down in front of her: far enough to be respectful but too close for Rose to be able to ignore her presence.
She imagined this is what she would have looked like, all of those time when she would hike up through the forest on her own, landing by the Falls without ever meaning to. It was always in the times when she was angry, when she was upset or disappointed, or when the buzz of her head become too overwhelming to cope with. She would have curled in on herself too, arms folded tightly over her chest, face fallen. But even in this state, Rosalie Hale looked effortlessly elegant.
Violet could have hated her for it. She might've- had she been anyone else. But she didn't, couldn't. Instead a sort of sorrow filled her chest, letting her expression mirror that of the girl across from her.
