stellify: (v.) to turn into or as if into a star; to place among the stars; to glorify.
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(previously titled iridescence)
☆ First story of the Stellify series ☆
I don't own Twilight nor do I own any of the characters other than Evangeline, her au...
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Jasper knew that Evangeline was a fallen angel, but he hadn't fathomed how vulnerable she really was. He noticed when she slipped from reality, eyes glossy and twitchy. He tried his best to take her hand and comfort her silently when she picked at her skin in anxiousness. He hoped that she would be okay, that what he saw on the surface was the only facet of her issues.
Only it wasn't. That pained him more than anything he could ever imagine.
He knew that she was aware of her fear around him. Fear that she wasn't acting on her own volition, that she was using him as a vessel for comfort. Familiarity of past habits. The only thing he could do to reassure her was show up as himself every time she needed him. He would do only as she needed, as she wanted. He would worship the ground she walked on, being whatever was wished of him. For her, he would do his best to help her heal, letting him help her feel whole.
It became his duty.
-----.-.-.-.-----
Eva had sobered up a lot since her mini breakdown with Jasper a few days ago. Instead, she realised that some very ominous things slipped her mind, things she had to pay attention to post-haste.
Her journal page that originally only had bullet points on became flooded with ink, inundated with theories and factors. Her mind frenzied as she realised she had let some very abnormal things get lost in her mental anguish.
The deer. The weird diet, where they would buy food to not consume it. Toying with it. The constant-alertness even after a long night watching films and work. The icy cold skin that Eve truly believed could be used to freeze hell over with. The weird iris changes. Amber? Why not get brown contacts for the family, why amber? More importantly, why did she feel the need to write this down?
The eyes. The beauty that seemed stolen from Aphrodite herself. Unsurprising popularity, yet they never left their close-knit circle. Outsiders, yet admired.
Eve knew she was frying her brain at the pure connection, but she couldn't just ignore the link between Italy and Forks. She knew of the vampire-obsessed locals, those who were looking for passion, for something better. Hell, after being surrounded by it so much she even considered the pros and cons herself. But she knew it was ridiculous. Delusions plague those who are sick, and fantasies keep them going.
Or she thought it was impossible at the time.
When Evangeline Freemond awoke one foggy morning, dew misting up her windows, she heard the letterbox open downstairs. A single tap on the door resounded, sending chills up each vertebra on her spine. She was home alone, and she didn't really feel like starting her day with accidentally beating up a mailman.
Slinking down the stairs, Eve shrugged a cardigan on herself to shut up the goosepimples trailing up her arms.
There, on the floor of the entranceway had been a letter.
