The Crash: Book Two - Heart on Fire

Chapter Nine: Mirror, Mirror

Rosalie

"I'm sure you'll have some cosmic rationale. But here you are in the ninth, two men out and three men on. Nowhere to look but inside, where we all respond to pressure."

- Billy Joel (Pressure)

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Contrary to popular opinion, I hated my reflection. I suppose the family always thought of me as vain, looking at my mirror image day after day. It wasn't my face or my hair or even my smile that I was searching, no it was my eyes, the windows to my soul. If I even still had one. The mirror was ornate, with a Regency era gilded wooden frame that was intricately detailed with carved flowers and cherubs. It was passed down to my mother when she came of age by my Gran-nana Greta. I had it restored in the late 1970's but it was starting to patina and fade again and the silver had come away from the back in a couple of spots. Yet the glass remained intact, after nearly a century and a half.

The room I shared with Emmett was spacious with a nice couch and a giant overpriced television hanging on one wall, both of which were his choices. I had a handful of pieces that suited my personal aesthetic. The mirror sat atop my mother's antique vanity, although they were not a matching set they looked good together, a testament to my mother's taste. She found that vanity during an antique hunt in southeast Pennsylvania, the original dresser having been discarded during a move from Georgia back in the late 1800's.

It was one of a handful of pieces that were still in my family estate when I reacquired it after my baby brother died a bachelor with no children. The property was lovely, just off of Lake Ontario outside of Rochester, New York. I could clearly remember running through the small wooded area behind the house as a child. Although most of those trees were long gone after I'd given permission to Carlisle and Alice to build on the lot. They promised me the old house still existed as it was, maintained as if a family still lived there. A museum to my human life.

There was enough acreage to build a second house for the family far enough from my old house to not be intrusive, along with a multiple bay garage that would suit my needs. I'd had countless offers to sell, but I refused. Perhaps I was clinging to my human life in a desperate attempt to immortalize my history. Or maybe it was a way to maintain my sense of self. If I was being honest, what that old house really symbolized was a tangible link to my last shred of humanity, left after I murdered Royce and his friends.

My little killing spree.

Carlisle had been gracious enough to acquire all of our estates, and I would imagine when Bella and Angela's families finally sold their houses in the future he would purchase theirs as well. Esme might've found it rude to think of Angela's turn into one of us as inevitable but I couldn't imagine a scenario where she wouldn't end up like us. There were too many things working against her staying human, not the least of which was Mason showing up in our lives.

Mason, I was fearful of his presence but not because he seemed to pose a threat. His relationship with the Volturi was still a question mark. Yet, none of it truly mattered because he rescued Angela. Sure it could've been a move to ingratiate himself with us, but the impulse to do such a thing would not come naturally to one of our kind, or at least none who killed and drank human blood. That commitment to preserving human life was enough for me to trust him to a degree. Still, his history and motivations were unknown and potentially suspicious.

So I sat considering what he had told me, of my impossible power. A part of me desperately wanted to believe it was real. A gift that could make my every desire only a whisper away. Except what I wanted I could never have. To grow old with the person I loved.