𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 & 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 | ❝You want to eat everyone you see and I don't want to eat at all. Sounds to me like we'd be great friends.❞
In which an anorexic girl believed losing was the only way to win the game. Or, alternatively, Rory Swan's road to re...
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RORY COULD NOT CRY. No matter how hard she tried, it was impossible for her to cry. Perhaps being dead had something to do with it, but regardless, it made her feel vile to think that she could not shed a single tear over the death of her little sister.
As a matter of fact, the only way Rory knew how to express any kind of emotion was by hunting. She hunted for an entire night after witnessing her sister die right under her nose, yet all she felt was the fire burning in her throat that was a permanent reminder of the fact that her niece was her own blood singer.
She refused to see anyone for the day that followed. She refused to even formally meet her niece. She knew Edward knew, and she knew the rest of the Cullens knew.
Rory remembered looking up at the sky the night her sister passed away and thinking, "Why did you have to pick me for this shit to happen, huh?"
While Rory didn't know who exactly she was talking to, she liked to think that someone was listening.
Things had been going so well in Rory's life. She was finally happy with her life, with herself. She had finally accepted who she was as a person—or, perhaps, vampire would be a better term. Regardless, Rory was finally happy.
And now she had to deal with craving her little niece's blood for eternity.
Rory allowed her mind to keep going back to all those moments she shot forward in the space-time continuum. She kept pondering those moments her future-self spent with little Ren, who seemed to idolize her aunt.
How could things have gotten so twisted? Was what Rory saw just an illusion? Did the future change somehow between now and then? How could her future-self even dare to stand so close to the human-vampire hybrid, especially knowing how much she desired to taste the girl's blood? How was any of this possible?
"Hey, Lor? It's me," 13-year-old Bella had called one afternoon. "Can I come in?"
"No," 14-year-old Lorelai faintly called. She had been sitting on her bed, tears streaking the apples of her cheeks. She scoffed loudly upon hearing Bella enter the room anyway. "Seriously? God, it's like I can't get any fucking privacy in this stupid house. What do you want?"
Bella shyly walked over to her sister. She sat on her bed, hugging a pillow tightly. "I just wanted to check up on you. I heard your fight with Mom," Bella meekly said to her sister. "Is she really kicking you out?"
