C'est la vie

Preface

Author's Note: So, I have recently gotten back into the Twilight fandom, and I've been fascinated by Renesmee, more like fascinated by the idea of a vampire who is mentally mature but trapped in the body of a child (not quite an immortal child as it's portrayed in the books/fllms). The tags may change over time. I want to be sure everyone understand though that although I've tagged this as Jacob Black/OC, it isn't a romantic relationship. I'm playing around with the concept of imprinting as it's presented in Twilight canon (where the werewolf becomes whatever the imprint needs).

Disclaimer: I only own Cosette and any OCs I might create, although I will primarily be sticking to canon characters, pairings, and events. Book canon, not film canon. The cover photo is Cosette's face claim. She's a Russian model named Milana Kurnikova. I obviously own nothing about her as well. 

Also, I apologize for any grammatical errors. It's been a while since I did any writing of substance. It is the first time I've ever posted on Wattpad as well, so I hope it's alright.

Preface

When you can live forever, what do you live for? Do you live for love? For companionship? For knowledge? For power?

For close to twelve hundred years, Cosette wandered the earth pondering what exactly she had to live for. Her very existence was aberrant-unnatural-unlawful even. How many times had she lamented her existence! How many times had she wished that the demon who had stolen her life from her had finished the job? Too many times to count...

Perhaps, if Cosette had been a normal vampire-if such a thing even existed!-then she would not find immortality such a heavy burden to bear, but she was not a normal vampire. Cursed to spend eternity in the body of a ten year old child, she was an outsider amongst outsiders, forced to live in the liminal space between the vampire world and the human world never truly belonging in either.

Truth be told, she did not think she lived at all. How could she, being what she was? Instead, she observed. She watched, immobile, static, as humanity-and the world they lived in-evolved. Most of all, she coveted the lives the humans she watched led. They lived, short transient lives, perhaps, but they lived. They grew up. They found love and married. They procreated. They grew old, and yes, eventually they died, but before any of that, they lived. Not only did they live, but their lives meant something. Despite their flaws, or perhaps because of them, humans were able to create true beauty.

Over the years, Cosette had tried to replicate the same beauty she found in the human world-through music, art, and even dance-but found her efforts soundly lacking, only pale imitations of what humans could create. While any song she might play on the many instruments she owned, any dance she might perform, or any work of art she might create would be technically perfect, there was always something missing. Sometimes she thought the emotional component was what was missing, but deep down, she knew what it was. No matter how perfect her rendition of her favorite concertos were, no matter how breathtaking her solitary ballet performances were, no matter how lovely her paintings were, what did it matter when she had no one to share any of them with?

She was not entirely miserable. She did try to carve her own little corner of the world when she was not observing those around her. She played a dozen instruments though she preferred the violin, cello, and piano above all others. She sketched and painted. She filled journal after journal with her thoughts and observations. She read, prolifically, devouring books almost as she devoured the blood she needed to live. Perhaps she did need them to live because it was only through books that she was able to begin to understand such foreign concepts as love, friendship, or even happiness.

In all of her years, she had never felt love or true happiness. Her loneliness was profound and soul deep.

Which brings her pondering full circle: when you can live forever, what do you live for?