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『 chapter xxvii: PRECIOUS, ALMIGHTY BLOOD. 』
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THE STORM, THE LITERAL ONE, DID IN FACT pour down on the Reservation. June was still waiting for the metaphorical one to rain down on her, even more, as she took the journal of a dead girl and placed it on the ancient wooden table of her grandmothers home. June let out a soft sigh as she looked at the unopened journal. She didn't want to open it but she had too many unsolved questions and mysteries from her own blood, the bruises on her skin making some map to the ending of her search, a search she had started but now was too scared to start. June knew she was a fickle thing. She knew she says she wants all the answers, and here they were right in front of her, and she couldn't even look at it.
"Read it," Iris urges, touching her shoulder softly.
June grabbed the journal, shifting the pages until she reached the last one. She wasted no time reading it.
⋆ June 21st, 1937
I had to return. Ephraim was making good on his promise to slaughter Edward once he saw him. I didn't doubt for second he'd smile while doing so. I had to return. I no longer sit in the comfort of his arms, I no longer hear the melodic chime of my dear Rosalie's voice. There's no soft look from Carlisle, his voice telling me that there's a whole life I can live beyond them. What he doesn't understand is that there is no life beyond him. My Edward. I write this on the grounds of the place that will mark my death. The meadow that splits their land and mine. An in between. I know what the future holds with my choice. If I cannot be a vampire, I will not be a Mender. I won't die on someone's terms. I'll die myself, the shell of who I was, who I was meant to be. Melanie. Not the Mender. Not the vampire lover. Not the girl who chose wrong. But Melanie. Daughter of Heath and Dahlia, sister to Susanna, blood of the Quileute tribe. I know they'll say I was selfish and that I did wrong my choosing to end my own life for the sake of not having to die because of my magic, because of the consequence nature gave me.
Ephraim, if you find this, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you got stuck with a girl who's heart is stuck at staying a girl, fanciful and reckless and nothing of what a chief female should be. I know the arrangement we made to try and work out why the Spirits joined us together will be broken, but I hope you can move on from this, from the pain I've caused. Don't blame Edward, this was my idea, not his. He only ever wanted me to live, but I couldn't wait to die. And that's neither of your fault.
