The Rise of Lydia Rowe ↠ Jasper Hale (ON HOLD)

[2.11] the curse of immortality

LYDIA COULD NOT, IN FACT, control fire. Not yet, at least. As soon as she'd learned about her newly acquired pyrokinesis, she'd insisted her uncle show her how to do it, but after several failed attempts, they gave up and headed back to the house. 

Almost every day since, Lydia begged him to help her try again. 

"You need to picture a flame on the tip of your finger," Adam instructed, studying Lydia as she sat cross-legged in her backyard. "Try to visualize the heat in your body, all of it moving to your finger." 

"That's what I've been doing," Lydia grumbled, her eyes closed as she tried to do as her uncle said. She pictured a flame on her fingertip, tiny but there, warm against her skin, but every time she opened her eyes, there was nothing. 

"You're distracted," Adam pointed out. "Is this about your friend? The one who was with you when you transformed?" 

Lydia closed her eyes, dropping her hand back into her lap as she let out a defeated breath. "She won't talk to me," she said quietly. "Every time I try, she makes up some excuse or just... disappears. I don't know what to do." 

"I can give you advice, but you won't like it," Adam said, sitting down in the grass next to his niece. 

"I'll take anything at this point," Lydia muttered. 

"Okay," Adam said. "Here's my advice: let her go."

Lydia made a face, frowning at her uncle. "What?" 

"You're going to live forever, and your friend won't," Adam told her bluntly. "It's better to cut ties now and save yourself the pain of watching her age and die while you stay eighteen for eternity." At Lydia's furrowed brow, he said quietly, "I told you you wouldn't like it." 

Lydia stood up, shaking her head defiantly. "I'd rather have Gwen for her lifetime and go through the pain of eventually losing her than give up on her now," she told him, her voice as sure as stone. "And the same goes for my moms. What's the point of immortality if I can't spend it with the people I love, even if they're only there for a fraction of it?" 

"Sometimes it's better to spare everyone the pain and grief it would cause," Adam countered. 

Lydia studied her uncle. She wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn't be—not when she could see the heavy, sad look in his eyes that never seemed to go away. He wasn't much older than her mother, but his eyes looked as if he'd lived a hundred lonely years and was facing an eternity of solitude. She wondered how long it would take for her to look like that. "I don't believe that," she murmured. "And I don't think you do, either." 

Adam met his niece's gaze, his dark eyes mirroring hers. "Think what you want," he said quietly. He stood up, brushing dead grass and dirt off of his jeans. "We'll try again tomorrow." 

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Lydia hadn't been able to stop thinking about her conversation with Adam earlier in the day. She'd thought about the concept of immortality before—more often than the average person probably should, at least. Dating an immortal vampire could do that to a girl. 

She'd always imagined two futures with Jasper. In one, she became a vampire after graduating high school, maybe even after college, but no later. They would spend the rest of eternity together with the rest of the Cullens. Sometimes Bella was there in her dream, too, other times she wasn't—Lydia didn't know where the other girl stood on becoming a vampire. In that future, she was happy and young forever, never having to say goodbye to the boy she was convinced was her one true soulmate. She avoided thinking about the fact that James's venom had no effect on her, chalking it up to a fluke and convincing herself that, if she wanted to, she could become a vampire just like Jasper.