L'amour; Love
Charlotte Olivia Smith was the embodiment of perfect. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, eyes, smile, figure and personality. It was only right to bring a bit of the perfect-ness to Forks, Washington. The Cullens can't help but gravitate tow...
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There is something so magical about being in love. It was an unexplainable feeling. I was sure I wasn't worthy enough to feel it. It felt too sacred, too precious. Like something created by the Gods and gifted to the people. Nothing else mattered when you had it.
Until it did.
The sun kissed the field, blessing it with its touch. It looked like a forbidden garden, something that no one was supposed to see. But someone was.
The someone stood unmoving, scared that any movement would cause the picture in front of her to disappear. Scared that her eyes weren't meant to see and once she moved it would be taken away.
That was until another figure moved, it didn't rush, it took time with each movement, each step being deliberate. The unknown had only made it out of the shade when it stopped, inviting the other into its presence.
The original made its way over, its steps cautious, unsure still skeptical of its surroundings. Almost a lifetime later the figures were in front of each other. No words were exchanged, just stares.
As more time past another figure appeared, the two breaking their gazes away from each other, looking at the intruder. They both went to speak to each other, but no words came out. It was like their voices had been stolen.
The intruder made its way towards the skeptical figures, the two grasping onto each other like a lifeline. Until they both looked back at the third party. The scene was confusing, their positions were exactly the same, but only one of the figures had something in their possession.
One of the figures moved, the other did two. There movements were identical. There were no differences between them.
In the short blink of an eye a mirror appeared, but the figure didn't disappear, it was still staring back. Only this time it also had Edward in its wrinkled fingers. It's old eyes looking upon him with love.
It was then that the figure realised she was no longer young. She was no longer the teenage girl. Instead she was the old figure.
The figure who had aged while her love did not. A figure who had not married or had children. One that had not moved on. Love had been chosen. But for some reason it felt wrong.
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Charlotte. Happy birthday to you." Three people entered the room, a bacon sandwich in hand and a song slipping from their lips.
