CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

Previously:

"Unfortunately, that's true." Rosalie said, soft and sad. "People will die- vampires, witches and wizards, and the innocents who have no part in this. But it will make the world a better place."

"Thank you, Rosalie." I told her, grateful for her words. It didn't take away the pain I felt about it, but I did appreciate her trying to make me feel better. Rosalie smiled softly in response.

"You're welcome, Bella." Her voice was warm, and I finally cracked, unable to stay silent about the elephant in the room.

"I... don't mean to be rude or anything, but... you're acting really strangely." I said, my cheeks warming as I blushed slightly in embarrassment.

"Ah," Rosalie said, softly. "I suppose I am behaving in a way that, from your perspective, is... unusual." She sighed heavily. "I'm very sorry. I'm probably confusing you."

"A bit." I admitted. She made a soft, amused sound, before her expression turned serious.

"I'm not sure if anyone has ever told you," she said slowly, her voice very quiet and lacking the confidence from before, "but do you know the story behind how I was Turned?"

I shook my head. "No, no-one's ever told me." I said, my voice going quiet too, despite the fact I knew pretty much everyone who was in the house would be able to hear us. It just didn't feel like the sort of conversation where you should speak loudly. "But I'm not oblivious, or naïve. I mean... I know it was bad– the really, truly awful sort of bad. I've, well, I've kind of picked up things. Like how Esme suggested when it was discovered from the police reports that Bree was abused and assaulted by her father that you should be the one to talk to her. And I know you helped Luna work through her trauma from being tortured while she was held captive– you still do help her. So... well, I'm pretty sure I have a good idea of how your story goes, but I guess I've always hoped I was wrong." My mouth turned down, though, as I looked at Rosalie's tragically beautiful face. "I'm not, though." I exhaled heavily, my insides twisting in both pity and anger at those who had hurt her.

Rosalie smiled sadly at me, shaking her lovely head. "No," she murmured, quietly resigned. "No you're not."

"You don't have to tell me," I said.

"I know," she said, with a soft look on her face now. "But I want to. Really, it's you who doesn't truly need to hear it. It's certainly not a very nice story. Then again, none of ours are. Carlisle always made a point of Turning us only when there were no other options." I adjusted myself so I was sitting up straighter on the couch, and looked her dead in the eye.

"You're my sister now." I said, firmly. "And I may not need to hear it, and Merlin, listening to it is probably going to break my heart, but it's part of you, what happened, and if you're comfortable telling me then I'd like to know, so that I can support you however I can."

Rosalie touched my cheek again with her fingertips. "You are a very special sort of person, Bella Cullen." She said and smiled slightly, her mouth curving up slightly in a way that was more bitter then it was amused. "I used to not like you. I'm sure you realised that– I never really tried very hard to hide that. Especially not before we left after your seventeenth birthday party." She then sighed again. "But I never told you why I didn't like you."

"I was a risk to your family." I said with a shrug. "I put you all in danger– I wouldn't have liked me either."

"Yes you would have," Rosalie said, her smile less hard and more genuine now.

"Okay, maybe," I agreed, "or probably. Still, I do get it."

"I won't deny that the danger you put our family in originally contributed to my dislike, but that's not the reason I treated you so unforgivably." Rosalie said, now with a self-deprecating look. "The truth is much less noble. I was jealous of you."

I looked at her, wide-eyed. "Jealous?" I repeated, stunned and unable to believe it. "Of me? Me?" I gestured down at myself. "I'm so... ordinary! The only really interesting thing about me is my magic– and amongst my kind, I don't even have that, I'm just your average witch– and you, Rosalie, you're you!"

"I'm beautiful." Rosalie agreed. "And rich and forever young– every woman's dream." She gave a short laugh, the sound of it sharp and deprecating. "Frozen forever; never ageing, never moving forward– never able to conceive a child. That's why I was so jealous, Bella; why I still am. I might be more beautiful then you, but I'd trade my beauty any day to have what you do– the chance to be a mother."

I looked at her, stunned to silence. She closed her beautiful golden eyes, pained. "Oh Bella," she said, softly, mournful almost. "When I was human, I lived in a different world than you do. The early twentieth century was a much simpler place– and so was my human world. It was nineteen thirty-three. I was eighteen, and I was beautiful. My life was perfect."

She opened her eyes again but didn't look at me, instead stared at her lap, her expression far away.

"My parents were thoroughly upper middle class, but they wanted more. They had social aspirations– social climbers, I suppose you could call them. My beauty was like a gift to them. They saw so much more potential in it than I did. They weren't satisfied, but I was. I was thrilled to be me, to be Rosalie Hale. Pleased that men's eyes watched me everywhere I went, from the year I turned twelve. Delighted that my girlfriends sighed with envy when they touched my hair. Happy that my mother was proud of me and that my father liked to buy me pretty dresses.

"I knew what I wanted out of life, and there didn't seem to be any way that I wouldn't get exactly what I wanted. I wanted to be loved, to be adored. I wanted to have a huge, flowery wedding, where everyone in town would watch me walk down the aisle on my father's arm and think I was the most beautiful thing they'd ever seen. Admiration was like air to me, Bella. I was silly and shallow, but I was content." She smiled, bitterly amused at her own evaluation. "As I said, shallow. Young and very shallow. And I didn't see any reason why I wouldn't get these things. There were very few things I wanted that were actually meaningful. Really only one thing in particular.

"You see, my very closest friend was a girl named Vera. She married young, just seventeen. She married a man my parents would never have considered for me, a carpenter, and a year later she had a son, a beautiful little boy with dimples and curly black hair. It was the first time I'd ever felt truly jealous of anyone else in my entire life."

Rosalie looked at me with unfathomable eyes. "It was a different time. I was only eighteen, but I was ready for it all. I yearned for my own little baby. I wanted my own house and a husband who would kiss me when he got home from work– just like Vera. Only I had a very different kind of house in mind..."

Rosalie sighed, and when she spoke again her voice was different, the wistfulness gone. In its place was a coldness, though not directed towards me.

"In Rochester, there was one royal family– the Kings, ironically enough. Royce King owned the bank my father worked at, and nearly every other really profitable business in town. That's how his son, Royce King the Second" –her mouth twisted around the name, it came out through her teeth; the villain of this story was abruptly clear now– "saw me the first time. He was going to take over at the bank, and so he began overseeing the different positions. Two days later, my mother conveniently forgot to send my father's lunch to work with him. I remember being confused when she insisted that I wear my white organza and roll my hair up just to run over to the bank." Rosalie laughed again without humor.

"I didn't notice Royce watching me particularly. Everyone watched me. But that night the first of the roses came. Every night of our courtship, he sent a bouquet of roses to me. My room was always overflowing with them. It got to the point that I would smell like roses when I left the house. Royce was handsome, too. He had lighter hair than I did, and pale blue eyes. He said my eyes were like violets, and then those started showing up alongside the roses.

"My parents approved–that's putting it mildly. This was everything they'd dreamed of. And Royce seemed to be everything I'd dreamed of. The fairy tale prince, come to make me a princess. Everything I wanted, yet it was still no more than I expected. We were engaged before I'd known him for two months. We didn't spend a great deal of time alone with each other. Royce told me he had many responsibilities at work, and, when we were together, he liked people to look at us, to see me on his arm. I liked that, too. There were lots of parties, dancing, and pretty dresses. When you were a King, every door was open for you, every red carpet rolled out to greet you.

"It wasn't a long engagement. Plans went ahead for the most lavish wedding. It was going to be everything I'd ever wanted. I was completely happy. When I called at Vera's, I no longer felt jealous. I pictured my fair-haired children playing on the huge lawns of the Kings' estate, and I pitied her."

Rosalie broke off suddenly, clenching her teeth together. It pulled me out of her story, and I understood then that the horror was not far off. There would be no happy ending, as she'd promised. I wondered if this was why she had so much more bitterness in her than the rest of them– because she'd been within reach of everything she'd wanted when her human life was cut short. Or perhaps it was the horror of her last night as human.

"I was at Vera's that night," Rosalie whispered. Her face was smooth as marble, and as hard. "Her little Henry really was adorable, all smiles and dimples– he was just sitting up on his own. Vera walked me to the door as I was leaving, her baby in her arms and her husband at her side, his arm around her waist. He kissed her on the cheek when he thought I wasn't looking. That bothered me. When Royce kissed me, it wasn't quite the same– not so sweet somehow... I shoved that thought aside. Royce was my prince. Someday, I would be queen."

It was hard to tell, but it looked like her bone white face got paler. Mine certainly was. I felt like I was about to be sick.

"It was dark in the streets, the lamps already on. I hadn't realized how late it was." She continued to whisper almost inaudibly. "It was cold, too. Very cold for late April. The wedding was only a week away, and I was worrying about the weather as I hurried home– I can remember that clearly. I remember every detail about that night. I clung to it so hard... in the beginning. I thought of nothing else. And so I remember this, when so many pleasant memories have faded away completely..."

She made a harsh sound, grief mixed with anger. "Yes, I was worrying about the weather... I didn't want to have to move the wedding indoors... I was just a few streets from my house when I heard them. A cluster of men under a broken streetlamp, laughing too loud. Drunk. I wished I'd called my father to escort me home, but the way was so short, it seemed silly. And then he called my name. 'Rose!' he yelled, and the others laughed stupidly.

"I hadn't realized the drunks were so well dressed. It was Royce and some of his friends, sons of other rich men. 'Here's my Rose!' Royce shouted, laughing with them, sounding just as stupid. 'You're late. We're cold, you've kept us waiting so long.' I'd never seen him drink before. A toast, now and then, at a party. He'd told me he didn't like champagne. I hadn't realized that he preferred something much stronger. He had a new friend– a friend of a friend, come up from Atlanta. 'What did I tell you, John,' Royce crowed, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer. 'Isn't she lovelier than all your Georgia peaches?' The man named John was dark-haired and suntanned. He looked me over like I was a horse he was buying. 'It's hard to tell,' he drawled slowly. 'She's all covered up.' They laughed, Royce like the rest.

"Suddenly, Royce ripped my jacket from my shoulders– it was a gift from him– popping the brass buttons off. They scattered all over the street. 'Show him what you look like, Rose!' He laughed again and then he tore my hat out of my hair. The pins wrenched my hair from the roots, and I cried out in pain. They seemed to enjoy that– the sound of my pain."

My stomach lurched violently and I twisted in place on the sofa to throw up in the silver mixing-bowl that had been placed out in case I couldn't make it to the bathroom. Rosalie's cold hands held my hair back from my face until I'd finished retching. When I slumped back on the couch, panting slightly, she wiped my face clean with a wet cloth someone had brought in while I was busy being sick. Whoever it was had gone now, giving us the privacy, I was guessing, for Rosalie to finish her grisly tale. An illusion of privacy, after all, was better then no illusion at all.

"Sorry." I whispered to her, a touch ashamed. Tears stung in my eyes and I angrily wiped them away, frustrated at my weakness. "That just... hit close to home. And everything in my body's kind of topsy-turvy right now."

"I'm sorry too," Rosalie said, her eyes drifting to my stomach. She laid a cool hand palm down on the protruding curve of my abdomen. "This isn't something you need to hear." I shook my head.

"It's okay." I told her, firmly. "Well, not the story," I amended, "that's just... awful beyond words. But I'd like to hear how it ends. That there was some justice." I said, darkly.

Rosalie's answering smile was anything but warm. "Oh there was justice... of a sort." She promised, menace in her voice, as well as a thin amusement. "There's a very fine line between justice and vengeance, after all."

"Good." I said, and I meant it.

Rosalie smiled again, this time warmer, and then continued her story, her hand still over my stomach, as if she was taking comfort, or maybe strength, from the baby growing inside me.

"They left me in the street," she said, skipping any further details from the violent rape. I couldn't help but feel selfishly relieved she was sparing me. "They left me in the street, still laughing as they stumbled away. They thought I was dead. They were teasing Royce that he would have to find a new bride. He laughed and said he'd have to learn some patience first. I waited in the road to die. It was cold, though there was so much pain that I was surprised it bothered me. It started to snow, and I wondered why I wasn't dying. I was impatient for death to come, to end the pain. It was taking so long...

"Carlisle found me then. He'd smelled the blood, and come to investigate. I remember being vaguely irritated as he worked over me, trying to save my life. I'd never liked Dr. Cullen or his wife and her brother– as Edward pretended to be then. It had upset me that they were all more beautiful than I was, especially that the men were. But they didn't mingle in society, so I'd only seen them once or twice." Rosalie shook her head, and blinked back venom tears that she couldn't shed.

"Shallow as I was, I felt better when I saw my reflection in the mirror the first time. Despite the eyes, I was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen." Rosalie said softly, and she laughed at herself for a moment. "It took some time before I began to blame the beauty for what had happened to me– for me to see the curse of it. To wish that I had been... well, not ugly, but normal. Like Vera. So I could have been allowed to marry someone who loved me, and have pretty babies. That's what I'd really wanted, all along. It still doesn't seem like too much to have asked for."

"It wasn't." I agreed, my heart breaking for her. "I hope you made it hurt– really, really hurt."

"Oh I did," Rosalie confirmed grimly. "I've never tasted human blood– I didn't want any part of them in me– but they didn't get off lightly. I made sure not to spill their blood, I knew I wouldn't be able to resist that, but really; I consider my record as clean as Carlisle's. I don't count any of them as anything even approaching human." She clarified, before smiling a downright lethal smile. "I saved Royce for last. I hoped that he would hear of his friends' deaths and understand, know what was coming for him. I hoped the fear would make the end worse for him. I hope it worked– I certainly think it did. He was hiding inside a windowless room, behind a door as thick as a bank vault's that was guarded outside by armed men when I caught up with him. I was overly theatrical. It was kind of childish, really. I wore a wedding dress I'd stolen for the occasion. He screamed when he saw me. He screamed a lot that night. Saving him for last was a good idea; it made it easier for me to control myself, to make it slower–" She broke off suddenly, and she glanced at me. "I'm sorry," she said in a chagrined voice. "I'm being horrifying, aren't I?"

"Believe me when I say that's nothing I haven't imagined doing to the Death Eaters who have hurt me and my friends." I assured her grimly. "Definitely not human." I added, mouth curling in disgust, "more like disgusting, mud-crawling maggots in human form."

"I am mostly happy with my life now." Rosalie said, with almost an air of quiet confession to her statement. "I have Emmett, of course, who I love. And the others in the coven are my family, who I love even when they annoy me. But my heart still aches, even nearly eighty years now since I was Turned, for my own little baby with dimples."

"I wish you could have that. You deserve it." I told her, heart hurting. "I can't give you a baby of your own, but I think you'll make an amazing auntie. And if I don't survive this... well, it's a relief to know that my baby will have family who can love it as much as I would have." Rosalie's face immediately transformed, from the desolate, half-accepting expression she'd worn to something ferociously determined. Gripping the arm of the sofa near my head with a grip that had the wood underneath the leather creaking in protest, she leaned forwards so her flashing golden eyes were within spitting distance of my own.

"Don't you say that!" she said, fiercely. "You will survive this, Bella– you will!"

"Believe me, I plan to be there to watch my little nudger grow up," I confirmed, touched by her obvious care for me. "But even normal births go wrong, and this... this does leave a lot up to chance. But I will fight until my last breath, and I will never give up."

It wasn't that I wasn't afraid. I was. I was terrified, in fact. But courage isn't the absence of fear, after all, but the strength to fight it despite its weight pressing down against you– not conquering it for yourself, but refusing to succumb to fear for a reason that surpasses you, something far bigger.

My little nudger was that something bigger (literally– my stomach seems to have grown another three centimeters since the last time I saw it), and definitely worth summoning up every little bit of Gryffindor-ish courage I possessed.