themidnightson: (Looking low hunter)
[personal profile] themidnightson
He knows the job he's assigned himself to.
(Tracking down his prey and protecting his mate.)
At least hypothetically. Logically.
(To kill only if it's necessary for her survival.)
It is locked in his mind.
(The only focus of every empty second.)


How James did it. For centuries.
They merciless stalking of his toys.
How Victoria might.




Well, I suppose we should get on with it.
Every step recorded like a movie.
A remorseless "How To" guide




with Bella's blood in every thought.











Their scents as unforgettable as the brown eyes that torment him whether his eyes are opened or closed now. He keeps them close, even Laurent, who'd slipped into the Denali's world, where his sister and brother still were. Scents in triplicate. Overlapping. Urging his every step onward across the United States.









(you're killing Carlisle)
I have a strong theory that we start to
hallucinate if we haven't eaten for that long


Carlisle once said. (How could there not be more for one such as Edward?)

Before he knew it involved a Milliways time-loop.
Edward's not sure he'd been wrong. (I could still help)












He sees her now. In flashes;

His imagination. Her Memory. His ghost.

Do you swear you won't leave me?
I swear.
I'll be right here as long as you need me.



The swing of her hair. The sound of her laugh.

The scent of strawberries tangling up his thoughts.

Unsubstantial wisps gone when he looks to the spot.
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themidnightson

March 2012

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