I could see each color of the rainbow in the white light, and, at the very edge of the spectrum, an eighth color I had no name for.
I could see elements of the stories in her makeup – characters that had shaped the context of her world. There was a bit of Jane Eyre in her, a portion of Scout Finch and Jo March, a measure of Elinor Dashwood, and Lucy Pevensie. I was sure I would find more connections as I learned more about her.
Se Carlisle era l’anima della famiglia, Esme ne era il cuore.
I’ll always want you, I warned him. Forever.
Poteva spezzarsi un cuore morto e gelido? Il mio sembrava potesse.
What I was doing was basking, drowning, wallowing in my love for Bella. I didn’t think it would be difficult to keep doing that.
Poteva un cuore morto e gelido tornare a battere? Il mio sembrava sul punto di farlo.
La mia vita era un’infinita, immutabile mezzanotte. Era necessario che lo fosse sempre, per me. Quindi com’era possibile che adesso, nel cuore della notte, stesse sorgendo il sole?
It was lucky that humans were so unsuspicious, that they didn’t want to believe in anything unnatural.
Love had changed them in an eternal way, a way that would never fade.
Stay in Persephone’s spring, keep her safe from my underworld.
Why waste time with ire when there were so many more pleasant emotions available?
How could I tell her about these two innocent victims? Humans with hopes and fears, people with families and friends who loved them, imperfect beings who deserved the chance to improve, to try.
Desideravo disperatamente essere normale, per poterla prendere tra le braccia senza mettere a rischio la sua vita. Per poter sbrigliare le mie fantasie, fantasie che non terminavano con le mie mani sporche del suo sangue e i miei occhi saziati di lei.
A flicker of unease twisted my expression. I thought of pomegranate seeds for the first time in a while.
Pomegranate seeds and my underworld. Hadn’t I just witnessed a brutal example of how badly my world could go wrong for her?
The future isn’t set in stone. Things change.
How I had once wished to be able to dream of her! How I’d ached for that. And now, reality was better than dreams. I wouldn’t want to miss one second of it for any kind of unconsciousness.
The English language needed a word that meant something halfway between a goddess and a naiad.
I would live up to her trust. I knew I could. When she looked at me that way, there was nothing I couldn’t do.
I winked at her. I wanted nothing more than to be alone with my perpetual savior.