Lily
Title: Lily
Author: shannon_writes
Pairing: another one came out Edward/Rosalie (blame the plot bunnies!)
Rating: U
Summary: He wonders if lilies are perennial. Wonders if it's over before it began.
It is winter. He expects it not to matter, but still he's not surprised to find her closed and afraid. Lily in name and in nature. Not Rose, never Rose. He cannot think of her like that, he's seen too many scars left behind by thorns to ever allow himself that thought. She is closer to a lily anyway. She is death and love and endless life, and the first touches of frost make her curl up inside herself and die. He wonders if she'll be back in the spring. In all these years, he's never really thought about flowers. He wonders if lilies are perennial. It occurs to him he doesn't know. He wonders if it's over before it began, if she's ever going to smile again. Through that first interminable winter, he tiptoes and whispers, watches and waits. Waits and waits and waits. And on the day the thaw breaks at last he leaves. He leaves her alone all day, and only checks back in the dead of night, to find her lying on her bed, eyes glazed over, the closest thing to sleep she has yet discovered, a tiny smile on her face. The dawn seeks her out while she lies there still, and as the gold spreads across her face and sets her hair alight, he knows it's not over. Believes it never will be. Then he comes back to find it's changed, and there's a huge bunch of violets on her windowsill. He can't look at her, or them, or anything. If he brought her violets she'd cry.
Author: shannon_writes
Pairing: another one came out Edward/Rosalie (blame the plot bunnies!)
Rating: U
Summary: He wonders if lilies are perennial. Wonders if it's over before it began.
It is winter. He expects it not to matter, but still he's not surprised to find her closed and afraid. Lily in name and in nature. Not Rose, never Rose. He cannot think of her like that, he's seen too many scars left behind by thorns to ever allow himself that thought. She is closer to a lily anyway. She is death and love and endless life, and the first touches of frost make her curl up inside herself and die. He wonders if she'll be back in the spring. In all these years, he's never really thought about flowers. He wonders if lilies are perennial. It occurs to him he doesn't know. He wonders if it's over before it began, if she's ever going to smile again. Through that first interminable winter, he tiptoes and whispers, watches and waits. Waits and waits and waits. And on the day the thaw breaks at last he leaves. He leaves her alone all day, and only checks back in the dead of night, to find her lying on her bed, eyes glazed over, the closest thing to sleep she has yet discovered, a tiny smile on her face. The dawn seeks her out while she lies there still, and as the gold spreads across her face and sets her hair alight, he knows it's not over. Believes it never will be. Then he comes back to find it's changed, and there's a huge bunch of violets on her windowsill. He can't look at her, or them, or anything. If he brought her violets she'd cry.