24Title- A Blooming Edwardian Summer
Author- 4give4get
Rated- T
Pairing- Eventual BellaxEdward
Note- NOT AU!
Disclaimer- I hate this book so much, I would never own it. I dislike Stephanie Meyer. Right, so why am I writing on fanfiction about it? I don't know. But, just so you all know, Stephanie Meyer DOESN'T own Twilight. The publishing company does, duh. It annoys me when people say she owns it.
The whole idea of publishing a book is that you sell the idea (the book) to the company and they publish it. Wow.
Serena- Kay, kay, random ideas spurt out of me and random moments… you guys know that! If you bother reading this, please review. Either way, I'm going to be a novelist someday, whether or not you review.
Persephone…
The rain was coming down in quick droplets, making splotches on the glass of the slightly opened-a-crack window. Sweet smelling air came flooding into the dank room and Edward Cullen sat in a chair, his feet up on the windowsill, just gazing out into the dripping wet greenery of the forest.
It was even a rather beautiful view, although his attention was not focused on the dreary modern thunderstorm, but rather his thoughts were on a blooming Edwardian summer. A season long past, to be sure.
Wasn't it July of 1909 that his friend Peter's mother had died? It was hot. Most of the older boys were flaunting their automobiles and driving down to the lake for a swim. Edward was eight years old, staring at those machines with admiration.
Peter lived in the house next door. Edward remembered the heavy, hot suit his mother made him wear as they followed the shiny coffin down the path in the graveyard. She held him by the ear and parted his air with a comb, practically plastering it to his head.
"And keep your hands clean, do you hear me?"
So on they walked, to an eight-year-old's mind a wasted summer afternoon was passing. His eyes skimmed over impossibly old graves with stone angels and crosses and white roses growing along fences. The names on said stones were of no importance—they were simply dead.
Such human thoughts! They all seemed so alien to him now, but in reality they weren't far from what sorts of things a normal human child would think of. Edward Cullen. Once normal. It all sounded odd in words.
Edward's eyes scanned over the other people in the precession. Peter's father. Peter's grandmother. His aunts and uncles. He finally found Peter himself. He was a young boy same as Edward, but his eyes were red from recent tears.
He understood—he couldn't imagine losing his mother. Edward looked up at the face of Elizabeth Masen who held his hand as they walked. Her chin was foreword and her gaze straight ahead.
Her silky brown hair was in a simple chignon at the nape of her neck. She wore a black hat tilted at an angle towards her forehead and a black gown with puffed sleeves. Edward could remember hearing the scraping of her heeled boots along the cobblestones. Her blue eyes glance down at him and smile ever so slightly so that only he could see it.
Her pale, delicate hand was entwined in his own chubby fingers, which she gave a slight squeeze.
No, he could not possibly imagine life without his mother. Just him and his father in the house. Edward's father was a perfectly fine man. No, he was not cruel. Anyone could tell he loved his wife by the way he followed her with his eyes.
And that he cared very deeply for their young son by the way he squatted down to speak to him and ruffled his hair.
But somehow Edward found his father rather frightening. He felt he would rather die than displease him somehow. And his sweet, kind mother was his protection from it all.
As he turned his attention back to the gravestones, he noticed something dart out from behind a large angle with a trumpet and behind that angel's sister so fast he could hardly see it at all.
Finally, they stopped, as it would seem they reached the place they would be burying Peter's mother. A minister read from a bible, though his words did not make it to Edward's ears for his mind was elsewhere.
His hand slipped from his mother's and he pushed past two portly older gentlemen carrying pocket watches before she could call him back. He loosened the tie his mother had put on him that morning and walked among the mourners, glad for his freedom.
Gossiping old women, business men, bored looking teenage girls, hardly any other children really. And surely no one he could amuse himself with.
That's when he saw her. She was just about his own age, but unlike any other girl he was used to seeing. She did not wear lace gloves, or a short white dress, or a big satin bow. Her hair was pale blonde and her face was smudged. If his mother ever saw him that dirty she'd drag him to the bathtub by his ears! She had on a threadbare brown dress that was rather big on her thin frame and her boots were held together by ancient stitches.
Edward had never seen a girl like this before.
"Did you know Peter's mother?" he asked her, frowning.
"No," she answered him, stepping from around the nearest tombstone.
"Then why are you here?" It seemed rather foolish to waste a summer afternoon here if you didn't have to be.
"You're a horrible boy!" she snapped, catching him off guard, "Talkin' so familiarly to a girl when you 'aven't even bothered asking her name!"
"What does your name matter?" Edward countered her. He had lots of friends. Most of which he just began talking to as so. Then again, all of those said friends were boys. Boys did not need proper introductions.
"Oh, I do hate boys," she muttered under her breath.
Glancing at the sky, Edward saw he would get no other company but this shabby-looking girl that talked oddly.
"I'm sorry, Edward Masen, you are?"
"Daisy Dussle," she held out her hand.
He just stared at her dirty hand.
"Shake my hand, foolish boy," she snapped, "Only then we won't be strangers no more."
Edward relented and shook her hand.
"There we are," Daisy smiled, "My father's the caretaker—that's why I'm here."
"Do you find it scary to spend time in the graveyard?"
"Of course not. Dead people are just dead. You know," he could tell she had only begun talking, "The whole idea of graveyards isn't for the dead really—it's for the living. Do you think dead people care that they were buried by their children or husband? Or that they get flowers and stone angels? No. No, they do not. They don't even knows it because they're dead. This is all for the living."
She spreads out her arms, gesturing to the whole graveyard.
Of course, as a child he hardly understood this talk. In truth (a truth he didn't realize until much later) Daisy was smart beyond her years. She thought more and therefore knew more.
"And Edward," she whispered, "I'm a Duchess, too. I'm very rich and have about thirty or so diamond tiaras and pearl necklaces to match."
"You do not!" It was not Edward who said this, but Peter who had walked in on their conversation.
"Perhaps," Daisy replied, coolly, "But I enjoy pretendin' I do, and it isn't hurting nobody to say so!"
"If you tell lies you go to the children's Limbo," Peter informed her.
"You're rather foolish, aren't you?" she laughed, "There's no such thing as a limbo!"
"Yes, there is," Peter continued to argue, "It says so in the Bible."
"The Bible's wrong."
"Wrong how?" Edward asked, intrigued by her perspective. He'd never heard anyone challenge anything of the sort before.
"There isn't no such thing as eternal damnination," Daisy listed off, "When you're dead, you're just dead—end of story."
"Is there a heaven?"
"Perhaps, perhaps not. I'll find out someday won't I?"
"The Bible is not wrong; it was written by Jesus," Peter said.
"What does he know?" she shot back, "Earth itself is Hell, and there might be some place after death, but no one knows what it is and if they say they do, they are fake and are only scared of the unknown!"
Peter's face was now red with frustration. Edward still wanted to Daisy speak more.
He needn't have worried, Daisy was quite the talker:
"If there is such thing as the Devil, it is not a man. Do you think a man could be capable of being the most evil thing in the world? If She exsists, She is a spoiled teenage girl who thinks Her parents don't understand Her and spends all day sulkin'. Not much of a threat, hmmm?"
Peter turned on his heel and walked away, while Edward spoke, "Who told you those things, Daisy?"
"I thought of 'em myself. I 'aven't got any mother. And Papa rarely speaks to me," she sighed, gazing at the warm sun.
At that moment, he realized they had drifted slightly from the rest of the crowd. A terrifying man in torn-up overalls and filthy hands with an unshaven face came limping (drunkenly, as Edward later figured out. Naturally an eight-year-old does not know a drunk person when they see one.) over a few rose bushes, and flung his wild eyes about his skull.
"Daisy!" he snapped, making Edward jump in fright, "Git over here! Git over here now, girl! Now, I say!"
Daisy looks helplessly at Edward, who was probably the more frightened of the two and seemed to be begging him to help.
But what could he do? He was only an eight-year-old child as well. The caretaker, Mr. Dussle roughly grabbed Daisy's small, reed-like arm and shook her as he swore a bunch of words Edward knew his mother would throw a fit if she knew he'd heard them. Daisy's gray eyes were wide and terrified as her lip trembled.
Edward ducked out of sight, lest the man should look over. He hit her against a few gravestones before dragging her out of sight, Daisy was openly sobbing.
That day, Little Edward got a little taste of reality. The world was not one of all nice things like what he grew up in. There were dirty, pale, thin little girls with abusive fathers, and who knows what else?
As Edward's shaking legs carried him back to the mourners he saw his own father. A clean, well-shaven, intelligent looking man in a tailored suit with clean, gentle hands. How could he have been afraid of him when there were fathers like Daisy's?
Edward ran the rest of the way and hugged his father around the waist, burying his face in his stomach. His hair was tussled like usual, and the small hand of his mother patted his back.
Didn't Daisy deserve a family like this too?
Back in reality, Edward smiled coyly. Everyone in this generation made it seem like back then was a simple time. Simpler, perhaps, but not completely simple. Didn't they understand that were no flu shots or even penicillin. Children could legally work all day in sweatshops, women died in childbirth, people got tuberculosis and cholera and hardly lived to see sixty most of the time.
The slums of cities were full of poor immigrants, most of them forced to work in factories because that was the only people that would hire them. They lived in dirty, rat-infested tenements and children were always sick.
Of course, that was not Edward's life. But after meeting Daisy Dussle he had at least had to acknowledge the other side of the caste system.
And if he said that he never went back to the graveyard again to see Daisy, he would by lying through his teeth. Lying like a rug. Sometimes Peter came with him—sometimes he didn't. Edward knew Peter didn't trust Daisy one bit. But the three children had fun somehow.
Children all are the same no matter how rich or poor their parents are. As soon as you grow up, that's where they get different, Edward figured. Well, he would just have to avoid growing up, in that case.
The rain was then falling harder, as if trying to penetrate the glass. And still Edward remembered, he remembered a time before he was a monster, before he had a taste for human blood, a time he'd attempted to forget.
"You cannot move backwards, only forewords." Whose quote was that anyway? Just because someone quoted it doesn't make it correct.
Besides, was being a vampire so bad? He had Bella now too. Everything would work itself out. But it was still a human craving to live just as a human should. To be born and to eventually die. Sure, at first the prospect of immortality was appealing. To be able to live to see the next century and the next…
But didn't the world like new things? Weren't they defying nature to still be living? New people were born and the old were killed. All by nature. A vampire has no place in nature. He may never be dead, but Edward was definitely not alive. The world was always moving and changing… but he—he always stayed still.
Which is partially why he didn't want Bella to have this sort of fate. He didn't want it for himself. But of course, Carlisle had saved him. He would have been dead otherwise. At least this way he got to meet people like Carlisle, Esme, Emmet, Jasper, Alice, Rosalie, and Bella.
He still couldn't help but wonder what his life would have been. It was easy to guess—'I would've gone to school, then gotten married, perhaps have kids, watch them grow up, perhaps have grandchildren, and then I would have died,' he thought.
A normal human's life, too be sure. He would have never even known vampires existed. He never would have known Bella would ever exist. He would have likely been dead by the time she was born.
'But I would've died,' he thought again, 'I wouldn't have lived like that—there's no point in regretting a decision when anything else never would have worked.'
And there you have it.
Edward continued watching the rain, his mind completely blank. He didn't want to risk having another flash back of another time—another version of himself. The human version.
Could Bella have loved the human Edward? Would that have been enough? Or was it his cold, hard body, his deathlike pale skin, and his thirst for blood that had gotten her interested in the first place?
Could Bella even love a human at all? She loved him—that he knew. She loved that werewolf Jacob. Was she incapable of having similar feelings for humans?
For being over a hundred and ten years old, he honestly didn't know much.
The rain fell harder yet. This would be the worst thunderstorm in a while, even for Forks. Lightning lit the gray sky and the wind blew the tree branches to and fro. Perhaps the power would go out.
Out of the corner of his eye, Edward saw the door to his room open. Who would it be? Emmett and Rosalie weren't home. He could hear Jasper, Alice, and Carlisle downstairs. With his vampire speed, he was at the door to confront whoever it was in an instant.
It was a human girl.
The only human he'd ever used his own powers around was Bella, naturally. And even she blinked when he'd appear in front of her suddenly.
This girl did not.
Edward was about to ask what she was doing in their house, when he noticed her attire. She was dressed in a white robe. Almost like a toga party costume. She wore vines of holly in her curly brown hair. Her skin was fair and her bare feet made her walk elegantly across the floor.
Her dark eyes held grace and she held a fruit that Edward realized was a pomegranate in one hand.
Who dressed like that?
"Who are you?" his voice sounded stupid even to his own ears.
"Oh, you know me," she said coyly, making herself at home on his couch, "Edward Masen."
"Remind me."
Who knew him as Edward Masen besides his family and Bella?
Everyone Edward Masen had known in his short life was now dead. He'd personally checked. Peter—dead. Peter's father—dead. The old family cook, who would always let Edward sweeten his porridge—dead. Daisy Dussle—dead.
And this girl did not look to be any older than fifteen.
"Well, perhaps you don't know me," she corrected herself, "But you've heard of me. Everyone has."
What was this, some sort of riddle? Obviously, he couldn't be dreaming. Or perhaps just spacing out? Going crazy? Could that happen to vampires?
"Enlighten me," he said, wanting some things cleared up to say the least.
"Persephone," the girl said, pronouncing the name, "I am Persephone."
(A/N: Persephone- The Goddess of the Underworld in Greek mythology. Pronounced: Per-se-phen, Goddess of death, rebirth, and wisdom, married to Hades)
"You," Edward said, "Are on crack."
Her dark eyes flashed and suddenly her calm face was angry. Her mouth began to open… and open so wide that it was impossible for a human jaw to do so without becoming disconnected.
Fire began to burn around her heels and she shouted in the most un-human voice Edward had ever heard, "I'm the Goddess of the Underworld, daughter of Demeter and I have powers beyond your comprehension! You are immortal, Edward Masen, but just because you escaped my grasps once does not mean you can do it again!"
Edward stepped back. No, this girl was not human. Whether or not she was the goddess Persephone or not, he had not decided, but she was definitely not human. No vampire he knew would conjure fire.
Her dark eyes met his.
"No, Edward Masen, I am not a vampire. And this is not just any fire—it's flames from Hell itself."
"From Hell itself?" Edward repeated.
"Naturally, it's where I rein as the Iron Queen. Goddess of the Underworld—I am Hell." She said, sitting back down again and looking calm and demure as if she were not just summoning flames of Hell into his room.
"And I, unlike you," Persephone continued, "Have no rules to live by. I'm granted that much. No god or goddess may control me—not even Zeus himself, for I control death."
Edward stared at her. How could death have such an innocent, youthful face? Was all she did all day was scour the Earth for souls to take? What sort of havoc as she wreaked throughout history?
Her dark gaze softened, "Edward Masen, I do no such thing. The world is not a perfect place, because of negligent gods and goddesses. I only come when I am called."
"What?"
"I am not the cause of death. I only ferry their souls to Hell. In reality, I am enslaved to humans." She said this in almost a sad tone.
"I'm sorry," Edward said, uncomfortably, really at a lack of anything else to say.
"Do not be," she said, smiling, showing pointy teeth, "Such is the cost of being a goddess. A good one anyway. Although since I am associated with death, I'm given a bad name. Hmmmph, would humans rather their souls wander the Earth for all eternity? I do them a service—they don't see it that way."
"And immortals?"
"Like yourself?" Persephone certified, "Gods and goddesses have little control over you. They cannot kill you—only others of your kind may do that."
"You took my parents to Hell?"
"Elizabeth and Hiram Masen," Persephone said it in almost a dream-like way, "I held their fragile souls," she held out her hands, "And so many others that died in the epidemic. Yes, I took them."
"And they are in Hell now?"
"Along with every other deceased human, yes."
"Bring them back," Edward ordered, wondering if she'd get angry again.
She did not, "Why should I?" she asked, not grinning, but not unhappy, "They are mine now, they belong with me."
He had expected to hear, "It's impossible, once a soul is in Hell, it never comes back. The rules restrict it."
Reading his thoughts, Persephone smiled, "I have no rules, Edward Masen."
"So you could bring back anyone from the dead?" he was quite interested now.
By now, he had decided this could only be Persephone, the Goddess of the Underworld. How insane he felt thinking it! He could not hear her thoughts as she could his. What was more proof of her being a goddess than that?
"I could," she agreed.
"And the soul would not be corrupted, or a zombie, or anything?" he pressed on.
"No, they would be exactly as they were—in the best health of their mortal life. Their minds would be the same—their physical body. You see, when you reunite a soul with its mortal shell, even if the body is thousands of years old, the pure energy of the soul causes it to be regenerated. Decaying reverses itself. The soul is very powerful," she explained.
And finally, "Persephone, why are you here?"
The Goddess of the Underworld smiled with her pointy teeth, "Because, Edward Masen, I'd like to give you a second chance at life."
End Chapter
Serena- Chapter one, ta da!
Thanks for reading!