Serenity. That was the feeling I usually got when I sat down before my piano and let out all of my pent up emotions from the earlier hours of my unending days, stringing together memories like hours and hours like minutes. My fingers would dance across the ivory keys, pushing them to the boards with only the most delicate touches; the type of gentleness put into the action reserved for the one other solitary thing I cared about dearly.
Placidity. That was the very thing I had been failing to grasp for the past few restless nights. Generally I would be over at my angel’s place by this time, silently curled up beside her on her bed, her fragile body encompassed safely in my arms.
However, with the date of out wedding growing ever closer, Renee and Phil had flown in from Jacksonville and were staying over in Port Angeles. Their days were spent hanging around in Forks, spending some quality time with Bella, while their nights consisted of them taking my muse back with them to their hotel suite so both she and Renee could get as much out of their time together as possible.
My muse. My saint, my beloved, my sweetheart, my lady love, and my inamorata were all exquisite terms that I could use to describe Miss. Isabella Swan, but none would be more appropriate than calling her my muse. She was my sole inspiration for my music. Sure, I had composed things before she came into my life, but none had been filled with so much meaning, so much passion, as the ones that had come after her. Even though my family begs to differ, I truly believe that my greatest masterpiece was her lullaby.
The lack of her presence in my life over the past few days was most definitely the cause for my inability to compose anything more than a couple of notes that have no rhyme or reason.
My fingers slid effortlessly across the keys, hitting random notes but no matter what I tried, or how many times I tried for that matter, nothing seemed to evolve out of my ventures.
Sighing in current defeat, I dropped my hands down to rest on my knees as I shifted myself slightly on the bench so I could see clearly out of the glass wall, my eyes focusing on the forest beyond.
A blustering wind was whipping through the trees, causing the occasional leaf to break away from it’s branch and flutter down to the river below where it floated gracefully into the deep of the woods. Even though we were only entering the second week of August, it wasn’t hard to tell that autumn was falling fast upon us. The habitually emerald foliage was turning striking shades of stunning scarlet, bright pumpkin, lively gold, and toasty umber.
If you had asked me two years ago what my favorite leaf shade was a this time of year, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have said crimson; their ruby shadow was always invigorating to me and although I hate to admit it, I could pinpoint why they were my favorite. The garnet were almost the exact same shade of my prey’s blood when it first slip down my throat, still warm as I give it no time to pool or thicken.
The grisly voice in the back of my mind taunted,
No. I refuse to give in to that lurid part of me that now more than ever craves my fiancé’s blood. I wasn’t about to let the animalistic side of me over run my new ability to have placed her body in front of her life’s wine on the list of things I pined for.
If you were to ask the more human side of me what my favorite foliage color was, I wouldn’t hesitate on my answer of terra-cotta. The exact hue of her silky hair, and the perfect stain to match her deep, emotion filled eyes. Unlike mine which varied from butterscotch to onyx depending on the day, Bella’s were always the pleasant brilliance of cocoa. Rich and turbulent, just like the ocean after a storm.
Just the image of her face floating into my mind’s eye for more than a minute gave me new determination. I turned my body back to it was in line directly with the piano.
Beautiful, silvery notes flowed through my fingertips and into the dead air around me, flooding the silence with a divine melody; each reflecting one of the many delightful feeling I get when my debutante is near.
Bliss. Rapture. Ecstasy. Love. Enthralled. Charmed. Lust. Enchanted. Heaven.
I used to accuse her of being intoxicated by my very presence, but the truth is that it runs more than just one way. No, I wasn’t as extreme as not being able to breathe when her face is too close to mine, or feeling like fainting every time we kissed, because let’s face it, I couldn’t faint if I tried and I do not need to breathe to live.
Those facts aside, every time Bella was with me, I had the tendency to let all thought of common sense drain out of my head, making more room for her every essence. The way her natural smell of freesia was succulent and alluring. The way she blushed a rosy pink when she was embarrassed. The way her warm skin felt against my glacial covering. The way her lips molded perfectly with mine.
Chastity. Sometimes being a gentlemen around Bella was extremely hard at times. How I yearned to give her more than just a virtuous kiss lasting little more than a few seconds, to be able to feel a greater amount of her bare skin. I came so close not too long ago to dropping my own boundaries and breaking all of my rules, but when I felt I had enough self-restraint, enough courage to give her everything she wanted, I had been rejected.
I noticed how the notes escaping from the grand instrument in front of me had turned tragic and melancholy for a moment until I realized that I had stopped because of her. I had stopped because she asked me to.
She wanted to do things the right way, and there was no way in hell that I was going to deny her that wish. She had spent every day in Forks attempting to please everyone, pushing her own wants into the background. Even before she came here she was most likely the exact same way. I mean, she moved here to give her mother time with Phil, hadn’t she?
Not only was she to selfless at times, she was too modest all of the time. Why was it that she couldn’t see herself clearly? In my eyes she was a vision of loveliness. She had the rare type of beauty that was only mentioned in fairy tales but never actually seen in reality.
From the pale, elegant young woman who had spent time in a glass coffin after being poisoned, the exquisite maiden who pricked her finger and fell into a deep sleep, to the dame with tumbling locks who was confined to a tower of stone, not one of them could ever compare to Bella’s seductive artistry or natural assets that set her above and beyond all of the other women.
How she could be so absolutely perfect and not see it was beyond me. Even Venus would probably envy her for not only her external, but also her internal beauty.
No matter how many times I pointed this out to her, it still seemed that she was looking into nothing more than a cracked mirror. Ludicrous claims were made about how she didn’t deserve me and that she couldn’t understand why I loved her.
The things she got into her head sometimes were just preposterous! If anything, I should be wondering how such a heavenly being like her could fall in love with a demon, a beast like me.
Anger sounded throughout the darkened room, the only light being the dim buttery fog that was cast from the nearly full moon that hung high above. I noticed that my fingers were hitting the ivory keys harder than I had intended them to as acrimony and rage oozed out into the song.
Forcing myself to control my temper, I lightened up on my ministrations and pushed all of the anxiety and rage from my thoughts, knowing that it would only ruin the song that my muse was currently helping me write unknowingly.
The notes turned dangerously sweet as I let the last of my passion out through a finale, refusing to stop even though it felt like the neck of my cream sweater was choking me.
As the last pearly note resounded from the piano, I sighed dreamily; another composition was complete.
Determined not to let the sensuous tune leave my mind, I began playing it again, making sure to memorize every note so that I would be able to play it for Bella when I saw her next. She loved hearing me play, and I loved her sitting next to me on the bench, her head resting gently on my shoulder as I let my fingers trace out a song that will make her happy.
Certain members of my family complained, Emmett in particular, that ever since I met Bella, everything I composed sounded sickening sweet and unnatural as though nothing should be able deliciously luscious.
Personally, I didn’t care. Isabella Swan has been, and forever will be my lover, my paramour, my Juliet, my muse.
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