A/N: I honestly can't tell you where the inspiration for this story came from. I just had an urge to write an Edward/Rosalie pairing and thought it would be neat to examine their relationship before Emmett or Bella came along. Though they obviously did not end up together, I think it's neat to think that it could've started out that way.

It's rated T, which is feel is the appropriate rating. But it is on the brink of M, so please let me know if you feel the rating should be upped.

Crimson flowers spreading across her white lace skirt. Hair tangled and bloody. Flawless skin now ravaged by cuts and bruises. The work of man.

Who could do this? he thought, taking her delicate hand in his own. He could not understand the perverted mind of man, how his heart could be so cruel. Even he, a terrible monster, a leech, a soulless demon, could not bear to treat a person in this manner.

He could still feel her pulse, beating slowly, pulsing weakly. It stuttered and faded and stuttered again, pounding sporadically, slowly dying.

He did not have much time. His decision would need to be hasty lest her heartbeat completely fade away.

He looked at her face. Beneath the dirt and grime, beneath the welts and bruises, beneath the hurt and pain, he could tell that she was very beautiful.

But was beauty enough?

He thought of the boy back at home, the dark, grim boy with the once-green eyes.

Could she be enough? Could she brighten his smile? Could she offer him what he needed most—the delicate caress of a woman, the ecstasy of passion, burning kisses, soothing words, the heart that would pour out her love to make him whole?

A soft moan escaped her lips—a final cry for help, a gentle sigh of acceptance, the bitter words of resentment—he did not know. But he would have the opportunity to ask—because his decision was made.

He scooped her frail, mangled body into his arms. Her head rested in the crook of his neck; he lowered his lips to her ear.

"You will live." A promise. A confirmation. A reason to hope.

And then he ran.

"What is she doing here?"

Carlisle lifted his head to see the dark boy standing above him, his eyes smoldering, his lips pulled into a thin line.

He glanced from the dark boy to the beautiful girl withering in agony on the bed before him. She cried out in pain; the venom had already begun to run its course.

As soon as Carlisle had returned home, Esme had greeted him, and upon seeing the broken girl in his arms, she had rushed to prepare a bed for her in the spare room.

"Will she make it?" The words softly escaped Esme's delicate lips as she rested a hand on her husband's shoulder.

Carlisle was wondering the same thing, though he did not voice this aloud. Her heart beat was now so faint that he could barely make it out, even with his acute hearing.

Slowly, he lent in, skimming his teeth across her neck. She smelt of death. Carlisle knew, no matter how good the deed, that he was defying the natural order of things.

But he thought of the dark boy.

His teeth sank in, venom flowing from his lips. The taste of her blood lingered in his mouth, but he had trained himself so thoroughly to be indisposed to its alluring scent and flavor that he barely noticed.

She didn't move.

No reaction.

Esme dared to catch her husband eyes. As soon as their gazes met, she wished she hadn't. Her angel, her savior, had failed, and the pain at the thought of another soul lost brought him anguish.

"At least you tried."

Not enough.

Not enough for the man who wished to save the world.

But then—a blood curdling scream, the essence of agony. A sound of joy to the savior's ears.

Now the dark boy stood before him. Carlisle could feel his eyes boring into his skin, searching his mind.

"She was so broken, so close to death, Edward," Carlisle explained, though he needn't have. Edward could already see that and more.

"You brought her for me?"

Carlisle had been trying to avoid his other motive for saving the beautiful girl's life. He sighed deeply, unable to speak at first.

"Edward, I only want you to be happy," he finally spoke. "I want you to have what Esme and I have—it only seems fair. I hate to see you this way."

It was true; ever since the savior had carried Esme's broken body in through their doors and made her a permanent addition to their lives, Edward had pushed himself even further away. He seemed even less content with his existence. Sometimes Carlisle wondered if it had been a mistake to save Edward, though that assumption pained Carlisle; he loved Edward as though he were his own son. He wanted more than anything to make the boy happy.

"Would you at least give her a chance?" Carlisle looked at his son, his eyes pleading.

Edward pursed his lips. "Do you even have any idea what she's been through?" Edward spat bitterly.

Carlisle's breath caught in his throat. "I have my assumptions…"

"But you can't see it—even the pain this transformation's causing her cannot mask the pain he inflicted on her…" Edward threw a look at the girl withering in agony. Esme had tried her best to clean her up and put her in a clean dress, but the painted bruises on her face could not be hidden. "I doubt she'd even want to get anywhere close to me…"

Carlisle sighed. "You're right…I'm sorry. But maybe this will be beneficial to the both of you. You can heal each other's wounds…"

Always the optimist, Edward thought. The savior was the polar opposite of the dark boy.

Edward decided to humor him; it was the least he could do for the man who had become so much like his father. "We'll see. We'll see…"

The girl did not know where she was. She didn't recognize the dark bedroom, the soft comforter wrapped around her, or even the dress she wore.

She didn't even recognize herself.

That girl—the one who felt so whole, so alive, so energetic—could not be her.

She was broken, vulnerable—she was dead.

The door to the room creaked open slowly; she immediately squeezed her eyes shut.

"She's awake," a low voice grunted.

She willed herself not to breathe, and as soon as she stopped her breath, an odd sensation overcame her. She realized she didn't need to breathe.

I really must be dead, she marveled.

The man—she knew it was a man even though she hadn't looked—emitted a faint chuckle.

She felt another person enter the room—another man, she decided. He sat down on the edge of her bed. She waited for her heart to begin to pound in her chest, and was shocked to find that she could not detect a heartbeat at all, not even a faint one.

"It's all right," the voice whispered. "You can open your eyes now. We won't hurt you."

The voice was alluring. It was gentle and comforting.

She opened her eyes.

The most beautiful creature she had even seen sat before her.

"Where am I?" she finally managed to mumble, surprised by the clarity of her own voice.

It was the dark boy in the corner who spoke. Though his voice was gruff and unsympathetic, the words he said gave her a sense of hope.

"You are home."

Her name was Rosalie.

It was a name that fit her. She was as beautiful as the flower she was named for.

She was vengeful; she was sweet; she was bold; she was timid. Her mind was shallow as well as deep. She was so easy to read, yet full of mystery.

Rosalie enthralled Edward.

The dark boy would sit and read her mind, trying to piece each part together, trying to fully discover her.

"What do you think of her?" The savior had asked him, observing as the dark boy watched her from a distance.

The beautiful girl was helping Esme hang the wash on the line in the back garden. In their secluded house situated a fair distance from the neighboring town, they did not need to hide. Shards of light reflected off Rosalie's skin, making her look like a many faceted crystal goblet.

Edward could not answer. He did not know what he thought of her.

He only knew that the further he pushed her away, the more he ached for the beautiful girl.

Setting sun, bleeding into the soft pink sky. He watched its crown rest on the brink of the horizon.

He did not see her at first, her soft footsteps barely grazing the foliage.

Edward.

Not aloud, but in his mind, he heard the word. Like a soft sigh, it floated from her, mingling with the air until it vanished into wisps so subtly that he could barely even be sure he heard it.

He turned.

The crimson sun reflected from her granite skin, illuminating her perfect body, her perfect face. The essence of radiance, the epitome of perfection, the desire of any man.

Except for the dark boy.

"Edward."

She spoke out loud this time, ambling seductively toward him, narrowing her eyes in an alluring manner.

To say he was not smitten with her would be a lie.

Her arms snaked around his torso, sliding dangerously close to the waist line of his pants.

He stiffened.

"Why must you always push me away?" she pouted, lowering her face toward his.

He didn't answer; he only pulled his lips into a tight line.

She rested her hand against his stone cold chest, tracing the icy contours of his skin through the thin material of his shirt.

"Rosalie," he moaned. He clasped his hand on top of her, the one that rested on his heart. "Please…"

"Am I not beautiful enough for you?" she asked slyly. The dark boy could see the smile tug at the corners of her lips. She knew more than well that her beauty could outshine even the most glamorous mortal.

"Of course you are beautiful," he murmured, taking a strand of her hair and tucking it gently behind her ear.

"Then let me have you, Edward. Your heart is stone. Let me warm it. Let me heal it." Her words were desperate. She tugged open the buttons of his shirt and placed her hand against his sculpted chest, the place where his heart once pounded.

"I need you, Edward," she murmured, resting her cheek against his chest. "I need you."

In her mind, she showed him her pain. She showed him the gaping hole that had been torn in her heart. She showed him the bitter tears she was unable to cry.

She showed the dark boy an image of himself.

Cold, dark, lonely. Aching as well.

In her mind, the beautiful girl was smiling, cloaked in sunlight. Before her, the dark boy stood smiling. His bronze hair shimmered from the glow of the beautiful girl's skin. His eyes were brilliant green once again.

The beautiful girl danced into his arms, and he gladly swept her into his embrace, dipping her into a passionate kiss. They sunk to the ground. The cloak of sunlight melted away, leaving them both completely exposed.

Edward pulled his mind away from her fantasy and caught the gaze of the beautiful girl.

They were not the same eyes as the girl in her mind, not on the surface at least. But behind the layers of pain and grief, he could see a faint glimmer.

Just as the beautiful girl could see a faint touch of green in the livid black eyes of the dark boy.

Very slowly, the dark boy leant in to skim his lips against hers. A soft sigh escaped her lips as they parted.

They fell to the ground, softly, as he pulled his lips away from hers.

"You are beautiful," he told her, the words filled with poignant meaning this time.

Gently, he undid the buttons of her dress, prying it away so her shoulders were bare. He bent over to press his lips against the icy skin. She closed her eyes, delighting in the feel of his lips against her skin.

They shed their clothing, one article at a time, fighting against their quivering excitement to take each step slowly.

The dark boy pulled himself on top of her, gently lowering her head to ground. He leant over to kiss her neck. A soft sigh escaped her lips.

And suddenly it became too much for them to bear. Rosalie hitched legs around his waist, groaning, screaming, delighting in the pure pleasure of the very touch of him. She pulled him inside of her, forgetting everything. Forgetting her pain.

Forgetting herself.

Together they made each other whole.

Darkness now surrounded them, wrapping the dark boy and the beautiful girl in a blanket of deep purple velvet. Together, they lay naked, tangled in each other's embrace, gazing up at the celestial dome, counting the myriad of stars.

"Do you think they are wondering where we are?" Rosalie murmured, her lips against Edward's throat.

He knew she was referring to the savior and his wife. "I'd be surprised if they didn't know where we were," he said with a chuckle, running his fingers through her hair. He gently kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger on her smooth skin for a moment.

Rosalie's musical laugh joined his deep chortle as they glanced around the surrounding forest and the devastation they had caused. Giant trees snapped completely in half, massive boulders smashed and crumbled. A hurricane of loving making, a tempest of passion.

He traced her body delicately with the tip of his finger, the length of her breast to her thigh. She shivered against him, craving his touch.

"We should be heading home soon," he whispered, biting gently at her earlobe.

"Never!" Rosalie laughed, throwing her body on top of his and pinning his arms to the ground. "You are my prisoner!" She pressed her body tightly against his, making him moan in pleasure.

"Rosalie…" he warned, but made no attempt to throw her body off of his. He skimmed his fingers across her breast, tracing each contour of her perfect body.

"You cannot escape," the beautiful girl threatened him, pressing her lips desperately against his. "You are mine. Forever."

The dark boy freed his arms from her grasp, cupping her face in his hands. "Forever," he repeated. "Forever."