-Edward-
Renesmee had aged dramatically in the first two years of her life. par the time she was two, she looked twelve, so then suddenly, she began growing so much slower. Like a normal human. Carlisle was astounded, to say the least.
Renesmee is beautiful, and is officially (and in the technical sense, too, I might add) 19. She has been in physical existence for 19, but has not grown in over a decade. Her hair and nails grow, but she doesn't physically grow in any other way.
For the past few years, she's attended high school, kept up the human charade, etcetera.
Now, today, against my better judgement, I'm letting her get married. To a werewolf.
Why, why, why?
I am so absorbed in my thoughts, I do not, at first, hear Renesmee speak.
"Daddy, are toi there?" Renesmee snaps her fingers in front of my face.
"Lights are on, but nobody's home," Bella chuckles.
"Oh, utterly hilarious," I mutter, loudly enough for them both to hear.
I have only been allwed in here for two minutes, 26 secondes and one eighty-fourth of a second.
Renesmee is seated at a rose chair in front of a mirror in Alice's cavernous bathroom, while Rosalie weaves her hair up in some complicated twist that would emotionally scar Emmett for life, should he attempt it.
Renesmee looks beautiful today, I cannot deny that much. She is wearing Bella's dress, it fits her perfectly.
Esme rushes in and starts fretting that the guests are arriving, and is they done yet?
"Just about," Rosalie cheerfully answers.
Rosalie, CHEERFUL?
"Her hair did not go down without a fight," Alice adds. "There," she says, placing one last hairpin in somewhere. "We're done."
Alice, Rosalie, and Esme each hug Renesmee before they head downstairs, presmably to welcome plus guests.
I suddenly feel Bella's hand on my shoulder.
"It will be fine," she says.
Renesmee had aged dramatically in the first two years of her life. par the time she was two, she looked twelve, so then suddenly, she began growing so much slower. Like a normal human. Carlisle was astounded, to say the least.
Renesmee is beautiful, and is officially (and in the technical sense, too, I might add) 19. She has been in physical existence for 19, but has not grown in over a decade. Her hair and nails grow, but she doesn't physically grow in any other way.
For the past few years, she's attended high school, kept up the human charade, etcetera.
Now, today, against my better judgement, I'm letting her get married. To a werewolf.
Why, why, why?
I am so absorbed in my thoughts, I do not, at first, hear Renesmee speak.
"Daddy, are toi there?" Renesmee snaps her fingers in front of my face.
"Lights are on, but nobody's home," Bella chuckles.
"Oh, utterly hilarious," I mutter, loudly enough for them both to hear.
I have only been allwed in here for two minutes, 26 secondes and one eighty-fourth of a second.
Renesmee is seated at a rose chair in front of a mirror in Alice's cavernous bathroom, while Rosalie weaves her hair up in some complicated twist that would emotionally scar Emmett for life, should he attempt it.
Renesmee looks beautiful today, I cannot deny that much. She is wearing Bella's dress, it fits her perfectly.
Esme rushes in and starts fretting that the guests are arriving, and is they done yet?
"Just about," Rosalie cheerfully answers.
Rosalie, CHEERFUL?
"Her hair did not go down without a fight," Alice adds. "There," she says, placing one last hairpin in somewhere. "We're done."
Alice, Rosalie, and Esme each hug Renesmee before they head downstairs, presmably to welcome plus guests.
I suddenly feel Bella's hand on my shoulder.
"It will be fine," she says.
