hey guys, again, i feel like i'm doing this a lot, but i'm afraid i'm here to stay. this is really just Rosalie moping about herself, and how perfect she is, or isn't . depends on how you look at it. this story is all because i think Rosalie is misunderstood.

Disclaimer: Rosalie: she owns nothing guys, sorry.

me: thanks Rose.

Rosalie

The mirror reflected her perfectly. Perfect. She hated the word. Loathed it with a passion that outstripped anything else in her world.

Because it was her world. Rosalie Lillian Hale. She got what she wanted. No matter what. Because she was oh-so pretty, beautiful. Perfect. And everyone lived to please her.

She scowled at her reflection, and it didn't suit her face, made her look almost ugly. And as much as she hated perfect, she hated being ugly even more. Couldn't really stand the thought of it, for surly being pretty was her only advantage.

Her golden curls flowed down her back in small ringlets. Her face was framed beautifully by them.

Her face was angular, straight. Pretty.

Her eyes were set in just the right position on her face; they sparkled, and made her pearly white skin glow.

Her nose was straight, and had a cute button on the end.

And her lips, they were proportioned amazingly the top just slightly plumper than the bottom, and they coloured a nice pale pink. And when she smiled her teeth shone.

She was beautiful. Perfect. She was Rosalie Lillian Hale, and she sat there, in front of her mirror, and listened to the happy banter downstairs, the whole place reeking of human.

And, in all her perfection, she mentally sneered the word; she could help but wish she had shiny brown hair, and a pretty heart shaped face, within deep chocolate eyes, and a face flushed with pink, because she would have blood to make it pink, and she would have a heart beat and she would be warm, and she would have everything that silly little girl was giving away.

She could have a child. A beautiful baby. And she could be happy.

She did this a lot these days, since that girl had come along. She'd fantasise what it would be like to be the weak little human, and she loved what she saw.

There was a dull thud from downstairs and she woke from her day-dreaming, and saw her own perfect face in the mirror, and then she knew she couldn't handle this anymore. She just couldn't.

A roar burst from the very depths of her soul and her fist went flying forward, right into the heart of the mirror. It cracked, and smashed, and the pieces fell one by one to the ground. As did she.

A strangled cry burst from her lips.

Her pale fingers twined into her golden locks and she pulled. She imagined pulling out her long beautiful hair. Pulling a few chunks from her face, ripping out those eyes that were so perfectly set in there. And she wondered, almost sadistically, who would love her then. Would anyone? Probably not.

She didn't care, she would give her beauty up, she knew, any day, to get what she wanted more than anything else.

She wouldn't be whole, not until all that pretty went flying out the window and someone saw her for her, and loved her, and perfect would describe nothing about her.

Because in all honesty, who in this world was perfect? Certainly not her, for in all her perfection, she was imperfect.

And that sounded really good.

Imperfect.

well? like it? hate it? i don't really care, i'm just in it for the reviews.

what? what? i'm joking. jeesh. i'm in it because i love it. duh. but you know, now tha it's mentioned you could review, if you feel like it.