And Everyone Was Smiling


Well, sort of—not much to do with the plot. But this is Rosalie's story completely told from her POV. You know, when she said everything about Royce King and his friends? This is that night… God, I feel sorry for her.

I don't own Twilight/New Moon/Eclipse.


Rochester, New York, 1933



The cold night air rushed painfully into my body—creating a sensation of terribly stings across the veins of my fragile flesh. The blood coursing through my body was slowly beginning to freeze over. However, my legs continued moving at the pace of near panic as the cold steadily increased. But my thoughts roamed to other concerns—concerns that centered intensely on the nearing wedding.

'My wedding,' I thought, with blissful happiness. Of course, a strain persisted between me and my fiancé, but nothing that could ever diminish my happiness. It was everything I've ever dreamed of (from the moment my eyes set sight on Vera's husband and their son). I wanted that more than anything—to prance around for as long as my life lasted, with my husband by my side.

Royce King was handsome and wonderful; showing me—the beautiful and elegant Rosalie Hale—off with such pride to everyone. I was his jewel, something he could be proud of, and I didn't care—so long as he continued staring at me with those azure eyes of his. And as the days progressed since our engagement, nothing but purely wonderful daydreams about the large, golden and flowery wedding we would have. And the children, too!

I sighed dreamily, mesmerized by these fantasies.

The hat on my head fluttered as another gush of wind howled and swirled around me. Squinting my eyes, I made my way even quicker down the street, all the while worrying if the wedding should take place indoors due to this sudden viciously freezing weather. The streets were dark and empty. The lamps that lined the road all burned brightly, illuminating the dim dark of the night.

Had it been wise to leave Vera's home and walk alone?

These petty cautious thoughts were shoved aside when the perfectly adorable image of Henry's soft pink cheeks and wide innocent eyes flashed across my mind, almost taunting. The thought of producing a brilliant child with Royce was undeniably tormenting! I wanted a child—son or daughter—to adore and stare down at with compassion whenever I held him or her.

A loud cluttering sounded, breaking me away from my inner dreams. My feet slowed their pace, while my eyes wandered to where the noise came from… and then I spotted them, frightening and boisterous—a group of men, each as drunk as the other.

Hoping they didn't notice me, I continued walking, more silent.


I stopped, eyes widening, and turn to stare at them. They were finely dressed, but their eyes were blank, lost… But the one who had called my name sauntered over to me—me, who was so close to them now; standing under the shattered streetlight. The one man, the one I stepped away from, was my prince… My Royce…

He threw a sluggish arm around my shoulder, the force slightly painful. "Here's my Rose!" I wanted to protest when he dragged me roughly over to the men until I was close enough to smell the alcohol stench. Confusion swept across my disoriented mind… Royce didn't drink… Well, he had stated to hate champagne… Did that mean he preferred something… stronger…?

Fear sliced through the chill of my body.

"You're late," Royce droned, his words slurring, "We're cold, you've kept us waiting too long."

I attempted to speak—to voice my puzzled state of mind and demand what he was doing—but my voice died into a whimper. They were laughing as if the funniest of jokes had been told. They were in a drunken stupor, and Royce moved his hand down so that he was clutching my arm; to yank me closer so that a man I've never seen before could examine me with his vacant eyes.

"What did I tell you John?" Royce chimed in a shrill tone, "Isn't she lovelier than all your Georgia peaches?" I meekly attempted to shove away from him, but his fingers were digging deep into my skin; an unbreakable grip.

'John', his dark hair disheveled, observed every curve of my body, as though contemplating if I was a ripe enough fruit in a market isle. After a prolonged examination, his lips curled into a hideous, devious smile that even I could clearly make out under the lack of light.

"It's hard to tell. She's all covered up."

Another outburst of drained laughter erupted, much to my horror. The cold became worse; thickening the air. Without warning, the beautiful jacket that had been a gift from Royce was viciously torn off my shoulder and tossed onto the wet ground, with the buttons scattering under our feet. The scream for help and desperation caught on my throat, and Royce's words weren't much of an aid.

"Show him what you look like, Rose!"

The hat on my head was yanked off; however, being snared with tresses of golden hair. The fine strands were ripped from their roots, causing a pang of hissing pain to shoot from my scalp and down my arms. I yelped out in pain, and the laughter and snorting became progressively louder. Not even a single scream tore from my chest when all hell had broken loose.

And that night, gripping and groping and touching and other vulgar acts were ensued between each man, onto me. However, it was Royce's blatant kissing and psychical pain that fueled my dying body with betrayal and sorrow. My perfect prince was nowhere near perfect. I was wishing and hoping for it all to be over soon, and it did… several long minutes later…

They—while laughing and teasing Royce about the loss of his bride—left me there, broken and battered on the side of the freezing street. My body was twisted as I stared up and into the black sky. The moon, so full and bright, seemed to be slipping from my vision. The pain was even worse from the cold and the hardness of the cement under my back.

Something freezing and wet brushed against my nose, and with forced effort, I concentrated on my sight. Snow began falling onto the earth; coming down in small flakes. Licking my blue lips, I simply stared… and stared… praying that the pain would be over… To keep up hope, I held the smiling face of Henry in my mind, his cooing delightful.

An angel appeared, face contorted with pain, and I recognized him as Dr. Cullen—Carlisle. His beautiful features seemed to mimic my pain, and his hands smoothly worked all around my body, frantic, as if there was a way to end the pain. But when it continued, I doubted him, the man I loathed (along with his family) because of their rivaling beauty.

"You'll be okay," he promised, voice velvet and silk.

I gritted my teeth. "L-Let me d-die…"

I was then lifted from the ground, and we were flying… The world that surrounded me was a blur. But the pain was intensifying, but all I could process was the annoyance that was directed toward the angel that was Dr. Cullen. What was he doing with me? If he couldn't stop the pain, then why would I care about his help?

Warmth greeted me. The pain seemed to dull… almost…

Fire shot through my body, coming from every side and jabbing at me.

… Fate had arrived.



Whimpering and pleading to be killed was the only way I could calm myself. Screaming had long been tossed aside, for it was doing no good in decreasing the intense fire and heat that snapped my body in half and boiled my once frozen blood. Voices… They were surrounding me. It was Dr. Cullen, his compassionate wife, Esme, and her arrogant brother, Edward.

All perfect.

"What were you thinking, Carlisle?" Edward demanded, eyes black as far as I could tell, "Rosalie Hale?"

I sputtered at the sound of my name. But his voice was bothered, as if my name was poison on his perfect lips. I could barely see through the veil of thickness that shrouded my vision, but I made out the carefulness etched onto Carlisle's face.

"I couldn't just let her die. It was too much—too horrible, too much waste."

Carlisle's voice was soft, almost… shamed?

"I know," Edward sighed, but still agitated. 'He knows?' I thought bitingly, wanting to stand on my two feet and scream at him. How dare you to think you know the pain I am suffering from; the anger and malice for what you people are doing to me! Carlisle merely repeated what he had spoken, in which the soft-voiced Esme stepped in.

"Of course you couldn't…"

Edward's eyes were hard, his nostrils flared. "People die all the time. Don't you think she's just a little recognizable, though? The Kings will have to put up a search—not that anyone suspects the fiend." His last words came out into a terrible growl that sent a small surge of gratitude throughout my burning body: they understood and knew that it was Royce who had violated and destroyed me.

The burning, I realized, was dim… draining… Strength was pushing against my limbs, as if urging me to stand and return to my normal state. Their roughly silky voices were becoming more understandable.

"What are we going to do with her?" Disgust laced through his words.

Carlisle didn't hesitate. "That's up to her, of course. She may want to go her own way."

On… my… own… way…? His words sounded terribly wrong. But I understood that the fiery pain wasn't anywhere near human. No human could experience such intensity and live. No human… My life was over, wasn't it? A new beginning was approaching… one that I wouldn't be pleased with. I could almost feel the misery that was ready to hit me when I uncovered the truth.

Would I be ready?



The strength. The beauty. The perfection… This would all come in handy, I had thought, while roaming the bleak streets—the streets were fate had arrived and my life had ended. My sharp sense of sight easily caught them, along with the brutal and foul stench that lingered by. My heart, which did not beat, seemed to tighten drastically. With my jaw set, I approached them, the hem of the long gown dragging on the cement.

Their laughing and shouting died down once I had revealed myself under the stream of the light. John and another of them stumbled forward, attempting to catch a better look at the angel in the white gown. However, a smirk played across my face at the horror that formed on their faces. Shouting at each other, the two men ran, soon following by Royce and two others.

The speed.

How wonderful.

John—who was in the lead—slammed right into me (me, who had suddenly appeared in front of him). The man behind him also halted, but not soon enough, for he was crushed into John's back. With stealth and carefulness, I crushed their lungs and heart, not daring to spill much evidence; said evidence being blood—blood that I couldn't resist.

The monster that I was rejoiced.

"What the hell—?"

The third man's words were ceased with a simple blow that destroyed his skull. I stood there, standing over their bodies. An even wider, twisted smile carved onto my face when I realized that Royce, my 'prince', had scurried away.

'You can't hide…'

Several minutes later and I was opening the door; stepping over the dead bodies of the two guards. Inside the square room, Royce cowered against the far corner. Then, as I took another step, my entire frame was visible in his line of sight. He would see the beautiful fiancée of his that had been presumed dead; clad in a glowing white wedding dress. He would stare into vivid ruby orbs that gazed back at him with malice and smugness.

He would see his ghostly white bride.

That evening was spent with taunts and mocks thrown at him, before I finally grew weary and killed him—killed him in a slow and painful process that forced screams and sputters of blood to spew from his mouth.

His was a good death.

I smiled.