Gentle murmurs fill the air. Voices are kept low and soft so as not to bother those who are near.
Each person is dressed in washes of dark cloth, finely tailored suits and jackets. Dresses and skirts of a conservative length.
Some wear hats and gloves. Others leave their skin and heads bare. Open to the elements around them.
The man's suit is a chocolate brown. It matches the eyes of one who gave him his. Deep, rich, cinnamon brown.
He runs a hand through the tangled mess atop his head. Waves of copper strands are tugged between irrational fingers.
This is hard. He is not ready for this day. This moment.
His eyes scan the growing crowd. He wonders briefly if all of them will fit. The space isn't small but neither is it very big.
Deep breath in, slow exhale out to calm his rapid beating heart.
Just like his father taught him.
His mind drifts back to the years already laid to rest. To masculine hands with long fingers and pale skin. Always so much bigger than his own.
He sees those hands dance across black and ivory keys. Gracefully pulling sound and rhythm and life out into the air to fall around them. To wrap around him in the essence of his father.
His voice, low and deep coaxing the young boy to try. His large hands softly lifting his much smaller ones to mimic.
Teaching him the songs to play which filled his mother's heart.
Which were crafted from his father's soul. For her, about her.
A small hand along his shoulder pulls the man back from the memories. Pulls him into the room once more. Into the light darkness he finds himself in.
Her eyes are just as his were. Green glass framed by dark lashes. Thick ropes of chestnut hair curl and fall along her shoulders. Just like her mother's.
The man pulls his sister into a tight, strong, un-breaking hug. She had them longer than he did. She had more time.
He wishes for more time.
But his father always told his mother "Wherever you go, I'll follow. I might be late but I'll get there as soon as I can."
And he did.
Bella passed in June.
Edward followed in September.
How ironic they died in the months of each other's birth. As if passing such a mile stone without the other present couldn't be borne.
For the man's father, this was probably true. All of his life, from the moment Edward found her, was dedicated to loving his Bella.
With all of his heart. His soul.
Sitting there now with the warmth of his sister pressed to him, looking so much like the first woman he ever loved, the man prays his parents have found each other again.
Tears slip down his cheeks to fall into the abyss of dark fabric below. He doesn't cry out of complete sadness. Or heartache. Or fear.
He cries for the love his parents shared. For the life they built together. For the memories he cherishes of them.
He cries for the loss of such a great love.
A love so strong and passionate that those who knew them felt its powerful touch. They mourn the loss of it, too.
The man's life and world will never be the same now that they've both gone.
But his life was so much greater because he was the product of such love.
The son of Edward and Bella Cullen.
A/N: There is the story of this Bella and Edward, I hope you enjoyed it. Many thanks to all of you for reading and even more for those of you who took the time to review, even if it was just a smiley face.
Thanks to the lovely ladies over at the Quote Me Contest for hosting something so fun and inspiring, I truly enjoyed this little adventure. If you still haven't looked at the other contestants over there, you should!
This was very different for me to write but I think it worked out. What do you think?