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Charlotte lay perfectly still on a table eerily similar to the one Bella had been placed upon during her transformation. Her figure was serene, her hands delicately folded over her stomach as if she were a princess in an endless slumber. But unlike a fairytale, this princess had no heartbeat. The quiet was deafening—her chest no longer rose with breath, and the soft rhythm of her heart had ceased entirely the moment she took the potion and Emmett sank his teeth into her wrist.
Three days had passed since that moment. The Cullens, scattered throughout the room, had grown accustomed to the silence surrounding her. The house was steeped in anticipation, waiting for the outcome of her transformation.
Emmett stayed closest of all, standing beside her motionless body, his hand wrapped around hers as though his touch, anchoring her through this. He refused to leave her side, his golden eyes fixed on her face, searching for even the slightest flicker of movement—a flutter of her eyelids, a twitch of her lips—anything that would tell him she was coming back to him. His once vibrant golden eyes dimmed with each day he did not feed, he couldn't risk leaving her and her waking up without him there.
"Is he still not feeding?" Esme asked softly, her voice laced with concern as she glanced at her husband, Carlisle.
Carlisle met her gaze and gave a subtle shake of his head; the weight of the situation clear in his expression. Without another word, both turned their attention back to Emmett. His gaze was locked onto Charlotte's peaceful face, his focus unwavering as he gently traced his thumb over the back of her hand.
"Should it be taking this long?" Esme asked, her voice breaking the heavy silence. Her concern for her daughter-in-law was evident om the tension lining her voice and the worry etched across her flawless features.
"I don't know," Carlisle admitted, his gaze shifting to meet Esme's. If she were human, he might have had an answer, but in all his centuries on this earth, he'd never witnessed a witch undergo the transformation into a vampire. The uncertainty left him at a loss for what to expect.
"She will wake up," Emmett murmured, his voice low but firm, as though reassuring both Esme and Carlisle—and perhaps himself—that Charlotte would endure this and return to him.
Suddenly, everyone in the room froze, their postures tense, as though they could sense something approaching—something they didn't recognise. Before anyone could react, an unseen force hurled them off their feet, scattering them in different directions. Each impact reverberated through the room like massive boulders crashing into solid surfaces, the sound echoing through the room.
The Cullens recovered in an instant, their vampiric reflexes bringing them back to their feet in a blur. Their sharp gazes darted to the table where Charlotte still lay, motionless. It was clear she couldn't have been the source of the force that had thrown them. Before they could piece together what had happened, four figures materialized in the room in the blink of an eye.
