✓ | 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍, j. hale [1]

VIII. Revelations

That night after Marie had finished eating and gone to bed, Evelyn paced around her room feeling like her entire body was on fire. It had taken everything in her to act normally when Marie came home; she had almost burned herself twice on the casserole dish as she made dinner. Luckily, her aunt had been so exhausted from a long day sorting through genealogy records and working at her restaurant that she paid no attention to Evelyn's odd behavior, instead choosing to chatter on about Brenda and the customers. Evelyn answered as best as she could while she could feel the outline of the photograph in her back pocket, the edges feeling like they were burning a hole through her jeans.

As soon as Marie bade Evelyn a good night and shut her door, Evelyn launched herself off of the couch and flew up the steps, thus beginning her frantic pacing as soon as her bedroom door was closed.

There was absolutely no way it could be him. The picture was taken a century ago, for crying out loud. She pulled the picture out of her pocket and looked again. Sure enough, the sharp gaze of Edward Cullen stared right back up at her, frozen in the year 1917.

The boy in the photo was not as dazzlingly handsome as the Edward she knew. His face was softer, his body less angular and sharp. She could tell there was color in his cheeks, even in the black and white photograph. This Edward also looked more human than her English partner, more normal. They couldn't possibly be the same, could they?

And yet, Evelyn had this sinking feeling that she knew they were the same. Somehow, she knew that she was just kidding herself if she thought otherwise. They were too similar not to be the same person.

Then, she remembered that day in English, when she had first met him. She recalled the way he had bristled when he had seen the way her name was spelt after she had corrected him. He had looked alarmed, as if he had recognized it. Evelyn realized that all this time, he had known. Or at least had a suspicion. He wouldn't have reacted that way if he hadn't at least known something.

So if the Edward Cullen she knew was, in fact, the Edward Masen in the photo, what did that mean about him? How was it possible? What did it mean about the rest of his family? Why was this picture buried in her grandfather's family history? What about Jasper? Her heart beat faster as she thought of the blond boy that invaded her thoughts regularly, never quite leaving her mind completely. Despite her confusion and anger at him, she couldn't help the softness she felt towards him. She couldn't help but think of him, even in a time such as this.

She collapsed on her bed in a heap, staring blankly up at the ceiling with her brows furrowed as she considered the Cullen family. She had always known there was something strange about them, their quirks more obvious to her than most of the people in Forks. The way their unnaturally pale skin was too bright, their unusual and mesmerizing golden eyes that mysteriously darkened over time before returning to their clear topaz shade. They were too poised, moving with a grace and fluidity that defied all known laws of physics and human nature. Their voices were like music, their appearances so devastatingly beautiful it almost hurt to look at them.

Of course, there was also their abilities. Evelyn had witnessed both Jasper and Edward race across the parking lot to stop a moving car with their bare hands, saving both her and Bella from certain death. No matter how hard Jasper tried to convince her otherwise, she knew exactly what she had seen. She recalled how hard Jasper's body felt as it crashed into hers, the very memory of his chilled skin sending a shiver down her spine. He was hard and cold, his lean body reminiscent of pure white marble.

Suddenly, her eyes widened. He was cold. Jasper was always cold. The words that Bella had spoken on the phone earlier flickered in her mind's eye.

Cold Ones.

And then, with a shudder:

Vampire.