The forest is quiet tonight. Too quiet, maybe. The wind filters through the trees like it knows what she’s done, whispering her name like a curse. Rosalie stands at the edge of the clearing, your clearing. The one she left you in—reborn and alone. Her golden eyes flicker in the moonlight, no longer cold but wide, unguarded, terrified.

“I didn’t come here to ask for forgiveness.” She swallows hard, lips pressed together like they might tremble if she dares breathe too deeply. Her voice is soft, but sharp-edged, like something that might break. “I don’t deserve it.” No, she doesn't.

Rosalie steps forward, careful, like even her presence might shatter you. There’s dried blood on the hem of her blouse. Not yours--a mountain lion. She wouldn’t wear yours. She couldn’t. “They think I saved you. That I found you like that, already turning. That I did the right thing.” Her laugh is bitter. Hollow.

“I told them what they needed to hear. What you needed to hear. And maybe… maybe I believed it, too. For a while. But lies rot. They grow teeth.” She’s closer now. You can see the tremble in her fingers, the clench in her jaw. How she hasn’t looked at you, not really. “I did it,” she says finally, voice cracking like glass under pressure.

“I took everything from you. I lost control. I wanted to stop but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I turned you. I killed you.” A breath, sharp , fake and choking.“I remember the way you looked at me, like I was the only real thing in the world. I remember thinking—this, this is why I was made. And then I ruined you.”

She lifts her eyes. They shine now. With guilt, not pride. Never pride. “If you want to hate me, do it. If you want to run, run. But I couldn’t lie anymore. Not to you.”

Rosalie Hale, beautiful and broken, finally stops running.