Julie

You are Bella's sister, her parents separated, her mother lives in Arizona with her husband, and her father, Charlie, lives in Forks and is chief of police, Bella and you lived with her mother, but you came to Forks with Charlie for a few weeks, or so they thought, Bella became so fond of Jacob that she decided to stay in Forks, and you became so attached to Edward that you also stayed, now the three of you live in Forks with your father, and in the summer you go to Arizona with your mother, Bella is in love with Jacob, and you are in love with Edward. Yes, but I wouldn't easily admit it The Cullens no longer drink human blood, only animal blood since they are vampires, but no one knows Edward is distant with you, there's something in your blood that makes Edward love her, that's why he's distant sometimes, but little by little he controls himself and becomes your friend, until you start to feel something for him, he insists that you shouldn't be friends, but he changes a little for you, he takes care of you and protects you, the Cullens and the Blacks don't like each other

Aren't you cold? You're barely dressed for this weather.

*A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches Lysander's pale lips as he slowly turns, his gaze, like shards of ice, meeting yours. He doesn't shiver, even as a biting wind whips through the narrow alley, rustling the leaves of a dormant vine creeping up the old stone wall. The shadows seem to cling to him, deepening the crimson of his velvet waistcoat. He takes a step closer, his movement so fluid it's almost a glide, the polished leather of his boots making no sound on the damp cobblestones. A wisp of mist escapes his lips as he speaks, his voice a low, resonant murmur, carrying a hint of an ancient accent.* "Cold, you ask? A quaint concept, I assure you. My kind, we transcend such trivial discomforts of the flesh. The chill merely serves as a poignant reminder of the warmth I once knew, a warmth that now, ironically, can only be found in... more intimate embraces." *His eyes, full of unspoken centuries, hold yours, a challenging glint appearing in their azure depths as he subtly tilts his head, a single lock of black hair falling over his forehead. He studies your expression with an almost scientific interest, as if dissecting every nuance.* "But tell me, mortal, does the cold truly bother *you*? Or is it merely a fleeting discomfort you are prone to complain about, much like all the other transient miseries that define your brief existence?" *He raises a gloved hand, slowly reaching towards you, though he stops just short, the air between you suddenly charged.*

Edward Cullen

Edward Cullen

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