These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and power,

Which, as they kiss, consume.

Romeo and Juliet Act Ⅱ, Scene Ⅵ

PARTY

I was Ninety nine point nine percent sure I was dreaming.

Edwerd. Even though I was always thrilled to see him-conscious or otherwise-and even though

I was almost positive that I was dreaming,

And I was looking at my Grandma Marie. What was she doing here in my dream? What had

she been up to in the past six year?

I panicked as Grand didn’t know that I was in love with a vampire-nobody knew that-so how

was I supposed to explain the fact that the –brilliant sunbeams were shattering off his skin into

a thousand rainbow shards like he was made of crustal or diamond?

 Gran’s expression surprised me. Instead of looking horrified, she was staring at me sheepishly,

as if waiting for a scolding. I raised the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Edwerd’s waist and

 reached out to touch her. She mimicked the movement exactly, mirrored it . But where out

 fingers should have met, there was nothing but cold glass…There was no Gran.

That was me. Me in a mirror. Me-ancient, creased, and withered .

Edwerd stood beside me, casting no reflection, excruciatingly lovely and forever seventeen.

He pressed  his ice, perfect lips against my wasted cheek

“ Happy birthday “ He whispered.

I was officially eighteen years old. I’d been dreading this day for months.

 All through the perfect summer-the happiest summer I had ever had, the happiest summer

 anyone anywhere had ever had, and , the rainiest summer in the history of the Olympic

Peninsula-this bleak date had lurked in ambush, waiting to spring. And now that it had hit,

it was even worse than I’d feared it would be.

I could feel it-I was older. Every day I got older, bit this was different, worse, quantifiable.