...But the man who spoke first wore one of the long robes. It was pitch-black, and brushed against the floor.
For a moment, I thought his long, jet-black hair was the hood of his cloak.
"Jane, dear one, you've returned!" he cried in evident delight. His voice was just a soft sighing.
He drifted forward, and the movement flowed with such surreal grace that I gawked, my mouth hangmg
open. Even Alice, whose every motion looked like dancing, could not compare.
I was only more astonished as he floated closer and I could see his face. It was not like the unnaturally
attractive faces that surrounded him (for he did not approach us alone; the entire group converged
around him, some following, and some walking ahead of him with the alert manner of bodyguards). I
couldn't decide if his face was beautiful or not. I suppose the features were perfect. But he was as
different from the vampires beside him as they were from me. His skin was translucently white, like
onionskin, and it looked just as delicate—it stood in shocking contrast to the long black hair that framed
his face. I felt a strange, horrifying urge to touch his cheek, to see if it was softer than Edward's or
Alice's, or if it was powdery, like chalk. His eyes were red, the same as the others around him, but the
color was clouded, milky; I wondered if his vision was affected by the haze...