Esme reached and stroked the side of Alice's raised face. Her voice defended them. Them -- their action, and them -- their family. And still in that face, her beloved cheerful daughter, defending both, was such utter, warped exhaustion.

There are words for how wrong it comes off because of that. Esme only stepped close to the edge of the couch, directing Alice's head against her side, as her fingers slipped through the short black hair and she could not help looking back to Edward and Carlisle and Jasper.