Just another story. Different from White*cough, cough* other story that a lot of individuals ripped into. Changed the style of writing for this one, which isn't so hard as I thought it'd be. Alright it was really hard to, but eh, who cares how many days I spent trying to.

Time leap next chapter and I think you'll (maybe) like the flip of the script I have planned. It'll sorta kind, maybe not so much follow the books/movie.

But. Alice has visions, and her visions are much more vivid than most like to indulge her with.


Solitude was, harmonious, and tranquil—an embodiment of her. A moment in which she could dwell on the emptiness that elucidated her life ("her second death.") Seclusion was all that the universe had to offer her while her blood was still warm, oh how the reverence of that stillness calls to her. Quiet and hallow; a solace from the pain that had erupted with her murder. Death, she found, was a liberty because it offered much more than desolation that life itself could only give. She delved into the infatuation of aloneness far too often for it to be deemed an activity but submerged into it far too many times for it not to be a livelihood.

Death had accepted her with the warmth of solitude (no more screams, even more silent than her pleas, far more serene than her hurt.) And it had been divine, but only momentary. He had replaced the silence, her white noise with a fire hellbent on ruination, her savior had her part with death. Ripped her from the space of alone and thrust her into the arms of another death—only this one was not as giving.


Rosalie draws her attention from the paved road and onto her family. Tentative smiles peer at her with acceptance and empathy. A pain of her own reflective in the eight pair of honey orbs cautious of her.

She removes herself from the perch atop her polished convertible and inclines her head mutely. Silence offers much more than the devastation of them and the scene of them all. (Hands firmly complacent in their respective partners hand. Souls content in this 'life.') They take to her reverence for silence willfully. And they all lead her towards the cafeteria with low murmurs to themselves on the casual conversation about some new student meant to be here today.

Forks, she deemed, was ordinarily stifled by plain occurrences. It rained, rained, and continued on with an occasional sunny afternoon; of which often lead to an evening of rain. If the dreary clouds did not dampen her mood, then surly it was the overly optimistic townsmen that insisted on over compensating for their drab weather. They had not created a façade, but more of an insistent candor—the people here were, very much open, but only in a reserved manner.

(Forks also gave her seclusion in its own right.)

A wave of venom pooled into her mouth once they entered the well assembled cafeteria. It provided her with the putrid smell she despised more than any. Blood. It was a melodic call to her, but it seemed so bleak and vile with her history with it.

"Oh, there she is." Alice whispers so only the small group could hear. "She's…"

"Plain? Human?" Emmett offers with a small chuckle.

Rosalie lifts her head at the fresh scent as her nostrils flare at the novel aroma, however potent and unusual, she does not meet the scene that would arrive with the smell. Instead her stare remains constant as her eyes trace the specs of dirt lining the tiled floor, but her ears selectively open in piqued interest while the chatter of the cafeteria had hushed substantially with their arrival.

Still. She precisely identifies the conversation she'd intended to find.

"You've noticed the actual beauty of the student body…Those are the Cullens. The shortest one who looks like she's about to implode with happiness is Alice, the one next to her who looks like he's in physical pain is Jasper, and the other one who looked like someone pissed in his cereal is Edward—"

"What's—who's the blonde?"

Rosalie flinches at the contentment in the overly meek voice, or maybe it's the ambivalent timber hidden in the low inquiry.

"Oh' that 'goddess' is Rosalie. She doesn't talk much but when she does, she can be an absolute bitch."

Her lips curl into an entertained smile at the bitter comment. And she returns her attention to her own table as a sardonic chortle ensues from her coven. The chatter from the table she'd been invasive to shifts onto a new topic as she toys with an apple Edward had rolled to her in the midst of it all.

"I think that's your cue to turn down the animosity Rosalie and Edward." Alice advises easily.

Edward settles the small vampire with a bored stare, and her own shoulders lift noncommittally. The reactions elicit a cackle from Emmett and a strained but honest smile from Jasper. The innocuous educes the spat she apathetically listens to as the table share trivial barb with one another.


Her neck cranes towards the whisper of her name, head tilted deliberately in the direction of her caller. She observes a plain thick sweater, washed jeans, and dirty converse. A gently sloped nose, pale but lively cheeks, dark brown hair, and a dainty unadorned frame is all that she accounts for. Then her stare is matched mutely—doe eyes meet her own contrite and sad.

She finds a vacancy in their peer, and it makes her shiver. The heartbeat controverted the evenness within the dilated pupils, erratic and loud. Some sort of beauty exudes from the modest human, a memorably plain beauty. Rosalie expels the contest with a flat breath and strict eyes.

A bitter chuckle resounds, void of all valid amusement; it shares an ironic emptiness to any who dares listen.

Alice tilts her head deliberately. Stare aimlessly defiant in the rather apprehensive blonde, though she had not contributed to the future, yet.

The smaller woman blinks, shoulders hiking at the eerily silent pair. She observers both human and vampire alike in many ways they wouldn't have yet the bravery to speak upon until much later.

Settle down.

An affirmation she'd created for a purpose: "It will all prove to be futile. The pain, if you cannot settle down." Her mind may tame her compulsive behavior, onlyonly, her emotions will irrevocably sway her decisions if granted an opportunistic moment.

And it so occurs by happenstance that a pale-pink lip tucked innocently between pearly teeth elicits a feeble whine (left soundly) from her throat; her tender soul howling.

Momentarily stunted, she nearly miscalculated the patent brilliance poured into the move.

A white knight is left out in the open: queen surrendered hopelessly, a hapless pawn open to be victimized, only if she will dare to relinquish her own Rook, Bishop, and queen for the sake of one or the other sacrificed. One mere move that will devastate her ideal scheme.

Brow arched, and spine poised to formulate a plausible retaliation. Rosalie blinks, squints, and at once flicks her mind between the one piece and that deliberated lipher King is thwarted.


Comes a hoarse, and firm timbre.

Rosalie dares to venture to the oblivious innocence, and the sheer verbosity of that virtuous countenance stealthily hinders her; ineluctably her honey orbs morph into dark irises, pupils dilating. Dark embers peer at her from below thick eyelashes, and that warrantless lip bite returns. The tinged cheeks prickled with a certain blush helps none as brunette locks are brushed behind an ear shyly.

A smile coquettish smile toys with her lips, as she settles into her seat in entertained defeat.

"Bested by a mere human," Rosalie tsk heartily. "What exactly are the telling's of my character?"

Bella blinks, but a warm grin spreads onto her face, reaching her eyes brilliantly.

"That maybe you're more prone to distraction than you initially realize." Bella retorts lowly.

Rosalie blinks, blinks, once more, and becomes wholly ruined by the intentional tongue peeking out to moisten a worried bottom lip. Mouth parted in ways of perplexed senselessness, the blonde vampire shifts in a fabricated poise. Although she does intend to permit her involved eyes to remain downcast, to further highlight the red painting the human's cheeks; ears firmly pleased by the clamor about the erratic heartbeat.

Rosalie supposes she should take pity on her mate, who clears her throat absurdly loud. She heaves a nostalgic breath. Relenting in her amusement.

They do not part with the heated stare.

"Best two out of three?"

"Of course."

Bella laughs, a loud laugh, at the instant reply.

Settling her pieces back into place, Bella tears her eyes away from the blonde.

"Try not to get distracted this time," Bella murmurs slyly. "I'd like to beat you with no excuses."

It's Rosalie's opportunity to laugh honestly,and she takes to it easily.

Checkmate indeed.

Alice anxiously taps her fingers on the table before her, bottom lip tucked underneath her teeth habitually. And Rosalie, one who voluntarily thrives from seclusion, peers at her tapping fingers blankly.

She will, Rosalie, has already felt that her solitude is threatened. By whom, she has yet to identify.