All recognizable characters are the intellectual property of Mrs. Stephenie Meyer, or their respective owners. The plot and the other characters are the intellectual property of ME. No part of this fanfiction may be reproduced without my permission. No monetary gain is being made from this work.


This rewrite is dated 08/25/2011

(A/N): This is the new and improved intro for "Divine Providence". For my returning readers, the story line is exactly the same (there's no reason to reread it, unless you wanted to)-I've just thrown in some extra emotions, and a few more descriptive paragraphs for kicks.

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And now, on with the show!


France- 1673

"The Prophecy is upon us." A feminine voice crooned in her native French tongue. Each syllable rolled off of her silken tongue with practiced ease, and was caressed by the smooth skin of her lips. Though small in tenor, the gravity of her statement thundered throughout the crowded stone halls. Echoes filtered through the cavernous, vaulted ceilings, and seemed to carry to even the lowliest of Her minions. They watched Her, each enraptured by Her delicate, childlike features.

Her eyes were a milky white, ridged with swirling, bright blue irises. Unlike the fixed crimson of Her subjects; Hers held an always changing, living quality to them. As her gaze shifted, so did the tide swirling in her rich, liquid gaze. Bluer than even the purest icebergs, they were the eyes of the wildly popular French Autocracy. The already silent group grew still as stone, huddling closer to the throne, awaiting the Seer's advice.

"The Seer; She sees the way!" "Light may yet return to our people." "Perhaps all is not lost." "The Romanians shall fall, at last!" The whispers in the room slowly died down, as the young brunette, immortal before sixteen, shifted in Her gilded throne.

Her icy gaze filtered over the room's occupants. The ruby eyes of her subjects twinkled anxiously in the unnecessary torchlight, as they awaited the latest of her long anticipated visions. Many wore only the finest silks, in the most updated fashions of French Nobility. Most, however, were dressed in little more than rags, stripped from their latest kills. Clothes were an unnecessary luxury in which the majority felt little need to indulge. Whether clothes were worn, or not, did not change the nature of a single creature in the throne room.

Were human eyes to ever rest upon that room, at that time, they would seem to be little more than a gathering of paupers, begging on the heels of royalty The current pestilence had spread like wildfire through Europe, and the death tolls were rising by the day. Stacks upon stacks of rotting corpses lay all throughout France, and the stench, as well as terrible overall health had made traditional hunting an unpleasant experience.

There were many, from other communities both near and far, with ideas on how to continue to feed, without the awful inconvenience of the Great Plague. Many were ignored, should the creature lack the military backing, or the mental acuity to see their plan through, to the end. Other ideas, like that of the long reigning Romanians, were openly feared. While not unnecessarily cruel, the Romanians cared little for any one thing, other than the continual survival of the Romanian vampire community.

A tiny, bejeweled finger tapped Her lips in a movement that could only be labeled as pensive. Her willowy frame became perfectly still; her eyes vacant. The ever shifting, glowing orbs slowly drifted closed, denying Her Court the privilege to read Her emotions. Much of what flashed before her closed eyelids, would have to be kept to Herself. Great change was coming, and Her discretion was the key to the continuance of the species. If word of the secret Prophecy spread, not a soul would survive. Vampires would be extinct, save three. The same trio that stood before Her this very moment would inadvertently cause the destruction of what had once been a power series of empires.

Her hands reached up to cover Her face, such was Her concentration. The constant stream of dialogue and images was nothing for Her highly skilled Vampiric mind; She sorted out the next four hundred years with ease. What She saw surprised Her, and Her eyes burst open. The electric blue slowly morphed into a blood filled red—two molten, blood blistering, orbs residing within a bloodless creature. This shift in Her eye color was very rare indeed. It was a reaction to unpardonable anger; Her Lord would betray Her.

"Marie, what do you see?" His query burst Her concentration, and She slowly pivoted to face him. He stood next to Her throne, hands clasped in front of his chest. She could feel his nervousness rolling off of him in waves, and this secretly pleased Her. She only pretended to be his lover as a matter of convenience, and not an affair of the heart. If her heart had ever secretly desired him, the visions She now saw before Her would have ended all ties to him.

Her blue eyes had haunted him enough, since Her change, not even a century before. On the rare chance that they shifted into their bloodied state, he knew he must be wary. To anger her in this state meant certain, sudden death. Before She came to be, he had held court in the most powerful kingdom of the Immortal Lands. Her creation had changed everything, and as much as it worried him to admit it, he feared Her. He could not read all of Her thoughts; She could control, and edit the thoughts that he saw. His guard would also be little protection against her highly skilled coven. A shiver passed through his three thousand year old corpse.

He'd created Her. He'd loved Her, this tiny monster before him. Every stolen moment he could have with Her, he'd showered Her with lavish gifts, affections, and words of praise. Their courtship had been something closely followed by World Rulers, and subjects alike. A marriage uniting the two most successful vampire communities would likely spell doom for the rest. He had spent the last eighty years trying to merge their lands through a marriage of convenience; a marriage of acquisition. She simply would not submit. The Great Lady refused to concede.

Her platinum crest hugged the hollow of her throat as she stared deeply at the raven haired man kneeling before her. His crimson expression was nervous. Anxious. He prostrated himself before Her, on one knee, and held both his hands towards Her. The very thought of placing any of Her appendages near him sickened Her, and She bristled. Her expression remained neutral, though she wanted to do little except destroy him, and everything he had ever held dear. Rather than merging their kingdoms in peace, she wanted to see him stripped from power, and reduced to ash.

"My Lady?" He called, smiling weakly as he took her two hands in his. What she allowed him to see frightened him. The Underworlds, all of them, left abandoned and destroyed. Obviously ravaged by war, these once thriving communities were little more than pulverized stone, covered in a thick layer of vampiric ash.

"I see the fall of our kind, dearest Aro." Her voice was hollow, as if it were coming from another part of the vast throne room. Her expression was devoid of all emotion, and he clutched her hand tighter, to ferret out more of Her thoughts. He saw nothing that She didn't want him to see, and that moment became the most terrifying moment of his un-life. "There is but one to bring balance to our people, and she is not yet born in this life."

"How can you be sure, Marie? Can a single woman truly bring balance to our race? When will she come to defeat the Romanians?"

Her waxen eyes looked to the horizon. Her voice was vacant; not her own. "She shall be 'bone of my bones; flesh of my flesh'. I shall bear her into existence when I find the one with the flaxen eyes."

"You can never be a breeding woman, Marie. This is blasphemy of the blackest kind." The mahogany haired maiden arose from her throne, and the entire room rose with her. Power of this kind, in one so tiny, was unheard of in such times. She lifted a single bejeweled finger in the direction of the offending voice. "Dare you challenge me, in my own estate, Caius della Volturi?" Her usually sweet voice thundered with authority, and the high, vaulted ceilings rumbled around them.

"At a word, I do not, Great Lady." He bowed apologetically, his ruby eyes darted nervously in Aro's direction. Aro had been the only man ever able to curb her temper. The fact that his presence only seemed to incense her temper further, frightened them both. Their eyes turned towards her, in the darkness, and watched as the blood rippled and swirled through her dark red orbs. She was very angry indeed.

Aro, the Raven Haired Ancient, bowed before her. "We three are but servants in your home, My Lady. Surely you understand my brother meant you no disrespect."

"Friend Aro, if it please you, I shall take leave." Her tiny frame floated down the stairs of her sapphire blue carpeted throne, and the crowds parted like the Red Sea. Her silken slippers made no sound as they trounced down the cobblestoned corridors. Lord Aro followed, not two steps behind. He reached Her at the castle's entrance, and his hand firmly grasped her shoulder. She stiffened instantly under his touch. Just behind her was a large banner of the Chevaloier crest, which seemed to remind Aro of his place. The Ancient would have given anything for this to have happened within Volturi territories. She was far too well beloved to try to harm her in her own realm. Things might have played out much differently, had she been the visiting ruler.

"Do not be gone from me long, Mistress Chevalier." Aro stated nervously, trying to keep his voice authoritative. He wrung his hands, and tried to beseech her with his eyes. "I am wrought with loneliness whilst thou art not beside me." He noticed the lightening of her eyes; they were returning to their natural state. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"I'll be but a few hours, Lord Volturi; my thirst ails me." Her ice blue eyes began to glow, once more, as she dashed into the night air.

She picked up her many skirts and rushed to his last known hiding place. He was the quintessential loner; preferring to spend his free time away from all those like him. Often he took to the University in the evening—his nose always inside the most current medical journals. Standing in the center of the Great Stone Square, She raised her hands in front of Her, as if harnessing some internal power, and took a deep breath. Feeling a pull in Her gut, She tore off towards the pitch black, stone forest.

She only knew that She must find him; he was the key to everything. Her tiny feet flew expertly over each rocky plane that made up the only forests that could survive below ground, so far away from clean air. So far away from the warm caresses of the sun. Theirs was a world of absolute darkness; of necessary solitude. Halting, she raised her hands to touch her temples. The one whom she sought was close by; the venom pooled in her eyes.

"Pastor Carlisle." her voice was scant above a whisper, but if he were close by, he would hear. "Pastor Carlilse. I am friend, not foe." She could sense him; the familiar burning in her eyes betrayed his nearness. "I know you are near; my senses are more keen than even your own, young Pastor."

Silently, dropping from the branches of a great stone oak, he stood before Her. She eyed him silently, searching him for any sign of treachery. She felt relief, as She looked into in his eyes; his honeyed gaze a beacon that he was truly whom she sought. He wore a simple waistcoat, and breeches; nothing fancy or ostentatious. His boots were well-worn, but sturdy, and made of inexpensive brown calf leather. His hair was long, and blond; tied back by a simple black ribbon. It curled slightly at the tips, as it innocently brushed his shoulders. She smiled at the Englishman's lack of long, powdered wig, which had become such high fashion, when Charles II was returned to the throne.

He regarded Her regal gown, the finest brocade, in the deepest shade of eggplant. The bodice was very fitted, and revealed a trim, well corseted waist. Her sleeves were long, and gathered in a series of ribboned ties, all the way to Her finely laced shoulders. The stomacher dipped to the tops of Her thighs, where the deep purple of the fabric gave way to a smooth, shiny, silver satin. The contrast in materials was startling, and yet so very beautiful. A finely wound tasseled rope hung from her waist, accenting the satin material of her dress. The length of it, even when fully tied, nearly reached the satin of her low heeled slippers.

He was taken aback by Her silken mahogany tresses, held back in nothing more than a snood, with pearl fasteners. Something inside of him stirred, and unbeknownst to him, he stepped closer to her. Only inches separated them, and he began to focus more on the finer details of Her decolletage. Her skin was unblemished, creamy, and perfect. It would not shimmer, in the complete absence of light, but as a man of the cloth, he knew well that he was having a religious experience. Her bosom was ample, and perfectly formed; well accented by the low, square cut of her bodice. Nestled at the hollow of her throat lie a large platinum filigree fleur de lis, the crest of the Chevalier Coven. His eyes flitted back towards her face, and saw an identical mark burned across her forehead.

The mark, Her only blemish, was a dead giveaway; he knew precisely who she was, and Carlisle was stunned. Never had he seen a creature of such innocent beauty; a child Vampire, to be sure. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, and he saw perfectly spaced, pearly white teeth.

"You must listen, well sir. What I must tell you; what I have hidden from Lord Aro, will save us all. Or destroy us, if you do not take heed."

His golden gaze shifted nervously, as if checking to see if they would be overheard. He extended his elbow, and she tucked her tiny hand within, "Walk with me, Great Lady."

Her icy blue pools radiated a calm warmth, instantly putting his fears at ease. He tilted his head towards Her, smiling appreciatively at Her beauty. He'd never, in all his years, seen such a beautiful creature. They fit together like corresponding pieces of some fantastic puzzle. "You have never made my acquaintance, young Pastor. Do you know me?"

"Only by your eyes, Lady." She laughed lightly, and it put her companion further at ease.

"I see my reputation proceeds me..." She said with a wicked sort of smile. "You are English." It was not a question; Aro had spoken of this being many times prior. He admired him for his lifestyle choices; unorthodox though they may be.

"You are betrothed to Lord Aro of the Voturi." He answered in lieu of a formal introduction. The merge of their two covens would extend Volturi control significantly. This child-ruler's coven presided over all immortals of underground France, and many of the surrounding provinces. Lord Aro considered himself a connoisseur of gifted beings, and Her coven was the most outstanding of them all.

"I wish not to share my kingdom, Young Pastor. Such dalliances are not set in stone; though Lord Aro may wish it so." Her ice blue eyes regarded him kindly; his lips twitched upwards in return. "You learn in my University, young Pastor. Do not fear me; I welcome your presence. We shall be close consorts, you and I." He stopped strolling and stared into Her unnatural eyes; even for a 'Creature of the Night', they were wrong.

This Child-Queen feasts on humans, and the telltale red irises are present only when she is alone. Her eyes turn the shade of the cleanest glaciers when others of their kind are near.

"What is it that you wish to tell me, Great Lady?" Her beaded slipper traced intricate patterns in the dusty ground as she mulled over how much to inform him. While she could shield her thoughts from Lord Aro della Volturi, Pastor Carlilse had not such gifts.

"It is easier for me to show you, Master Carlilse. Have yet you sired?"

"I have not, Lady."

"I will show you of whom you seek. He will bring great change into this world. You shall wait for him. Between your sire, and my heiress-they will save us all." She drew herself to her full, childlike height, and he bent down, to allow her to touch his cheek.

"Prepare yourself for my touch; it will likely disturb your countenance." She allowed her visions to flow through her fingertips, and felt the moment that he began to see.


A/N: This chapter is much shorter than my usual, but I wanted to give you just a little taste of what's to come. I plan on unraveling a lot of vampire history, while weaving in historical fiction, cultural anthropology, and a healthy dose of Edward. There will be a lot of action. God willing, we'll be on the run within the next few chapters.

This is definitely NOT canon. Character pairings will be, all characters in the books will play a part in my story. Totally AU, but if you stick with me, I promise you an EPIC tale of love, power, intrigue, history, royalty, and maybe a little LUST if you review.

I want your theories. I'm greedy. Give them to me. NOW!

A word of advice. Good reviews make good lemonade.