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Alice's story

"My name is Cynthia, sister of Mary Alice Brandon, this is my story." This is the story of Cynthia and Alice's last meeting, continuing to the story of Cynthia's grand daughter finding alice a hundred years later. I suck at summaries

This is sorta long. I think it's touching, but then again i cry at everything so just ignore me completely.

2. Chapter 2

Rating 0/5   Word Count 614   Review this Chapter

Mary Anne’s POV

I felt the tears fall from my eyes as I watched my mother on her death bed. I couldn’t imagine life without her, and I couldn’t imagine her dead. She was always so vibrant, even now when she was about to die she found energy to smile. Her white hair glistened in the artificial light from up ahead. The smell of chemicals burned my nose. The hospital was too warm for my liking, much too warm.

“Anne” she whispered, not having the energy to talk normally. I preferred to be called by my middle name – like the Aunt I never met; Alice.

“Yes Mom” I whispered back – choking back my tears.

“Search for my sister for me. I promised her I’d find her someday, but my days are numbered...”

“Don’t talk like that” I whispered, properly crying now.

“Listen to me – she is still alive, sort of...”

“I know, you’ve told me.” I interrupted “she’s a vampire” I said scornfully.

“She wasn’t crazy, she was misunderstood” she told me sternly.

“I’m sorry – do you know where I should search?” I asked timidly.

“Forks Washington, it’s a small town. Ask for the Cullens” I heard her breathing catch. “I love you Anne” she murmured.

“No” I sobbed, but it was too late – she was gone. I vowed to myself I would search far and wide for my vampiric aunt.


The plane ride to Port Angeles was uneventful. I slept through most of it, dreaming of the girl I’d seen in pictures for decades. It was raining when the plane touched down, sort of fitting for the home of a vampire. The grey skies held little interest for me; I much preferred the sky to be blue. Yet, the weather seemed to be parallel to my mood, it always had been. I often dismissed this fact, assuming that the weather affected my mood.

I didn’t have any real luggage. I had decided to carry on, seeing as I didn’t have much stuff from Biloxi. My bag was brown, and just small enough for me to take on the plane. I had taken clothes and money with me. I also had my boots and mobile in the small bag. On my feet I wore trainers. I was desperate to find this Aunt, if she was still alive. I trusted my mother, so I was willing to look for as long as I could bear to.

I had booked a room in a small motel on the outskirts of Forks. The motel itself was a boring brick building. The once red bricks had turned a dull brown with time, and most of the windows were stained.

The inside wasn’t much better. The air was musty, and smelt of stale cigarettes. The walls were painted a pallid yellow, the carpet was brown.

The room that was to be mine for my stay here was as murky and depressing as the rest of the motel. The bed, at least, was clean with crisp white sheets fresh on. There was only one room and a bathroom. I decided I’d explore the bathroom later.

The main room was decorated with the same wallpaper and carpet as the rest of the motel. There was an ancient TV in one corner, and a lumpy arm chair in another. I found myself desperate to find my Aunt Alice within minutes of plonking down my bag.

“Oh Alice, I hope you’re here”