Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, or anything of the series/films. I own nothing, okay?! Did you really have to bring it up?! xDD

Chapter One

I could feel the warm sunshine on my skin. I could feel the cool breeze brush against me, dragging the dry, beach grass along with it, pushing the strands over then leaping over them. I could hear the sea lapping against the sand, the seagulls cawing as they searched for food. And though I was sitting with my eyes closed, streets away from home, I could see my little sister, Cynthia. She was at home, helping Mother with the chores. But I knew it wasn't today. Tomorrow, she would be washing the dirty dishes, and she would slice her finger on a sharp, carving knife. Just a small cut, but it would bleed, and she would cry her eyes out for hours at the shock. I'd tell Mother to take all sharp objects out before filling the basin, before letting Cynthia wash them. The future moulded to my plans, just as it normally did. Unsurprisingly, Cynthia still cut her finger, and Mother got angry at me. Of course, she would never listen, and that was her fault, not mine. I only wanted to look after them, and if I had help to do so, I'd take it, and I wouldn't be quiet about it.

I opened my eyes, and realized with surprise that I was ashamed. Ashamed of myself, of my talent, of how I expected my family to accept it. Of course they shouldn't. I was a freak. Above – or worse than, below – the norm. My eyes watered when I thought of my parents; what they thought of me, what they intended to do with me. Not that I could see their thoughts, but I could see where their thoughts would lead. Infirmaries, mental institutes, anywhere but with them. They feared for Cynthia. I feared for Cynthia. I feared for everyone, especially when I could see all the bad things that could and would happen to them. I could feel my eyes water; I didn't want this! I rubbed my eyes quickly, getting rid of the tears before they formed.

"Well, hello, Miss," Said a kind voice. I gasped, and turned to see a tall, gentleman standing before me. I gasped again, flustered and surprised. I didn't want to let anyone see me crying, especially not a handsome stranger like him. "Sorry to disturb you, Miss, I just thought you might need cheering up,"

"I'm fine, thank you," I said briskly, annoyed by his kindness. I looked away, and pretended to examine my sleeve.

"Alright then, good day to you," He said, and I waited to hear his footsteps on the sand as he left, but the sound never came. Curiosity got the best of me, and I looked around inconspicuously. And there he was, sitting about three metres away from me. He was looking away from me, in the opposite direction, so I took the time to inspect him. He was wearing a dark, tan suit, oddly enough, and I expected he was far too hot. But I suspected he was a proper gentleman, with a high paying, respectable job. I was gratified that he had taken his time to talk to me, however intruding he was. He had long, dirty blonde hair, which was tied away neatly at the nape of his neck and was covered by a grey trilby hat, shielding his face from the sunlight. He had black gloves on, meaning that there was no part of his skin exposed to the sunlight, but covered up by dark fabrics. I looked at his face, expecting him to have red blotches, some kind of skin affliction, or at least for him to be pale, and I was right; he was oh so pale, I would have believed him to be a corpse, had I not seen him move and talk. He caught me looking, and turned to face me. He had a strong, manly face; a broad nose, a square jaw, high cheekbones, but they weren't his most obvious, distinguishable features. His eyes were a frightening shade of red. I very nearly screamed in shock. Instead of being embarrassed, or annoyed, he gave me an easy smile, and stood up and walked toward me again.

I was half frightened, and half intrigued. I had never seen red eyes, as strange as I might be myself, at least my oddities didn't show.

"Do you have something wrong with your skin?" I asked, despite myself. I daren't ask about his intimidating eyes.

"In a way, yes," He laughed, as though at his own personal joke. "But I didn't expect that was what you wanted to ask me about," He said, raising his eyebrows. "May I sit?" He asked, nodding his head toward the space beside me. I shrugged, and patted the space. He sat down beside me, and took a deep breath, then smiled at me, like I was a meal. I decided I no longer wanted his company, but I was too polite to leave, or ask him to leave me. He wouldn't hurt me, not this respectable gentleman, not on this beach in daylight. Then again, respectable young ladies like myself did not speak to handsome young men, not alone. "I'm guessing you were wondering about my eyes?" He asked.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have-" I started, blushing.

"It's alright, Miss," He laughed. "They've always been like this, I get asked about them a lot. But then again, often, people see them, and don't ask me anything," He chuckled. I smiled, regaining confidence. He was just unfortunate, like me. Cursed with a skin condition and odd coloured eyes. People would be frightened of him, too. At least, I guessed they would be.

"And people are afraid of you because of that?" I asked.

"Yes… well, you are," He smiled ruefully, and inhaled deeply again.

"Were," I smiled back, "You don't scare me anymore, because I can see your just an ordinary person, with a few quirks, just like me." Actually, I felt a little kindred spirit toward him; we were both different, though of course, mine difference was probably more severe, more strange.

"Indeed? And what might your quirks be?" He seemed amused, as though he expected me to say something insignificant, a girl's self consciousness. I could just imagine his facial expression if I told him the truth. I shook my head, indicating I wouldn't tell him, and he smiled. "I'm going to have to guess? I would have to say that your quirks are your beauty… and your delicious scent; delicious enough to eat…" He inhaled once more, leaning closer to me, so his nose was only centimetres from my throat. I flinched away, scared again.

"I-I have to go, good day to you, sir." I said, gathering my skirt and standing up. "Thank you for your company." I walked away, back toward my home, shaking my head in wonder.

"It's okay, I'll get to taste you soon enough…" He laughed mischievously, waving a dismissive hand.

After hearing that, I ran, until I was far away from the strange man. I reached my street safely, so I paused, as I always did, to see if I could find out what would happen to me when I got in. Nothing came to me. Of course not. It wasn't mine to control, I was its. It chose what I saw, and when I saw it. I could be in the middle of prayers in the church, and find out that the minister would not be going home to his wife that night, but instead he would pay a visit to his wife's best friend, and stay the night, with false claims in the morning. I could be talking to Father, when I would see scenarios, from anywhere, any time in the world, that would make me break down into tears. They couldn't surprise me at Christmas, no matter if I wanted it to be a surprise or not. New inventions didn't shock me. I had seen televisions, electronic technology long before others even knew what it was. They still didn't know, it hadn't been invented.

Unknowing about the important things, I walked into my house, not suspecting a thing. As usual, Cynthia was playing with her dolls in the hallway, and she looked up when I walked past. "Do you have a fact for today, Mary?" She asked. Good old Cynthia; she didn't think I was a freak, this was just life to her.

"The Great War will end later this year," I sighed, as though describing the weather outside.

"Wow, that's wonderful," She said. "How can you tell?"

"I saw a room, with you, Father and Mother, all eating breakfast, listening to the radio, where they told you the date, and mentioned that it was the anniversary of the end of the Great War." I explained. She didn't question me, though she didn't know what a radio was. She must have reasoned that she would know one day.

She thought about it, though, "Weren't you there, Mary?" She asked thoughtfully.

"No," I said quickly, taking off my coat.

"Do you know why not?" She carried on with the questions, though she would know one day.

"I don't have a clue, Cynthia," I lied easily. "Now come on, do you want to go outside, play on the swings?"

"I'm thirteen, Mary," She said, trying to act grown up.

"If you're too old to play on the swings, I guess you're too old to play with dollies…" I said, bending over to pick them up.

"No! I'm not playing with them… I'm…" She bit her lip, thinking. "I was just making sure they were okay," She said, straightening her back, raising her chin. "And now I'm sure they are quite alright. Shall we go read?"

I laughed, and reached for her hand to pull her up. She grabbed the dolls, and threw them into what used to be our room, but was now only hers. Mother and Father had moved me out into my own room, for scaring her with visions. They did nothing to stop me from scaring myself. As we walked into the main room where Father would be, while Mother would be in the kitchen, I heard another voice in the house. Instead of bustling into the room, I hesitated outside, and listened in, like we used to do, before I 'grew up'. Cynthia stopped and listened too, casting gleeful expressions in my direction. I smiled back, but only halfheartedly.

"…Yes yes, I completely understand. You say she…" One voice said, but I couldn't hear all their words.

"…Exactly… dear Cynthia… frightening her… not normal… if you could…"

"At once, sir. In fact, I do believe we have several spaces open where we could house-" The voices had been getting clearer, and I found out why as soon as the door I had been leaning on flew open, and I fell at the feet of my Father, Mother, and another gentleman I didn't know.

"It is funny," The unknown man said, in a nasally voice, "That Mary did not see this happening." He stated, and I sat up. I hadn't seen this coming now, but I knew this man. And I knew this situation. "Miss Brandon," The man said warmly, though his intentions were cold. "Glad to be of acquaintance to you," He held out his hand when I stood up. I was ready to run, but I caught the look in my Mother's eye that held me still. It was the look you would give a stranger, like the look I had given that strange man today when we first met. Like I had intruded into her house, and destroyed her life. Like she was confused and afraid, and just wanted me to go away, whoever on God's earth I was.

"We're not acquaintances." I said coldly to the man.

He looked amused, like I was a little girl. So I'm short, but I'm no child. "Oh, the devil is deep in this one," He said, smiling, though my parents seemed even more horrified. "And she talks to you like this?" He addressed them. They nodded silently, still staring, eyes wide, mouths slack.

"All the time, Sir." My Mother supplied, which was an outright lie. I was always kind and loving toward them. I stared at her in betrayal, but the emotion didn't seem to get through to her. Her mind was set in a hard shell, deliberately keeping me out.

"Well, as I was saying…" The man started.

"Cynthia," My Mother said quickly and quietly, and my little sister stared at our hands, mine and hers still entwined. I hoped she would keep a hold of me, my dearest little relative, the little girl I only wanted to stay safe. I knew she wouldn't. It was a lost cause. She may have wanted to stay with me, but she couldn't, and she would never regret that. I didn't blame her. How could I? I watched her face carefully, as she stared at our hands significantly, and I knew she was remembering them. She bit on the side of her lip nervously, as though deciding. Then, with her free hand, she tucked a stray lock of chestnut brown hair behind her ear, then reached for the other side of her face. With my free hand, I caught it for her, and tucked it behind her ear, letting my fingers sweep across her face. I knew I wouldn't see her again. She looked up at me with large brown eyes, the same as Mother's, and I smiled sadly, trying to reassure her of something, anything, so long as she didn't cry, like I was. My hand lingered on her cheek, and I cupped her chin, remembering the face, if that was all I could have. "Cynthia!" My Mother screeched, her voice raw. She sounded like the situation was worse than Cynthia walking into a pit of wolves, or reaching for a bear hug with a real bear.

Of course, Cynthia dropped my hand immediately, and walked over to Mother, who put her hands over Cynthia's ears, trying to protect her mentally, stop her from hearing the truth, that me, her sister, was clinically insane. Everything she had grown up with, all the stories I told her were a lie, a sham, a cry for attention from the devil inside me, possessing me. It was then I saw the truth; by helping save Cynthia from a few physical cuts and scrapes, I had been hurting her mentally. Would she grow up, believing in a determined future, or live in fear of injury, because I wasn't there to protect her from it? What had I done to her mind?

"Eh-hem. Mr. and Mrs. Brandon, as I was saying, if you really are sure you want me to take Mary away-" The man started again, but was interrupted, again, by my Mother, who was almost hysterical.

"God, yes! Get her out of this house! Now!" She screamed, tears pouring down her cheeks. She thought she had given birth to a sin, and she was frightened. For herself, for my Father, for Cynthia, for her unborn child that would be dead within two months. She wondered if Cynthia or her unborn child would be taken from her, too. There was a chance she would never knowabout either child. Of course, the dead baby, nobody would know its fate, but the question I had told Father – who had told her – to fear was whether she would survive the miscarriage. This much was clear about her, and it was overwhelming.

I turned to the man, "Take me away, please! Give them peace," I said, tears streaming freely now. He seemed rather surprised, but seemed to agree with me.

"Alright. If I could get you to sign some forms, please, just to say-"

"Just get the girl out," Father said, tending to Mother. "Take her away from here! She's dead to us, so she's yours to do whatever! Kill her, exorcise her, anything! Just take her away!"

"Okay." The man seemed rather annoyed after being interrupted so many times, but he carried on with his job. He walked back into the main room, and opened a briefcase on the table. Then, he pulled out a bag and a white fabric object. Then he walked back over to us. "Okay, Mary," He said soothingly, like I would attack him. I suspected it was just standard routine for this sort of thing. That made me think of all the other people he might have dealt with, who else lay in wait for me. I could feel myself tremble in fear, but I didn't speak. "If you could just put your arms into these holes?" He opened the white fabric up to reveal it was a jacket with very long sleeves. I obliged woodenly, numbly, and slipped my arms through the scratchy material. "Good girl," He smiled reassuringly. I was still trembling. "Now, if you could just cross your arms like this-" He crossed his arms up - showing me what to do - so that his hands were resting on the opposite arm's shoulder. I did as he asked. He grabbed hold of the long sleeves at the ends, and did some complicated manoeuvres, twisting them behind my back, round my stomach, until there wasn't a lot of fabric left to work with. He buckled them with the buckle on one of the sleeves so they were behind my back, out of my reach. "Would you like a sedative?" He asked, though it wasn't my choice. He already had a needle out, and was already getting it set to inject me. I nodded weakly. "That's a clever girl." He sighed, and plunged the needle into my neck...

Okay, thanks, first of all for reading! If anyone actually does… Lol.

If you want to review, or anything, feel free! (: & if you don't understand anything, same applies, or, email me, idm. Just tell me if you like it, okay? I need the reassurances to carry on :D

Thankyouu!

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