Victoria came home after shopping in town and wandered through the empty, dark house to her favorite room: the kitchen. Setting the sacks upon the kitchen bar, nimble fingers opened the window blinds to allow the room to flood with sunlight. For a moment, the redheaded woman just stood there, soaking in the rays. Under normal circumstances, she would not be able to do this. However, inside the abandoned Cullen residence, she had nothing to worry about.
Raising a hand, blood red hues studied her hand as the skin sparked like a diamond in the rays of light.
No one – vampire, human, or shapeshifter - saw this but her. And why would anyone?
The Cullens had fled, like the cowards they were, after murdering James. It had been almost a year since then and Victoria had been careful to stay clear of the reservation to not alert the pack. In the pesudo-calm, the wolves had steered clear of the area and eventually Victoria moved in.
Perching on a bar stool, Victoria ignored the sacks as she tenderly opened a book to the marked page. Letting it rest, pale fingers snapped the latch on a box of tools laying off to the side. Within the dark cavity smaller box that contained a single quill and a bottle of ink. Removing the pair, the vampire slowly uncorked the bottle. She could easily acquire a modern pen, but the quill allotted her to reminence to the days when she was a young woman roaming the English hills in the late 1500s. It had belonged to her father and was the last of her treasured possessions from her human years.
For such a mission she would use nothing else.
Returning to the open pages, Victoria allowed her cold, marble fingertips to trace the blank sheets. She would never again have to worry about soiling another book, for she had no natural oils to tarnish the material. Even so, the journal was relatively new and sparsley written in.
Adjourning the first page, the redheaded vampire scrawled "My Diabolical Plot of the 24½th Century " along the top. It was only for her kicks and giggles; noone would see it beyond herself, so she did not mind. If anyone were to ask, on the off chance, perhaps then she would admit that she had written it in remembrance of a rare occasion when she caught sight of a cartoon duck decades ago. That chance was slim, however.
On the next page Victoria wrote a single date – March, 16th 2005.
The date was all that was needed though, and even then a blank spiral would have suited Victoria's need; vampires had perfect memories afterall. The journal was simply a memoir to herself of what had been unfolding over the past twelve months since James' death.
Flipping to the next page, Victoria wrote a second date – March 4th, 2006.
Within the first six months she had set a plan into action by secretly creating a newborn army. It was sometime after that that she had contacted Laurent. The idiot died relatively quickly on a simple scouting mission she had sent him on. Victoria could care less. If Edward had been around, he would have died anyways. By dying at the hands of the wolves instead, Victoria had gained beneficial insight to her next step. And, if Laurent had been successful obtaining the information or in ruining her revenge, then he would have died anyways. She would have seen to that, personally.
Flipping to the next page, Victoria re-dipped the quill and began to create a list of names. The soft scratch of the nib and the sight of the ink slowly seeping from the feather onto the sheet always had a way of hypnotizing her. As the list increased, Victoria closed her eyes and allowed muscle memory to take over. She loved writing like this as a child; it was a game, as if she was walking on a wire or playing with fire. At any moment she could mess up and everything she created would be ruined.
Ending the list, crimson lips curved in delight as crimson orbs studied their work. Her writing was flawless.
Flipping to the next page, the vampire tapped the feather against her cheek. She knew who to target and had a concrete idea of how, but now to decide when. Victoria did not believe in transcendence, only vengeance. With that in mind, she scrawled a final date: June 15th, 2016.
That was all she would write in the journal. Anymore and Alice would be onto her plans. Laurent had not just notified her about the wolves, but also the Cullens after galavanting off to spend time with the Denali women in Alaska. With his helpful insight, Victoria decided then and there to not think about her plans beyond what she had written today in the journal.
Sitting back, the vampire turned on the bar stool to gaze out the window beside her. Three months and she would have the remaining pieces in place. Three months and Bella Swan would be dead.
Closing the journal, Victoria slipped the band over the leather cover before placing the book, quill, and ink bottle back into the small box of tools. She needed to prepare.
Rising from her perch, Victoria reached into one of the sacks and pulled out a sweater. It was modern and would allow her to blind in compared to the animal fur she preferred to wear. Setting the garment over the back of the bar stool, the woman removed the rest of the clothes before picking up the remaining sacks off the counter. They contained firewood, lighter fluid, and matches, and rather than stink up the house, she decided to put them in the garage.
Bella was going to receive a befitting end, one that pared with how James died. Victoria was going to burn her at the stake. Alive.
Carrying the items out of the house, Victoria began to hum a song she had heard years ago:
Dry is good and wind is better...
Strike a match, go on and do it.
Oh light the sky and hold on tight
The world is burning down...
She's out there on her own
And she's not alright