Okay, this is something I came up with a while ago.

I've always been interested in Alice history, the part that is black for her.

So I wrote what I would consider reasonable.

Remember that Alice was born in 1901, and this takes place in 1917 (in the middle of WWI which Edward wanted to be a soldier in).

And that is why they speak a little weird, and act a little weird.

I've hardly written the second chapter, due to my writer's block.

But if there are some people out there that like Alice' early life and tells me so, I might consider continuing.

I didn't know why I did it. Maybe it had to do with getting even with her, but I wasn't sure. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but sometimes I just couldn't and it slipped out.

I was sitting in my room, carefully watching what happened on the street outside.

A woman about mother's age walked out from the tailor across the street. She stopped outside the door and threw her enormous head with the enormous and ugly hat back and then walked over to the carriage like she owned the world.

I shuddered, and it was not from the cold. The lady was Mrs Petit, and she owned the world. Or at least mine.

Mr Petit was the cities mayor, and before that he'd built almost every building in the small city of Biloxi. The Petit's were very rich, this was Mrs Petit's fifth visit to the tailor this week, and it was only Thursday.

The carriage started moving down the street, squeaking under the weight of the enormous woman. Mrs. Petit was anything but petit. She was fat, loud and vulgar. The taste in clothes and hats were disgusting. I wrinkled my nose at the memory of the hat that now was disappearing around the corner.

That woman truly needed someone with taste to fix her up; she shouldn't be wearing those colours or cuts when she looked like that. Nobody was interested in her many chins and high-red face.

But it was thanks to her and her husband that my mother, my sister and I had this small flat to live in.

It sure was small, only three rooms and not one of them fit for taking visitors. My sister Cynthia was very unsatisfied with the fact that she had to live like this for a couple of years before I was married or Mother remarried.

My father died a couple of months ago, and when he did, our money disappeared with him. We were all thrown out of the house down the road, and if Mrs Petit hadn't been such a sweetheart we would all still be on the street.

But that didn't seem so bad, when you came to think of the nasty way she treated us.

I quickly sat up straight and reached for my work when I knew my sister was headed for my room.

"Alice!" She squeaked and ran over to the window, her black dress brushing over my face. Oh, it was that time of day.

My poor little sister had fallen in love, and the young gentleman who were the object for her feelings had a habit of walking down the street outside my window exactly half-past ten each morning. And every morning, Cynthia would crush me when she jumped over to the window, just so she could see him in his new hat, with a friend or just him, in all his glory.

I rolled my eyes at her and got up from the chair.

"He's alone today, my dear." I mumbled and ran a brush through my black hair. Cynthia only snorted at me, still almost hanging out through the window in anticipation. "And he is not wearing something new." I continued, in my vain tries to scare her off. Still it was true, and she knew it, but her heart would swell just from hearing his name. I frowned, when I saw something else. "And he isn't in such a good mood."

Cynthia gasped, pressing her small hand to her mouth. "Oh, no. What might it be that upsets him?"

I turned around and sprang up beside her when I knew he was just about to turn the corner.

"Here he comes, hopefully we might found out." Even though I didn't like my sister's object of affection, I did like the fact that she was in love.

A tall, dark-haired man walked by, nose stuck in today's paper. The thick letters across the front page said EUROPE IN WAR, HOW WILL THIS AFFECT THE USA? After all he was a businessman, he was probably worrying about how his fortune would change. I snorted, now uninterested.

"He'll just get richer, no need to worry." I mumbled to my sister, who'd turned to me with a worried expression across her face from my snort.

Somehow my assurance didn't lighten her mood. Her shoulders fell deeper as she watched him turn around the next corner and disappear out of sight. "What's the matter, dear?" I tried to tickle her to force her back in her good mood, but she just gave me an angry glance and I stopped.

"If he gets richer there is no way for me to meet him. Even if I did, he'd never marry me, Cynthia Brandon, a poor widows youngest daughter!" Her voice was filled with loathing and anger.

I carefully stroked her hair, frowning over the fact she'd presented to me.

"Maybe he's not worthy of your affection if that would stop him from marrying you?" Cynthia just glared at me.

My little sister was very much like me. She was small but even though she was two years younger then I, she was taller, black-haired and pretty. But she didn't have the gift I had. I knew that someday, in the future, I'd be happy. I'd have a big family, great friends and I'd never have to worry about money. And I would have a man that I loved, and loved me. How I knew it, I didn't know.

Sadly for my sister she hoped that that fate would meet her as well, but there was no way for her to be as sure as I was able to be.

I sighed, sad I wasn't able to encourage her.

"Tell me a story about the future, Alice." She said, reaching out for my hand so she could push me down beside her. I smiled happily, trying to bring her out of her blue and rushed through my head after something that might give her some joy.

Ever since I was little I'd been able to know things. If Father were about to receive a business-letter, I'd know when it'd come. If Cynthia had lost her comb, I'd know where it was. All those small things I was able to foresee, as the fact about my future. But when it came to our Father's illness, I didn't see it coming. Suddenly one day, when Cynthia and I came back from the tailor with Mother, he lay dead in the drawing room, a peaceful expression across his face, and his hand lightly pressed against his heart. He was still warm when I stepped up to pat his cheek. It was first when I saw that he wasn't breathing that we understood he was dead.

I slowly closed my eyes and shuddered away from the memory. Two weeks later we'd moved in here, and I was no longer able to tell any adult about my foreseeing. Father had been the only such person who knew, he'd told me from the start that it had to be a secret from my Mother. Cynthia knew as well, but she was not able to give me the same kind of advice as our father had been.

I continued smiling at her, opening my eyes again.

"I will, Cyn, but only if you put up my hair for me." She pushed me down in front of her and started pulling and pulling in my long, black hair.

I whined low, but she ignored me.

"Now, tell me."

Oh, yeah.

The reason why she's not "Alice", not the sparkly pixie, I mean, is their situation in life and the times.

And, of course, she hasn't met Jasper or the Cullen's yet.

And yes, she does have long hair.

I'll get to that if you review, if wanting me to continue.