An: Okay I finally posted this story after god knows how long, sorry guys. Yeah so reviews are appreciated :)

Disclaimer: I unfortunately own nothing; yes I'm still working on Jasper's kidnapping ;) I own my ideas actually!

Preface

My name is Mary Alice Brandon, just leave out the Mary and I'm happy.

I was eighteen years old when I was 'changed'.

I was sent to an asylum in Biloxi at the tender age of fifteen.

Oh and did I mention I can see the future?

We all have our stories, my family and I, all so different yet all so alike.

I thought I'd give it a shot at telling mine.

Chapter 1-Poisoned Premonition

Alice POV

I believe it was the year of 1914 that I had my first vision. To be honest, I'm not that surprised that a gift like seeing the future was given to me of all people. I was naturally regarded as different and with my head constantly up in the clouds, but that's just the way I was. I would get good grades at school, not perfect straight A's but still decent, I would do the chores that my parents told me to do, and I would answer with politeness and a clear accent when asked a question. But even though I did all these things, and tried as hard as I could to be a loved child, attention often rejected me and swarmed my younger sister, Cynthia. Everyone loved Cynthia, ever since she was born; everyone was cooing at her and feeding her adoration. My parents would buy her pink dresses with satin frills whereas I got the bucket and sponge. As I lay in bed at night, I would hear my mother reading Cynthia stories in the room next to me. Stories of magical kingdoms with princesses who stayed locked up in towers and waited for their prince charming to awaken the spell with a kiss. Of course none of it was real, but I couldn't help but let my imagination run wild and wish that I was the princess in those stories, trapped in this lonely world. And as for my prince, perhaps I was just waiting for the right person to come along. And then reality would distract me to see mother at my bedside, I hoped that I was in store for a story, but all she did was blow out the candle that was still flickering with a single glowing flame.

"Goodnight, Mary," she whispered and left my room, leaving the door ajar.

The majority of my life revolved around lounging on my window seat with a book gripped between my hands, my eyes locked on the blackbirds that circled the chimney through the condensated glass.

I was thirteen years old and it was a freezing cold day, truly bitter in mid December. I was bored sick with my family so I decided to go out. I peered out the window to see that it was sheeted with frost on the outside. I quickly changed, eager to taste the coldness. I pulled my scarf and gloves off the bedpost and thumped down the stairs, two at a time.

"Where's the fire?" Cynthia teased as I stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. I just glared at her as I munched on the fruit's sweet flesh. I threw the darkened pip-filled core into the bin and buttoned up my coat as I headed towards the back door.

"Where d'you think you're going?" Cynthia mumbled, her mouth stuffed with toast.

"Out," I murmured through clenched teeth.

"But it's freezing."

"I noticed."

I abandoned her to her unspoken questions and wrenched the door handle open. I found myself overwhelmed by the sudden chills running through me and the cool air licked at my exposed face. I decided to go to the park. First, because I had nothing better to do. Second, I knew it would be empty, and isolation was all I wanted at that moment.

As I paced down the sidewalk, I pulled the top of my scarf over my nose that had turned numb from the cold. I shoved my mitten covered hands down into the pockets of my violet coat. I kicked at the stones that came into my path, watching them skid across the concrete. I had approached the park at this point and I reached up to the lift the lever on the gate to open it, a green fence ran around the park, despite how large the area was. I walked through and I jumped up at the sound of metal against metal, half expecting to find Jack the Ripper standing behind me, scraping a deft blade up and down the fence. Instead, I turned around to see the gate slamming shut. My imagination was too vivid for my own good.

I went and sat upon a swing, rocking myself lightly on the tips of my toes which were squashed against the tarmac ground. I was right, it was deserted, not a soul in sight. But who could blame them in this weather?

I must have been sitting there for at least an hour, daydreaming, when suddenly I was aware of a throbbing sensation pulsing through my head.

"Ouch," I breathed as I instinctively brought my hands up to meet my temples. I closed my eyes and winced. This was more than the average headache, this was agony. Just then, I could see images flickering through my mind, like those books with a cartoon still on each page and when you flicked the pages, the pictures linked to create a story. I focused on the images in my head and all became clearer.

My mother was lying on a hospital bed, my father close at her side. She was coughing so hard, I'm surprised her guts hadn't come up yet. She was lifeless, dull. I watched the silent scene for several minutes, making sense of it all, for this blatantly had no happy ending. After what seemed like a lifetime, the hand the father had placed on mother's chest slipped off slowly as her heart stopped the rhythmic pattern of a heartbeat. My breathing shallowed as it ended and I could see no more. I opened my eyes and the pain faded away. I shuddered and tried to imagine what the 'vision' meant, never had I had daydreams like that before. My thoughts were interrupted as snow began to fall. It was slow at first but then sheets of white came piling down heavily. I got up and brushed the snowflakes out my hair. I made my way home, not pleasantly greeted as I pushed open the door.

"Where the bloody hell do you think you've been?" father boomed at me in his low gruff voice.

"The park," I murmured, staring at a picture on the wall behind him to prevent myself from making eye contact.

"It's six in the evening Mary, you know perfectly well that my daughters are to be home by four, whatever the circumstance, do you think this is setting a good example on Cynthia..."

And he carried on, and on, and on. I only caught the occasional word or phrase but the rest flew past me like a cluster of stray leaves blowing in the wind. That was when the thought panged into my head.

"Father, can I ask you something?"

"This better be good, you're already in enough trouble."

Yeah, yeah, I thought. Tell me something I don't know.

"Is mother okay?" I finally asked.

"What?"

"She's good, isn't she, fit and well?"

"Mary, what are you suggesting?"

Despite his excellent poker face, the look in his eyes was wary and guilty.

"Father...is mother ill?"

"Where are you getting these thoughts from? Your mother is fine, you hear me? Fine. Your imagination is corrupting your life, Mary. It's about time you did something about it."

"I don't believe you," I whispered when I had mustered up the courage.

"What did you say?" Father snapped.

"I don't believe a single word that is escaping your cruel twisted lips right now," I hissed.

And with that, I ducked under his arm and dodged past him, seconds before his rough hands could reach out to grab me. I ran up the stairs, the surfaces of my heavy boots slamming against the floorboards. I went to my room and tossed myself onto the bed. I wrapped the sheet around my body and curled up into a ball, the sheets were a cocoon veiling my petite figure. I closed my eyes and soon enough, I drifted off into the world I enjoyed, the world where I belonged, the world of dreams.

-Next day-

The sunlight beamed through my thin curtains and lit up the entirety of the room. I groaned and stretched my arms above me as I kicked off the sheets. I rolled out of bed and stalked out my room. I padded down the stairs, my bare feet hitting against the wood. I peered round the corner to the living room, it was empty. I carried on towards the kitchen to find my family sitting around the table. I reached over Cynthia's shoulder to take a piece of toast from the rack. I started eating it, the sound of crumbs grinding against my teeth contrasted with the quiet atmosphere. It felt like a freaking mortuary, you'd think someone had just been cremated on the kitchen table, the way my parents' faces stared blankly ahead. I took a seat opposite father, whose eyes were locked on something behind me. I was suddenly aware of the scratching noises coming from the radio beside me. However calming it was to hear a sound in the room of silence, the noises were torture to my ears. I reached over and turned the dial to a random station where the news was being read out.

"Turn it down, Mary," my father's voice was rough.

"Good morning to you too," I breathed, none of them hearing me. Nonetheless, I spun the volume knob around until there was pure silence.

"Girls, we have something to tell you," my mother whispered and father took her hand in his, "We didn't know the best or the easiest way to tell you so we're just going to tell you outright.

"Oh my gosh, you're pregnant, aren't you?" Cynthia screeched.

Mother and father's faces turned grave as my sister rattled on with her preferred gender for the baby and ideal names for the unborn child, but it wasn't even an unborn child, it was an unconceived child.

"Cynthia, there's no baby," I breathed, but she didn't hear me, she carried on with her ecstasy.

"I'M NOT PREGNANT, OKAY?" mother shouted and Cynthia's mouth clamped shut and she slumped back into her chair.

"Your mother has breast cancer," father said quietly and the room dissolved into silence.

Mother's eyes filled with tears, Cynthia's fists tightened, Father looked concerned for out reactions. Me? I wanted to kill my father there and then.

"YOU LIED TO ME!" I yelled at him and his jaw clenched.

"I only did it for the best."

"Thomas? Thomas, what is she talking about?" my mother whispered.

I stared at my father, giving him a glare that begged him not to repeat our conversation from last night.

"I think Mary's just a bit upset, I'm sure she'll come to her senses soon."

I felt rage and gratefulness all at the same time. My father was making out that I was a delusional nutcase. But I couldn't thank him enough for keeping our secret to himself. Besides, he didn't have a clue how I actually knew about mother being ill. I didn't even know how I knew. We ate the rest of our breakfast in silence.

Six months later, mother lost her fight against breast cancer. I was scared of what I was capable of since the day she was pronounced dead.

For what I had seen in the park was no daydream, no thought, no idea. It was a premonition.

I had a gift. I had the ability to do something that others couldn't. I could see the future.