Inspiration for this one-shot came from 'The ballad of Mona Lisa' music video by 'Panic! At the disco' and Alice's story from 'The Twilight saga: Official illustrated guide.' (Which I do not own the rights to in any way.) If you are not familiar with either this might make a little less sense.
This is AU, imagining that Alice could remember her human life when she woke up and wanted revenge against her father for his sins.
Cynthia's POV.
The death of my mother had been tragic, and then my sister had been taken away. There was nothing I could have done to change these events, and again tragedy had struck. My father's death had been horrid, and at 10 years old all I had left was the step-mother who showed me no motherly affection.
Around me everyone wept, but from my eyes not a single tear fell. I hadn't understood why such a passing hadn't affected me, especially that of my own father. His death had caused a mental lapse within my step-mother, she now relied on superstition. My father's funeral followed the routine of a Victorian burial, it was meant to be peaceful, to ensure that no darkness or supernatural forces could curse my father's soul.
But inside I knew it was already tainted.
Rule #1 Open a window.
As people entered to say their farewells to a man they knew only one side of, I opened wide the window beside me and breathed in deep the frosty air outside.
Rule #2 close the window two hours later.
A couple of hours later, after I'd done another lap of the large family room and had awkward, rushed conversations with the few people I'd made eye-contact with I found myself back at the window. With a heavy sigh, I closed it again.
Rule #3 stop all clocks and cover all mirrors.
I had no way of telling what time it was, or how long until the burial. All the clocks had been stopped, all mirrors covered and I didn't know what I looked like, or how my step-mother had tamed my hair. I glanced down at the thick, lace, black dress. Its several petty-coats were heavier than I'd expected, I felt wrapped up, closed in.
Rule #4 bathe the body.
I sat outside on the front porch; the air was crisp and frosty. It cleared my head. I was abnormally calm. Any other 10 year old girl in this position would be distraught, terrified, but to me this entire event seemed rather inevitable. Just like Mary-Alice used to tell me every night, she knew things people would never imagine, never understand. Father used to tell her she was cursed, strange. But Mary-Alice knew that she was special, just as I had. My father's body had been prepared and everybody had said what a good job had been done. I didn't see it myself, but who was I to voice my doubts?
Rule #5 lay the body in white.
I gazed through the window, back into the house. In the family room, in an ornately carved casket, lay the shell of the man my father once was. The inside of the casket was lined with ivory silk, floral designed tablecloths were under the coffin, and behind it the window was framed in curtains of the same design. I found it sickening that my father's body had become a centre-piece.
Rule #6 allow the people to wail and lament.
People wept and drank, telling exaggerated tales of my father and pretending they knew him more than they did. Toasts and speeches went on longer than necessary and nobody noticed that I was missing. As I sat on the porch steps and was consumed by sadness, a thought hit me. Beyond all reasonable doubt I knew that my revelation was truth.
Mary did it…