Something that I read online named New. I phoned the author if I could put it on fanfiction. All the credit goes to Diana who wrote this chapter. But some sentences were repeated.

New Vampire

Everything was so clear.

Sharp. Defined.

The brilliant light overhead was still blinding-bright, and yet I could plainly see the glowing

strands of the filaments inside the bulb. I could see each color of the rainbow in the white light,

and, at the very edge of the spectrum, an eighth color I had no name for.

Behind the light, I could distinguish the individual grains in the dark wood ceiling above. In

front of it, I could see the dust motes in the air, the sides the light touched, and the dark sides,

distinct and separate. They spun like little planets, moving around each other in a celestial

dance.

The dust was so beautiful that I inhaled in shock; the air whistled down my throat, swirling the

motes into a vortex. The action felt wrong. I considered, and realized the problem was that there

was no relief tied to the action. I didn't need the air. My lungs weren't waiting for it. They

reacted indifferently to the influx.

I did not need the air, but I liked it. In it, I could taste the room around me–taste the lovely dust

motes, the mix of the stagnant air mingling with the flow of slightly cooler air from the open

door. Taste a lush whiff of silk. Taste a faint hint of something warm and desirable, something

that should be moist, but wasn't.… That smell made my throat burn dryly, a faint echo of the

venom burn, though the scent was tainted by the bite of chlorine and ammonia. And most of all,

I could taste an almost-honey-lilac-and-sun-flavored scent that was the strongest thing, the

closest thing to me. I heard the sound of the others, breathing again now that I did. Their breath mixed with the

scent that was something just off honey and lilac and sunshine, bringing new flavors. Cinnamon,

hyacinth, pear, seawater, rising bread, pine, vanilla, leather, apple, moss, lavender, chocolate.…

I traded a dozen different comparisons in my mind, but none of them fit exactly. So sweet and

pleasant.

The TV downstairs had been muted, and I heard someone–Rosalie?–shift her weight on the first

floor.

I also heard a faint, thudding rhythm, with a voice shouting angrily to the beat. Rap music? I

was mystified for a moment, and then the sound faded away like a car passing by with the

windows rolled down.

With a start, I realized that this could be exactly right. Could I hear all the way to the freeway?

I didn't realize someone was holding my hand until whoever it was squeezed it lightly. Like it

had before to hide the pain, my body locked down again in surprise. This was not a touch I

expected. The skin was perfectly smooth, but it was the wrong temperature. Not cold.

After that first frozen second of shock, my body responded to the unfamiliar touch in a way that

shocked me even more.

Air hissed up my throat, spitting through my clenched teeth with a low, menacing sound like a

swarm of bees. Before the sound was out, my muscles bunched and arched, twisting away from

the unknown. I flipped off my back in a spin so fast it should have turned the room into an

incomprehensible blur–but it did not. I saw every dust mote, every splinter in the wood-paneled

walls, every loose thread in microscopic detail as my eyes whirled past them.

So by the time I found myself crouched against the wall defensively–about a sixteenth of a

second later–I already understood what had startled me, and that I had overreacted.

Oh. Of course. Edward wouldn't feel cold to me. We were the same temperature now.

I held my pose for an eighth of a second longer, adjusting to the scene before me.

Edward was leaning across the operating table that had been my pyre, his hand reached out

toward me, his expression anxious.

Edward's face was the most important thing, but my peripheral vision catalogued everything

else, just in case. Some instinct to defend had been triggered, and I automatically searched for

any sign of danger.

My vampire family waited cautiously against the far wall by the door, Emmett and Jasper in the

front. Like there was danger. My nostrils flared, searching for the threat. I could smell nothing

out of place. That faint scent of something delicious–but marred by harsh chemicals–tickled my

throat again, setting it to aching and burning.

Alice was peeking around Jasper's elbow with a huge grin on her face; the light sparkled off her I heard the sound of the others, breathing again now that I did. Their breath mixed with the

scent that was something just off honey and lilac and sunshine, bringing new flavors. Cinnamon,

hyacinth, pear, seawater, rising bread, pine, vanilla, leather, apple, moss, lavender, chocolate.…

I traded a dozen different comparisons in my mind, but none of them fit exactly. So sweet and

pleasant.

The TV downstairs had been muted, and I heard someone–Rosalie?–shift her weight on the first

floor.

I also heard a faint, thudding rhythm, with a voice shouting angrily to the beat. Rap music? I

was mystified for a moment, and then the sound faded away like a car passing by with the

windows rolled down.

With a start, I realized that this could be exactly right. Could I hear all the way to the freeway?

I didn't realize someone was holding my hand until whoever it was squeezed it lightly. Like it

had before to hide the pain, my body locked down again in surprise. This was not a touch I

expected. The skin was perfectly smooth, but it was the wrong temperature. Not cold.

After that first frozen second of shock, my body responded to the unfamiliar touch in a way that

shocked me even more.

Air hissed up my throat, spitting through my clenched teeth with a low, menacing sound like a

swarm of bees. Before the sound was out, my muscles bunched and arched, twisting away from

the unknown. I flipped off my back in a spin so fast it should have turned the room into an

incomprehensible blur–but it did not. I saw every dust mote, every splinter in the wood-paneled

walls, every loose thread in microscopic detail as my eyes whirled past them.

So by the time I found myself crouched against the wall defensively–about a sixteenth of a

second later–I already understood what had startled me, and that I had overreacted.

Oh. Of course. Edward wouldn't feel cold to me. We were the same temperature now.

I held my pose for an eighth of a second longer, adjusting to the scene before me.

Edward was leaning across the operating table that had been my pyre, his hand reached out

toward me, his expression anxious.

Edward's face was the most important thing, but my peripheral vision catalogued everything

else, just in case. Some instinct to defend had been triggered, and I automatically searched for

any sign of danger.

My vampire family waited cautiously against the far wall by the door, Emmett and Jasper in the

front. Like there was danger. My nostrils flared, searching for the threat. I could smell nothing

out of place. That faint scent of something delicious–but marred by harsh chemicals–tickled my

throat again, setting it to aching and burning.

Alice was peeking around Jasper's elbow with a huge grin on her face; the light sparkled off herI heard the sound of the others, breathing again now that I did. Their breath mixed with the

scent that was something just off honey and lilac and sunshine, bringing new flavors. Cinnamon,

hyacinth, pear, seawater, rising bread, pine, vanilla, leather, apple, moss, lavender, chocolate.…

I traded a dozen different comparisons in my mind, but none of them fit exactly. So sweet and

pleasant.

The TV downstairs had been muted, and I heard someone–Rosalie?–shift her weight on the first

floor.

I also heard a faint, thudding rhythm, with a voice shouting angrily to the beat. Rap music? I

was mystified for a moment, and then the sound faded away like a car passing by with the

windows rolled down.

With a start, I realized that this could be exactly right. Could I hear all the way to the freeway?

I didn't realize someone was holding my hand until whoever it was squeezed it lightly. Like it

had before to hide the pain, my body locked down again in surprise. This was not a touch I

expected. The skin was perfectly smooth, but it was the wrong temperature. Not cold.

After that first frozen second of shock, my body responded to the unfamiliar touch in a way that

shocked me even more.

Air hissed up my throat, spitting through my clenched teeth with a low, menacing sound like a

swarm of bees. Before the sound was out, my muscles bunched and arched, twisting away from

the unknown. I flipped off my back in a spin so fast it should have turned the room into an

incomprehensible blur–but it did not. I saw every dust mote, every splinter in the wood-paneled

walls, every loose thread in microscopic detail as my eyes whirled past them.

So by the time I found myself crouched against the wall defensively–about a sixteenth of a

second later–I already understood what had startled me, and that I had overreacted.

Oh. Of course. Edward wouldn't feel cold to me. We were the same temperature now.

I held my pose for an eighth of a second longer, adjusting to the scene before me.

Edward was leaning across the operating table that had been my pyre, his hand reached out

toward me, his expression anxious.

Edward's face was the most important thing, but my peripheral vision catalogued everything

else, just in case. Some instinct to defend had been triggered, and I automatically searched for

any sign of danger.

My vampire family waited cautiously against the far wall by the door, Emmett and Jasper in the

front. Like there was danger. My nostrils flared, searching for the threat. I could smell nothing

out of place. That faint scent of something delicious–but marred by harsh chemicals–tickled my

throat again, setting it to aching and burning.

Alice was peeking around Jasper's elbow with a huge grin on her face; the light sparkled off her

"Keep to the main trail–we're almost to the Quileute border," Edward ordered tersely. "Stay

together. See if they turned north or south."

I was not as familiar with the treaty line as the rest of them, but I could smell the hint of wolf in

the breeze blowing from the east. Edward and Carlisle slowed a little out of habit, and I could

see their heads sweep from side to side, waiting for the trail to turn.

Then the wolf smell was suddenly stronger, and Edward's head snapped up. He came to a

sudden stop. The rest of us froze, too.

"Sam?" Edward asked in a flat voice. "What is this?"

Sam came through the trees a few hundred yards away, walking quickly toward us in his human

form, flanked by two big wolves–Paul and Jared. It took Sam a while to reach us; his human

pace made me impatient. I didn't want time to think about what was happening. I wanted to be

in motion, to be doing something. I wanted to have my arms around Alice, to know beyond a

doubt that she was safe.

I watched Edward's face go absolutely white as he read what Sam was thinking. Sam ignored

him, looking straight at Carlisle as he stopped walking and began to speak.

"Right after midnight, Alice and Jasper came to this place and asked permission to cross our

land to the ocean. I granted them that and escorted them to the coast myself. They went

immediately into the water and did not return. As we journeyed, Alice told me it was of the

utmost importance that I say nothing to Jacob about seeing her until I spoke to you. I was to

wait here for you to come looking for her and then give you this note. She told me to obey her

as if all our lives depended on it."

Sam's face was grim as he held out a folded sheet of paper, printed all over with small black

text. It was a page out of a book; my sharp eyes read the printed words as Carlisle unfolded it to

see the other side. The side facing me was the copyright page from The Merchant of Venice. A

hint of my own scent blew off of it as Carlisle shook the paper flat. I realized it was a page torn

from one of my books. I'd brought a few things from Charlie's house to the cottage; a few sets

of normal clothes, all the letters from my mother, and my favorite books. My tattered collection

of Shakespeare paperbacks had been on the bookshelf in the cottage's little living room

yesterday morning.…

"Alice has decided to leave us," Carlisle whispered.

"What?" Rosalie cried.

Carlisle turned the page around so that we all could read.

Don't look for us. There isn't time to waste. Remember: Tanya, Siobhan, Amun, Alistair, all the

nomads you can find. We'll seek out Peter and Charlotte on our way. We're so sorry that we

have to leave you this way, with no goodbyes or explanations. It's the only way for us. We love

you.