I quite like this one, even if I do say, but it was written pretty quickly because I got so into it, so if there are any drastic mistakes please tell me! =]

I don't own twilight, it belongs to Stephenieeee (OMG WE LOVE YOU.)

Thank you so much for my pretty pretty reviews, I love them so much, they make me so happy!

This one is back in Alice's POV, I hope you like..

What made it worse was that she didn't cry, or scream or question. She just stood, perfectly still, and every light died in her eyes. Slowly her shoulders slumped, and as she stared into my face, I heard her teeth grind together as her jaw shook with pain.

"I don't understand." She said quietly. "Alice, it's me, I'm your sister!"

She reached out to touch my arm and I cringed away. This was getting worse, not only did my mental defect cause me pain, meaning I had no idea who I really was, now it was the reason for this look on my sisters face. It hurt that this was a person I had grown up with, yet I felt no connection to her apart from our physical likeness, that I still had no connection to my human life. Yet it hurt me more that I made my sister look like I had just told her someone had just died. That part of me had died.

"I'm your sister." She repeated in a half-whisper.

"Cynthia maybe you should come and sit down, Alice has a lot to tell you." Carlisle said calmly, his paternal instincts coming out, usually this would be a strange thing to do in a house full of vampires, we were comfortable standing on our heads, yet Cynthia looked so shaken that I didn't hesitate in leading her towards the sofa. We sat, facing each other in silence, Cynthia still staring desperately as if she expected the memories to suddenly flood back to my mind. I felt the rest of my family subtly slip into the kitchen, Jasper gently touching me on the arm as he went out.

We sat for minutes, saying nothing, I knew everything I wanted to say, but somehow, they didn't form words in my brain, I wanted to tell her how I would give anything to remember her, but because of some cruel twist of fate, some happening in my mind, my life only existed from when I woke up with pale skin and a burn in my throat.

"Alice." She eventually said, "Why don't you know who I am?"

"My mother – Our Mother, our Father, you, everything that happened up until the day I was changed, doesn't exist for me. I'm so sorry Cynthia. For some unknown reason, I don't remember anything about my human life. There have been lots of theories. Some have said because I went through emotional trauma that I don't remember, a sort of vampiric post-traumatic stress disorder. Some of them round here believe that because I see the future, I don't remember the past as well-"

"You can still do that?" She interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"See the future." She said plainly.

"Did I used to be able to do it?"

"Nothing like, candles and mystical balls and visions. But you became strangely intuitive, you could always tell when something dangerous was about to happen. You told me you had flashes, glimpses of things that were going to go wrong, and you were always right. I was the only one who knew at first, and I begged you not to tell anyone, I was the cynical one of course. Yet you trusted our parents, especially our mother-"

"Mary Brandon." I breathed.

She looked at me with wide eyes. "But you remembered that?"

"I researched our family a while back; I was determined to know where I came from."

"I shouldn't think you found much, our family wasn't exactly prestigious in the town, Mother was always desperate to climb higher socially, but Father was never that interested. I think maybe sometimes that's why they took you away from me, they were mortified to have a daughter who could escape death, and she resented both of us for what happened to our Grandmother."

"What happened?" I asked gravely. It was strange, hearing about myself as if I was a spectator, watching on over my own biography, remembering none of it. Cynthia bit her lip and her eyebrows screwed up as she stared at the wall just past my face. She was somewhere far back in her past, I don't think she even realised I was there for some time.

"Is it bad?" I asked.

"Yes. And no. No- it's not, if you had not have done it, well, listen. One day our Grandmother was taking us out to the seaside for the weekend. Our Mother thought some seaside air would do you some good, because you had told her about your flashes of the future, and she had thought you were being a silly schoolgirl making things up. We got on the steam train, altogether, our stuffy upright Grandmother pulling us along. You bought us both ice creams with your pocket money,

'Don't tell Mother, she says this money was only for emergencies.' You giggled, and took a lick of your ice cream.

We ran down the corridor, and leapt onto the plush velvet seats of the train, and I got annoyed because you could touch the floor with your toes and I couldn't. Even then we were both tiny. All of a sudden you got this faraway, but terrified look on your face, and you dropped your ice cream on the table.

'Now look what you've gone and done.' Grandmother was so angry the ugly blue vein on her forehead throbbed, as she dabbed up the ice cream before it could drip on her. It was all over your best blue dress but you didn't even notice, you grabbed my hand and wrenched me up. Before I could even ask what was going on you were tugging me out of the door back onto the platform. The trains took such a long time to go then that we hadn't even started moving; we got out just in time before the guard came and closed our doors.

'Girls! GIRLS! Get back here now!' Even then it was a struggle for Grandmother to raise her voice, determined not to shame herself in public. You had already pulled me into the station, and I could hear the pulsing noise of the train leaving behind us.

Suddenly you began to cry uncontrollably, sat on the floor, clutching the lace of your dress, your throat scratching with the force of your tears which poured down your face. I was helpless, I fought to walk around, to ask you what was going on, to ask someone for help. But you scrabbled at me everytime I moved to get away, you clasped onto my hands with a vice like grip and told me to never leave you. I promised I wouldn't."

Cynthia cried, she looked at me with expression that showed exactly how painful this next part mof her memory was. "That was the day the last carriage on the Biloxi steam train derailed, and twenty people were killed. One of those twenty was our Grandmother. I'm pretty sure if you hadn't pulled us off that day, it would have been twenty-two."

I was silent, my visions had been saving my life, and my sisters even before I was turned. Yet, all those people had still died, we had escaped fate, yet I couldn't do the same for another person in my family. Cynthia nodded as if she knew what I was thinking.

"Our mother then resented you from that day on, she knew exactly what had happened when she came rushing into the station after hearing the news, and found us both in the ticket masters office, clinging to each other under the desk, eyes streaming with tears. On the surface of course, she was ecstatic that her two babies, her girls, her pride and joy, were alive and well. But she knew underneath it all what happened, and every day she blamed us – she blamed you – for her mother's death. I'm sorry Ally; it makes me so sick to say all this again."

I felt sick as well, my own mother, the one who was meant to cherish me and care for me, though me a murderer when I was just a child. I felt sick, and sad and angry. I looked up and saw Cynthia looking at me, and for the first time, she felt like my sister. I grabbed her hand and held on firmly.

"I'm sorry Cynthia." I stammered.

"Don't be sorry." She smiled weakly with dewy eyes. "You saved my life."