In a room, in a fortress with a large clock tower, a phone rings and a small white hand grabs it.
"Hello?" Her voice is sweet, fairy-like in it's tone. She has been anxiously awaiting this call.
"What did you see?" A familiar voice asks quietly; a voice she misses so badly.
"She doesn't die," she sighs, looking out one of the Lancet windows. "But she is wounded; very badly wounded."
"When?" The voice asks, and she hears not only impatience in the tone, but worry.
"Go in three days," she advises. "Earlier will only raise suspicions."
"Hug Father for me," the voice says wistfully and she smiles.
"Of course."
She hangs up the phone, looking out the glass-less window and tries to contain her own impatience.
She must wait still, wait until her hour. But it would come.
And when it came ~ there would be nothing that could stop her!
In a room, in a small house in Forks, a pale hand sets a phone down and a woman walks back into the living room.
"Everything okay?"
She smiles at the man who loves her, adores her. "Everything is fine."
Everything would be fine, she reassures herself.