|Chapter One|

ISABELLA MARIE DUPONT

My name was Isabella Marie Dupont and my maman was a vampire. Though I hadn't been born in France, and my original surname was Swan, my maman had us move away from the States and to France as soon as I came into her life.

She had been away from her home country long enough, and so I was raised in France since I was about a week old. Partly, because my maman wanted me to know and fall in love with the country she had come from. Another being, she had no attachment towards America, and since I was a baby, she knew I had no attachment towards the country either. I took her last name as soon as I was old enough to know I could, and so she legally adopted me. I became Isabella Marie Dupont. Isabella Marie Swan was no more, in her place was an elegant young woman who knew her worth.

Now though, as we stood in the small country cottage we were currently living in, on the outskirts of a well populated village, I wondered why my maman was waiting for me to come home from school. She was dressed to perfection, in her cream hued button up silk blouse. The buttons were unbuttoned a little past modest, and the sleeves went to her wrists, though ruffles were sewn at the end of the sleeves. High waist denim capri pants, which bellowed out a little above her ankles, and black high heels finished off her look. All her fingers expect for her wedding finger were covered with exquisite jewelry, high end jewelry. She smiled brilliantly at me, her reddish-brown coiled curls cascading against her heart shaped head made her have an old French noble essence to her.

Since it was January, it wasn't uncommon for the weather to be quite dreary, and from the fresh snow outside, I knew we would be having another night where I would sleep by the fireplace on the vintage loveseat that faced the fireplace. Maman on the other hand, being a vampire, did not have to worry about being too hot or too cold, something I was jealous of.

"Maman, what is wrong?"

I practiced making sure my French accent wasn't too strong to mispronounce words, and my English/American could sound better. Sure, sometimes when I would be angry, or was passionate about something all of that was thrown out of the window. Thankfully, Maman also thought I should learn to speak more eloquent, in case we ever moved somewhere else than France. She never moved us from France, but from the look on her face I knew we would be moving once more. Could this be the time where we would move to another country?

"We've stayed here long enough. Since you are seventeen, I believe it would be best we move back to your hometown, Forks for the remaining years of high school. It's in Washington State." Maman waited patiently for what I would say, enough in which I frowned and went over to the loveseat before sitting down on the emerald velvet fabric, taking in her words.

"Are you sure? We don't have to move there; it doesn't hold anything for me. I was only a week old when you found me there," I reminded her.

My soft French accent was another reminder how far away I was from my home country, and how I never stepped foot within the United States. It held nothing important to me. I could go and visit my parents' graves, along with the empty grave that was meant for me since my body had never been discovered.

Despite my light protests, Maman had made her decision. So, it didn't take long for us to gather our things, ship our furniture over to one of the more expensive houses on the outskirts of Forks Maman had claimed she had bought, and for me to say goodbye to my four friends. I went to an only Girls' school, so I knew things would be interesting when I would arrive in Forks and go to an Co-Ed high school. I would have a lot of new things I would be experiencing, hopefully better things than worse.

I found myself going through more airports than I ever had gone through before. Sure, I had moved a good bit around the country, but it was one thing for me to have a few hours when it came to one or two flights, but it would take more than a day of flights for me to arrive in America and then to Seattle, Washington.

Maman had made sure to feed well before she would be stuck closed in spaces with a multitude of humans, one of them of course being her human daughter. Unlike me, who would eat all the barely acceptable airline food I would be provided. I didn't know which would be better though, whether to be a vampire and to have a constant burning, heat in the back of my throat or be a normal human on a plane flight eating bland food.

It was raining, with a vengeance, when we arrived in Port Angeles, after having to take an hour-long flight from Seattle. Maman was stared at the whole time, bringing amusement from me.

I often messed with her, asking her if she would ever go on dates. She claimed she didn't need anyone in her life other than me. She flirted easily, but she never went past fingers brushing against biceps, and her seductive charms. She and I both knew how dangerous it was for even me to know about her being a vampire, if she ever brought another human into our lives, she would have them come after us.

I had only been told about them once in my life, when I was old enough in her eyes to know. I was mature enough, smart enough, to know when she sat me down and told me about the Volturi.

The leaders of the vampire world, they were ruled by three 'kings', and a multitude of guards, many of which were gifted. The kings were Aro, Caius, and Marcus Volturi. They had been ruling the vampire world since 400-500 A.D. They had come after the Romanian Coven and defeated them easily, destroying everyone except for the two leaders of the coven-Vladimir and Stefan—because of the amount of gifted vampires the Volturi had collected.

Aro Volturi was known as the overall leader of the three. He had the gift of tactile telepathy, the supernatural talent to read all the thoughts and memories a person has ever had with a touch. He had obsidian hair which fell to his shoulders, wide misty clouded crimson irises, and paper like skin. He was obsessed with collecting gifted vampires, always trying to lure them into his guard. Many did not refuse him, knowing the power he had over them, and didn't want to think of the consequences of them denying them.

Caius Volturi was the most ruthless of the leaders and lead a very civilized lifestyle. His white-blond hair fell to his shoulder blades, and he had the body type of a warrior. While his co-leader, Aro, had wide and emotional eyes, Caius always had his eyes narrowed and weary. He was someone who always studied the atmosphere around him, prepared to be the iron fist. He was the one who was the most alive when it would be time for an execution.

Marcus Volturi was the last leader and lived a solemn life. He had the gift of identification of emotional bonds, mostly in mates (true soulmates for vampires). He had shoulder length obsidian hair like Aro, but his features were dead to the world. He never spoke with emotion, had not spoken with emotion in centuries upon centuries, after the death of his mate, and wife, Didyme (she had the gift of making people happy). Rumors were Didyme had been murdered by her own brother, Aro, when she and Marcus had grown tired of the Volturi lifestyle.

With the death of Didyme, Caius and Aro had decided they would have their wives sent to a tower, where they were watched over by Corin, a woman vampire who had the gift of making people feel content with their situations.

Athenodora, was the wife of Caius. She was fair-headed and had powdery skin and bright crimson red eyes. She did not have a gift. Sulpicia was the wife of Aro, and had long, messy dark brown hair with the same crimson eyes. She was slightly taller than Athenodora. She was not gifted either.

I still remembered the seriousness of Maman as she patiently told me about them. She knew we had to be careful, but she was thankful she did not receive a gift when she had been transformed into a vampire. She made sure to move us around France every two years, so that we would not gain too much attention from those around us. Despite her not having those crimson eyes of human drinkers, she still had that inhuman golden hue, which were not natural. So of course, word would spread about the beautiful golden eyed middle-aged woman with a daughter who looked nothing like her.

Maman already had shipped her car here, so it was sitting in the airport parking lot, having been left there not that long ago from one of my Maman's friends from long ago. Of course, it would be pointless to ask who it was. Though Maman was weary, she still flourished in society before she had come across me. She hadn't made friends after she had adopted me, knowing the dangers. She only had her friends come over to our cottages and homes when I would be at school in order to protect me, since the others would be human drinkers instead of animal drinkers.

Once we had put our luggage into the trunk of the car, I slipped into the cool deep gray leather side passenger seat and turned on the heat before Maman slowly pulled us out of the parking lot. She followed the rest of the cars that were leaving the airport. I let her choose the music, as my eyes took in the difference of this country than France. Maman had raised me well, so I was able to know American currency. I still had the habit of writing everything in French first, so I knew I would end up having to rewrite my work in English before I would give it to my teachers.

As we reached the outskirts of the town, my heart began racing in my chest. I felt my fingers tapping against the seatbelt. I couldn't wait until we would be stapled in this town, and for me to see what my hometown was like. I knew I would be an anomaly since there was no way I could say I was the daughter of Charie and Renee Swan. I would have been taken away from my maman and thrown into a foster home, with people I didn't know and people I wouldn't trust. Maman would be found by the Volturi and slaughtered for bringing me into her world.

Maman was wearing one of her cream fuzzy sweaters with a tan pea coat over it, dark washed jeans, and ankle high brown leather boots, along with a black French bonnet hat on her head, tipped sideways. Her makeup was perfect, the lipstick a nice deep brown hue, her eyeshadow a light tan, and smoky eyeliner. Her eyelashes were naturally thick and long, even in her human life, so she resembled a French Vogue model now. Her long, mocha brown painted fingernails were tapping against the steering wheel, her eyes always flickering back towards me and then to the road again.

I on the other hand was wearing a white turtleneck sweater that fell an inch above my light washed jeans. A baby blue sweater jacket cardigan was draped over, with big, fuzzy white clouds sewn in random places on the cardigan. A white pea coat, an exact copy except in color, of Maman's sitting in my lap haphazardly. My hair was pulled up in a high curly bun, with a white ribbon tied around it. Light makeup, from a natural makeup pallet, graced my face and the small silver locket Maman had gifted me last year for my sixteenth birthday was around my neck, resting at 18 inches.

"There was a plot of land that was for sale here two years ago," Maman informed me as we went through the town. My eyes caught on all the different family-owned stores.

There were log truckers, two of them, that were not that far ahead of us. Old truck beds, rusty and well used, were full to the brim with fishing equipment. There were other items, some were scrap metal, that were being transported to other places—either for future projects or to trade for money. A few dogs were in the back beds too, wagging their tails and flopping their ears. There weren't any children that were in the truck beds or grown people, something that was common for me to see back in France when we would live in the farming communities.

"I bought it and began to have a home built for us. I've been planning on moving here long before you knew. I hope you won't be mad."

Maman didn't look at me, as though she was expecting me to be mad at her. I sighed and shook my hand, bringing my hand out and touching her hand, not having to say anything. She gave me a grateful smile, allowing me to know she would have done the exact opposite of what I had done, she didn't like being left out of the loop.

The town was small, as was expected, so we were soon on the other side of the outskirts. I almost was bouncing out of my seat in excitement, waiting to see this house my maman had built for me. It was something just for her and me.

I had already planned on being changed into a vampire after I finished college, since she was older, and I could be in my twenties, and she could be in her mid-forties. People would still believe I was her daughter. Otherwise, I would have had a true age limit for me to become a vampire in order to be her daughter still.

The moment we pulled up a dirt road that went off to the side of road, I knew I was coming home. The trees were beautiful canopies and the sunlight that barely hit us was enough for me to know we wouldn't have to worry about people seeing Maman only in brief moments. Being a vampire meant she couldn't be in the straight sunlight—a cloudless/sunny day. Her skin would shimmer as though she was made of diamonds and crystals, a beautiful vision. She often went out in the fields with me when she was like this, far away from the village folk. I would dress in all her sparkle jewelry and outfits, wanting to shine as bright as she did.

A one-story, ground floor, house was in front of me. It was cottage themed, a long L shaped cottage. There was a little entrance arched porch, with a robin blue egg, round shaped front door. Ivy was across the painted white bricks. Large, farm windows were spread beautifully across the cottage, and a bricked chimney with a multitude of different bricks put together in an original pattern, made it even more whimsical. There were different gardens that were spread around the property, as though we were in the middle of a European garden. A cottage made up from all the different homes we had lived in, in which I had loved, was combined to make this dream home.

Once Maman stopped the car, I hopped out of the car and rushed forward, my tennis shoes barely leaving imprints. I threw open the front door, my eyes landing on the open floor plan. The living room, kitchen, and dining room made up most of the house. There were wood beams above us, and many of the walls were exposed to the brick on the outside. The fireplace was situated perfectly in the middle of the room, where it could be lit on either side. Maman's favorite pieces of furniture had already been delivered here, some of the furniture being from the Italian and French Renaissance. None of the furniture happened to come from Maman's old life, when she was a human. She had money, but she never had anything she felt she needed to bring.

"It's beautiful, Maman!"

I proclaimed before I rushed over to her and hugged her, she wrapped her arms around me a moment later and kissed me on the head. She pulled away from me before taking my hand once more, and took us down the left hallway, where my bedroom was. It would be connected to a bathroom, there was a guest bathroom down that hallway too. Maman's bedroom was on the other end of the house, with her study/greenhouse.

My bedroom was made only of the exposure brick. A skylight was above me, right above where my bed was. A writing desk, one I had found in an antique French store when I was thirteen, was in the right side of the room with its matching chair. My oval standing mirror was in the other corner of the room, painted true gold. It was one of my maman's first mirrors. A vanity table set was against one of the walls, white-washed wood. A fuzzy white rug was in the center of the room, where two drawing chairs were facing the French doors that led out to the side of the forest it was facing. A mattress was pressed against the wall where my bedroom door was up against, with a wooden small bedframe was underneath it—the sheets were white, and many of the pillows were white. There were some that were of all different array of colors and patterns, all in the theme of the French and Italian Renaissance.

My bathroom was on the smaller side, with enough room to be comfortably small. A clawfoot tub was up against one of the farm windows, with another skylight above us, though the ceiling was slanted so with a little window opener rod in the corner of the room I could open the skylight. The walls were the same as the living room and my bedroom, exposed brick. I knew I most likely would be in the tub taking steamy baths and covered in multitude of blankets when I was wandering around the house, but I grew up in cold and rainy French country sides, so I was accustomed to a draftiness. An antique sink and simple modern toilet were on the right side of the room while the left side of the room had weightless wood shelves, which held different plotted flowers, all of which were my favorite flowers.

Leaving my bedroom, and bathroom, I was soon greeted with Maman coming out from her side of the cottage, where her bedroom/bathroom and study were. I didn't go over to it, knowing she preferred her seclusion when it came to her bedroom and study. I had never entered either one or did I ever feel as though I should. She had saved me from a nomad vampire and was risking her life every day with raising me so it was the least I could do. If she ever wanted to show me her study, she would.

Maman threw open the French doors that led to the back part of the cottage, where I was welcomed with a brilliant stone fountain, three tiered, in the cliché disk style. A square garden gazebo, with a small platform (barely enough for two steps to go up them), held some lawn chairs. Ivy and other plants were dead but curled around the gazebo, as though letting me know they were going to be bright and full of life when spring and summer would arrive.

Maman ushered me to the fountain. She sat down on the bottom of the fountain and made sure I was situated on it without slipping back into the icy water. The soft trickle of the fountain behind me was enough for me to lean sideways, my head pressed against her side. She reached down and kissed me on the forehead, before she wrapped her arm around me. She kept me pressed up against her, as though she was afraid if she didn't, she'd have me not there anymore.

"Maman, is everything okay?" I probed, before she assured me everything was okay, in that soft lullaby like manner. My eyes went up towards the canopy of trees, wondering what it would be like to live here.

I spent the rest of the day, studying, observing my maman. She never revealed anything to me other than her learning there was a midwife clinic up in Port Angeles. She had contacted them, and they had been more than thrilled to have someone as experienced as my maman come to them. She would be at work before I would wake up, but she'd return home about an hour or two after I would come home from school. She'd assure me she would memorize the forest before she would start hunting, so she could know where I was if I ever decided to spontaneously go hiking (yeah, no thanks).

Dinner was anticlimactic. I wouldn't go open the fridge and look in there, only to find an empty fridge. The same old friend of my maman's that helped with the car, had gone and bought us food—stocking it with all my favorite foods they could find. Sure, there would be foods I couldn't have, since they were only available in France, but I couldn't be inconsiderate. My maman had moved us here, for me to experience the last two years of high school here.

I woke the next morning, tired and nervous. I was mentally preparing myself for my first day of school. I could only hope I wouldn't be an absolute joke to everyone around me. I didn't want to have my voice thicken. I didn't want people to laugh at me because of my accent or think I cared too much about appearances because I always made sure to look my best (which sometimes happened to be me wearing some of the higher end but still simple clothes).

I was sitting at my antique vanity, brushing my hair before pulling it up in its signature bun on the top of my head with a cream ribbon tied in a bow. My three-layered tulle skirt (all a very pale blue), which fell a little past my knees was lying across my bed and a light gray knitted sweater jacket was next to it. A simple white sweater would be tucked French styled against the skirt. A pair of my gray winter boots would finish my ensemble.

Maman came into my room right when I was changing into my ensemble of the day, giving me a small smile before she began to make my bed. I wasn't a slob or anything, sometimes she was in the cleaning mood and with her vampiric speed I'd never have the chance to clean it before her. She motioned for me to sit on my vanity chair a moment later before she began to put on my light makeup, barely noticeable, but noticeable still.

She frowned when she saw how troubled I was, the only thing that brought me out of my stupor was when she called me by her nickname, she had given me, Petit Papillon (little butterfly). I nervously smiled at her, my fingernails twining together. They were French manicured, freshly done, right before we had gotten on the plane to come to America. I looked away, never able to look at her that long when she gave me those motherly assurances—such as a soft gaze into those golden irises.

My eyes flashed away from her towards my clock, my eyes widening when I saw what time it was. "Maman, we must leave! I need to get to the school so I can get my schedule!" I proclaimed before I hopped up from my spot on the vanity chair, thankful once more for the vampiric speed my maman was gifted with.

Maman laughed in good nature at this, before she got up and made sure I grabbed my backpack and purse. I giggled some before I kissed her on the cheek. She rolled her eyes in good nature before we slipped into her car. My car was being delivered from overseas, so I would be getting my car next week. Unlike Maman, who had luck on her side.

My heart didn't stop racing in my chest, despite me trying to stay calm. She reached her hand out and put her hand on top of mine for a moment, she wasn't wearing any jewelry to work. She didn't want anything of hers to be stolen. She had it happen once or twice but through some informants in the past she managed to sneak her jewelry back. She didn't want to go through that again.

We came across the high school, which was off the highway, with a collection of matching houses instead of one complete building. Maman parked in front of the office, before turning and leaning in, kissing me on the forehead, "be brave, my Petit Papillon."

"For you Mamon, I will," I whispered back before I got out of the car and grabbed my things, shutting the door behind me. She sent me a bunch of air kisses before pulling out of the parking spot and out onto the highway again.

Taking a deep breath, I smoothed down my clothes before stalking forward. Opening the front office, I was sent a whoosh of air conditioning, which in return made me almost flinch from the coldness. Maman had helped me with my poker face growing up, so I didn't show any flinching at the sudden coldness added upon the freezing temperature. The office was moderate sized, with padded folding chairs, and orange flecked commercial carpet. Potted plants were throughout the room, almost consuming the whole room in green and covering every crevice. To others they would find it too much, but it only reminded me of my French country sides. The room was cut in half from the oak front office counter.

A large, pale woman with curly red hair, just brought her head up from the computer screen in front of her. She had average features, was wearing a purple sweater, and had an office lanyard with her school ID showing her smiling face (quite unflattering from the florescent lighting in the picture). She frowned for a moment, before adjusting her features, to a more welcoming smile.

"Welcome to Forks High, you must be our newest student. Forgive me, but I forgot your name, it's French, I believe. Oh, before I forget anything else, I'm Mrs. Cope."

The woman seemed as though she was embarrassed with having forgotten my name. If only she knew I was the fallen officer Charlie Swan's missing daughter, then maybe she would have acted differently. Best she not know the truth.

So, with a brilliant smile I responded, "It's fine. I'm Isabella Dupont."

author's note: first of course: Twilight doesn't belong to me

Secondly: Since Sylvia is an interesting vampire, she was considered a socialite before she adopted Bella, who in this fanfiction prefers to be called either or. She couldn't care less if you called her Bella or Isabella. She has no memory of the last name Swan, so she decided that wasn't a name that meant anything. She wanted to have her mom's last name. Sylvia is not the female version of Carlisle. She doesn't plan on changing all kinds of people into vampires. In her line of her work, she would be making vampire mothers with immortal children, who would be found and killed by the Volturi. Of course, then Sylvia would be discovered, and she would be murdered for this.

Bella has a better sense of style, so she knows fashion by her mom. She won't wear skintight clothes or revealing clothes. She'll be fashionable but her clothes will be modest, not showing too much skin. She loves doing herbology and painting. :)

How do you want Sylvia and Carlisle to interact with each other, when they first meet? Carlisle, obviously, thinks he's the first Veggie vampire, but he'll be proven wrong by Sylvia. Do you think he'll be upset she didn't come to teach him the veggie ways, when she would learn about him being one? Or that she didn't come to be his companion and be in a coven with him? Let me know.

Let me know your opinions!

-Emmy

Edited: 12/18/2021