I HAVE THE TWILIGHT SOUNDTRACK!!! I love the New Moon song and the Spotlight song (YeY Mute MAath!) and I love all of them! Opinion? REVIEW

But I do not own Twilight. That is Stephenie Meyers.

Chapter 5

Encounters

Bella's POV

My breathing becomes deeper and faster as numerous recollections pass in front of my glazed over eyes. I look at her bemused face watching me through the haze of the flickering candle. I tell her I'll drop by for the dress in the afternoon and promptly depart.

I decide to go for a bite to eat – I shake my head in exasperation at the unintended pun – and reason that I have nothing better to do and should probably not overdo it and test myself just yet if I want to slip into London's social circle. My stomach is churning already and I feel my muscles bunching at the thought of the chase. I am still – no matter how hard I try – a predator and animals are my prey. I find consolation in a saying I remember, heard from somewhere that helps me justify the choice: "had he not eaten venison in his former life?" I recalled the words in a voice, velvety smooth and reassuring. I know not whose lips those words fell from but they make this situation a little more bearable.

I sneak silently from the deserted street and speed up, running for the forest. Once there I catch sight of only a bird, too high for me to reach easily and too small to be worth the effort. I turn my head to the heart of the forest and run. This is where I am in my prime, I run onward, gliding across the uneven ground so fast that if it weren't for my heightened eyesight the world I see would be just a green blur.

A weak scent, strangely appealing, crosses my path and I change my direction, heading straight for it. The smell becomes richer in a sharp burst as I run through a huge clearing, messily swept free of trees, the surrounding bushes covered in dead twigs and blood. I go up to the nearest leaf, dripping in the intoxicating sticky liquid. I inhale deeply: swan. My head whips round as the snap of a twig echoes around the empty clearing and my eyes narrow as I spot movement on the far side of the clearing, buried in trees. I move to the shadows, circling round to the waving leaves, quieter than if I was there.

I peek over the roots of the massive oak tree behind which I am hiding and spot the shiny metal of the shotgun, pointing at the swan on the ground, quivering in pain. Two wounds are evident, dripping blood across its ivory feathers in a disturbingly appetising way, from its plump torso and a hole through the base of its wing where it's joined to the body. The man aims and with a resounding crack the swan is no more.

I gasp audibly and curse as the man looks up. I shrink behind the tree root, hands lightly placed on the ancient bark in front of me, focusing on the pearlescent fingernails in front of me, each as perfectly rounded as the next. I look up to see the rifle slung across the wide shoulder of a wide man dressed in hunting gear, in his hand the plump frame of the swan swinging from its limp neck tightly held in the fat mans hand, wings and feet grazing the ground.

I watch until it's out of site until a fox sniffs at the pool of blood. It must have followed it. I realise that my throat has been burning since the clearing and I am so tense. Venom is thick in my mouth. Instinct takes over and I leap.

Alice's POV

This cannot become a habit, going to sleep in the very early hours of the morning only to wake up in the early hours of the morning from a lumpy mattress filled with bugs and two threadbare blankets, is not good for anyone. But I need to finish this dress. I rub at my sore eyes with the back of my hand nearly poking my eye out with the gleaming pins held between thumb and forefinger. I am too tired to do anything but blink in mild surprise. No need to be melodramatic, my eye is still intact, is it not?

With a weary sigh I set to work pinning the pieces before getting my mistress from her own bed to help with the sewing. I thank the inventors of the thimble for protecting my thumb from my own clumsiness as I weave the metal through the thick fabric. It is barely dawn yet; I shall get it done in time.

I jump as two warm arms wrap around my waist from behind and I feel soft lips at the side of my neck. I know it to be Jasper and look around the room to check that no one has noticed this rebellious behaviour as I push my tangled hair from my eyes. I frown that I have not yet had time to coil my hair in its usual bun. It is too messy for Jasper to see. What must he think of me? I turn in his arms, placing my hands on his broad chest, calming my burning fingertips on the soft fabric before looking up.

My eyes are level with his Adams apple and I stretch on my tiptoes to reach his lips. I just can't reach and with a soft chuckle he lifts me onto the counter. I gasp from the sudden movement and once again check the room in fear that we'll be seen; I'll lose everything…

My worries ease as his lips meet mine in a quick kiss. My hands slide from his chest to the back of his neck as he pulls away and places his forehead upon mine. His ash-blond hair tickles my cheeks and I can feel his breath on my lips, each sending a calming wave through my entire frame. I sit there until the thimble, fallen from my finger, hits the floor with a musical chime and jerks me back to my senses.

We both lean back, heaving a sigh of contentment. His eyes sparkle in the morning light leaking through the grimy windows and he presses his silken lips to my cracked ones in farewell before hastening through the door with a spring in his step.

I smile manically as I get back to my work and within the hour have finished tacking the dress in place. It is an elegant style, respectable and simple and the material flows like liquid through my fingers.

I put the pot on the stove and prepare my mistresses mug of herbs, waiting for the boiling water. I rest my head on my hands as the clock on the mantelpiece over the fire – just for show and never used – ticks away the seconds. I turn to thinking about the dress and what that beautifully strange woman will look in it. In my mind, I give her a matching hat perched coyly atop her hair, curled and piled elegantly on her head, loose tendrils framing her porcelain face. The dress fits as perfectly as the new kid-gloves warming her long, thin, icy-cold fingers. I wonder what she'd look like in a ball gown: what colour would suit her? Shape? I begin to map out the measurements in my head only to snap back to the here and now by the unpleasantly shrill whistle of the boiling kettle. I quickly pour it into the mug and stir it as I carry it up the stairs to place it on my mistress's bedside table. I take my place at the foot of her bed and cough quietly until she wakes up. She nods before turning to the drink and I make my way downstairs to get the needles and thread out before going up to help with the tight bodice of her dress.

Once ready, my mistress and I begin piecing together the order of sewing, which way would be neatest.

As we work my mistress, more like my mother, chats to me and although she can seem irritable, it is times like these that remind me of how much she means to me and how she has been there for me. She allows me to call her by her first name, but only in private and although to strangers she seems curt and businessman like, I have never met a person so easy to get along with. She smiles warmly at me across the dress between us. I get back to my work but know that she will be still staring at me. I can feel her eyes on me – they always are when she thinks I don't know.

Once, many years ago when I was of only eight years old, her own baby girl died in her crib after a long illness. I don't think she'll ever be the same and she looks to me as she would a daughter. She knows it's not right and in front of others acts like the mean mistress she thinks everyone thinks she should be. She blames herself for not looking after her child better but I know that there was nothing that could have been done. She makes up for it everyday with kindness to me and others close to her, but she fears being seen like that to customers. Although she has suffered the greatest blow dealt to anyone, she is no fool and knows that to carry on her business she cannot be seen as a sentimental push-over.

We carry on, stopping only for a brief snack around midday after completing the skirt and half of the bodice before continuing to stitch it all together. It takes us until early afternoon to finish it and I am just putting the final stitches in place as I hear the bell ring out in the shop entrance, signalling the opening of the door. I wipe my hands of loose threads on my dress as I walk into the shop to see the sheepish-looking angel in front of me.

Bella's POV

I ran up to York, the capital of the North and the woods there where I feasted upon the plumpest deer ever seen. I saw a swan, frolicking in the water and watched in the reeds until I lost the battle of willpower and drank the most glorious taste ever heard of. Nothing tasted as good as the warm liquid sliding down my throat. I buried every carcass and entered the city by mid-morning.

I forgot about my clothing, how revealing it is considered these days and I slipped into an alley, hoping to scale a wall and exit the city to retreat to London. Instead I was followed by three drunks, hoping to corner me no doubt. I was too energetic from the feast I had just encountered and I barely heard what he was saying until he started advancing on me, reaching out a hand palm up, coaxing me to come to him like some dumb animal. I remember everything clicking into place, every sense of mine heightened beyond anything I had ever experienced and I seemed to see the situation from all angles.

"Come on love", his thick, common accent grates against my ears as I decipher the words behind the slur. "Come here" he continues, beckoning with one finger.

Anger boils up inside me and an irrational fear. I have faced this situation before, but now I am so much stronger; what is there to fear? My eyebrows pull together and I bend my knees, bending forward, arms raised in an attack position, my mouth opening to a snarl. Another growl escapes me as he steps nearer. He reaches out to me, his hands inches away from me. I snap at him, I can feel my teeth lengthen automatically at the prospect of another human. He looks at me and violence jumps forth in a punch to my face. I feel nothing and do not move while he howls. Fury is emanating from him mingled with pain as he and his friends step forth to conquer this pretty little girl by joined forces. I smile inwardly: as if they could ever do anything to me. The wall is behind me, I can feel the rough stone through my cotton T-shirt as his friends take either side and he comes at me from in front. They charge at the same time, arms outstretched in a drunken lope. I fall to my knees and his two minions smash into each other over me. They growl and slump to the floor while the first man stops. I look up to find his face inches from mine, can smell his putrid breath and cringe from the grin spreading across his lips revealing the yellow, brown, rotting teeth of his mouth.

"Gotcha". A wave of stale alcohol washes over me and my heightened senses dull as I stand up and pull back to punch him as he also stands up. My fist spins faster than human eyes can follow to connect with a cracking crunch of bone as he flies back from the force. He is bleeding on the floor.

I have to get out of here, I can already feel the venom, thick and sickly inside my mouth, coating my throat. I steal his money pouch (I need to pay Alice somehow) and set of for London, fighting the urge to feed all the way back.

I make it back to London by mid-afternoon and head to the dress-makers.

Alice's POV

She stands there as glorious as ever, one hand rubbing up and down her other arm feverishly. Her eyes are bright, a deep gold and a loose smile plays about her lips.

My mistress comes into the room accompanied by the dress which she lays on the counter with a flourish. She picks up the knife to cut off the last piece of string. I don't know what happened, how it happened but somehow my dear mistress cut her finger on the knife, blood seeping from the cut as she let out a cry of pain. My eyes turned to Miss Swan who looked repulsed, like she was going to be sick and then she wasn't there. I turned to my mistress to ask where she'd gone to find Miss Swan eyes closed, my mistresses cut finger at her lips and a look of bliss on her features. My mouth opened in disgust before my mistress uttered a scream of pure agony. Miss Swan's eyes snapped open and she pulled her head back, blood at the corner of her mouth. My eyes open in shock as I see the clean wound.

And the tooth marks on my mistress's finger.

"Esme!" I shriek in fear at what is happening.

GAAH!

What happened?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Read my now completed NEW BEGINNINGS!

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A