For the few years following, it was generally a routine life for the both of them. So routine, in fact, that I have no true business musing on it. The most important event that took place after the change happened in the year 1936 in the dead of winter.

Cara weakly perched herself on a tree branch and rested her head against the bark. She counted almost nine days since her last feed. The Depression had taken a toll on everyone, living or dead. The apartment Chelsea left her was only paid until the end of that month. Cara curled her legs onto the branch and spotted another tear in her tights. They were nearly shreds at this point.

Cara held a job for a while, when everything was good, and even got her own apartment. But when the lion was silenced, she was back on the streets. It was rare that she fed. People never went out anymore. They couldn't trust the storm. If Cara was not the threat, then it was certainly looters and crooks who frightened them into their make shift shelters. Cara was like them now. Penniless. Starving. Hopeless. Desperate. Alone. Afraid. It was possible to fear for a life that she should've never had. She knew that now. A noise made her freeze for a moment. A crunch of deceased, unfrosted leaves. Then more. And more. A pattern. A person. She descended from the tree and crouched like a jungle cat ready to capture its squirming prey.

She walked through a dirt path silently, following the walking and before long, she noticed a fire. She ducked behind a snow-covered boulder. The scent of wet dog hit her nose like a tidal wave. She couldn't find its source. She put a hand over her nose and listened carefully. They were native in every way. They wore animal skin and wreaked of its meat. They were tall and dark with pride burning in their shadowy eyes as bright as the bonfire. She stayed still as a few more of them stood in her view of the fire. They spoke worriedly as the most regal of them all (their leader, she presumed) stepped forward. She also heard five sets of new footsteps. They stopped at the same time. They must've faced each other. There was silence.

A tall, built man came into Cara's narrowed view. He had small black eyes and short dark hair. His skin was pale and she smelled no blood. Her spine turned to ice in a moment. The five were vampires, she could smell it clearly now. She had to get away.

The leader spoke sternly in his best English, one of the vampires responded which made her freeze in place.
"We mean no harm to your people."
"I know of your people and what they are capable of."
"But we are different."

Silence.

There was a stir amongst the people. The two tribesmen in front of Cara moved apart, giving her enough of a view. Yes, it was Carlisle. There was no question. His blonde hair was tucked under a checkered cap which fit well with the tweed suit. Behind him stood a tall blonde girl of striking beauty. Her clothes were fashionable and her stance was strong although Cara could sense her fear. Holding her waist was the toned man from before. Next to Carlisle was a sweet looking woman with hair like falling caramel. She, too, was gorgeous.

"If you promise to leave our people, we will grant your presence. This treaty is never to be broken."
"You have my word that it never will be."
Carlisle stepped forward to shake the man's hand and it was then that she saw him. Bronze hair, tall stature, face half illuminated by the glowing fire.
"Edward?" She said it too quiet for human ears but not silent enough for his. He turned his head and caught a glimpse of her before she ducked behind her rocky shield. No one else noticed, no one else cared. Soon enough, the leader dismissed them and the dog scent dissipated. All the footsteps departed and Cara was alone once more with a will to investigate her estranged fiancé.

She waited until nightfall and followed his scent. It got clearer and clearer as she got closer to the edge of the woods. There was a wooden home with beautiful blue paint, enormous glass windows and dripping with the scent of Edward. She saw an open deck area and acted quickly since no one appeared to be home. She walked through the home in awe. Everything was expensive and pristine. It was like being in a museum. She forgot what it was like to live in a home. For a moment she took note of all the things she could take to sell to the sleazy street vendor but then decided against it. No matter how much she needed decent looking clothes and a good bathe, she couldn't bring herself to steal from Dr. Cullen. She stopped when she passed by a familiar looking room. Everything Edward ever loved and treasured was kept neatly in his room. It had a door that opened into the trees that sang with the Nightingale song. She looked at his bookshelf to find one of his leather bound journals that she got him for his birthday one year long ago. Next to that was another. And another. And another following. Ten in a neat and tidy row between A Midsummer Night's Dream and Dante's Inferno. She picked up the one behind Inferno. It was worn and torn with tiny stains of water in places. She sat on the chair, overlooking the overwhelming feeling of comfort she felt at the moment -she'd forgotten what a chair felt like as well-, and began to read.

As his loving adopted family settled into their home from a rough night of hunting, Edward went straight to his room, still reeling from the strange incident at the Quileute reservation. It was her. It had to be her. He walked down the hall towards his bedroom. But if it was her, why didn't he read her thoughts. His door was closed and when he opened the door, he knew she was there. His breath caught in his dormant lungs. There was no chance of denial anymore.

"I thought that was you." Edward turned on his desk lamp and stared at Cara. She sat lengthwise on the armchair, torn-tight covered ankles crossed, stained dress laying across her thighs. Her face was smudged with dirt and her hair held a few stray twigs. She was disheveled and unrefined but she was still the most beautiful woman in the world. He spied the journal in her lap, "It's very uncouth to go through people's personal belongings."
"Well, that rule is lifted if it was a gift," she took the journal and flipped the pages quickly, "plus, my name is all throughout." They both gave an awkward smile. Cara sat upright and looked at the floor.
I thought you were dead. Dead for eighteen years.
"Me too."
"Me too what?"
A look of confusion.
"What's wrong with your eyes?"
"What?"
"Well... I've never seen them that colour."
"I just fed."
"On what?"
"Deer, mostly, they're the only ones to come out in this weather."
"Why?!" She stood, horrified.
"Well, we can't kill people!"
"Some people are awful and don't have any life to live!"
"You think you can judge someone's quality of life?"
"Accurately!" They were inches from each other. Cara's nose filled with his scent, she noticed his fists were clenched. The hands that once touched her so gently. She looked up at his glare, "Stop it." She whispered.
"What?" He nearly spat.
"Stop talking to me like I chose this! Stop looking at me like I am everything in your life that's wrong!" Her eyes filled with hot tears, "You used to love me more than anyone else in the world!"
"I loved you when you were good." A murderer cannot be loved.
"You hypocrite." She whispered. There was a long silence. Neither understood how the reunion turned sour so quickly.
"I think you should leave."
"I'm so sorry I came." She looked at the ground as a tear fell, "I loved you so much more when I thought you were dead."

The next day she snuck onto a cargo ship. It carried heavy ropes, fishing line and our story's heroine. She made a small hole in the wall of the ship and spent the nights watching the water turn from American to Indian. When the ship docked, she swam to Italy. And dripping with sea water and desperation, the Volturi coven welcomed her as their new recruit.

...

What a way to start off the new Part, huh? A great chapter, I say, but quite late. All my fault, of course, I get distracted so easily. But as a new-chapter's resolution, I'll do my very best to make sure it's on time. Anyway, just a few things before I disappear for another week, Cara is now dirt poor at the very beginning, as everyone else is since it's the Depression. Picture Katniss Everdeen when Peeta is throwing her the burned bread. Yes, THAT poor. It's quite tragic. I'm so glad to add in the Quileute treaty, it's like a bit of a history lesson in with your weekly novel. It's brilliant (if I do commend myself as such). Anyway, be mindful of the placement of Edward's journals, for it was intentional. In chronological order, his earliest journals are placed near the comedies of Shakespeare and towards the end, it's near the much more grim Dante's Inferno about hellfire and such tragedies. Oh, and if your were wondering where Cara's powers were, we start to see them here. Anything in the bold italics is Edward's thoughts. She can read his thoughts, but he can't read hers. Sound like someone? But different. of course. This is Cara, after all. And finally, Cara is now apart of the Volturi which means that the next few chapters will follow her training as a guard as Edward is consoled by his family who was eavesdropping, obviously. Thanks so much for your undying patience. Cheers!