The Volturi's Shiny New Toy™️

Great at playing fetch when the vampires aren't trying to race me. 36/who the hell knows?/ace-aro-pan(?)/AUDHD & all it’s (unfortunate) trappings. Mostly reblogs here, y'all

[l0stglitch]

Why would you ever want to leave?

Platonic yandere Volturi x fem!reader

Warnings- graphic descriptions of gore, implied blood orgies, murder of a young child, mind control, manipulation, controlling behaviour, indoctrination, the Volturi basically being a cult

A/N- Please note that this is an au. I have made a few changes to how vampires work and to the characters themselves, though these are mostly just changes to their ages.

Word count- Around 15-20k. Idk I lost count but it’s LONG af

This post contains all the changes I’ve made.

Divider credit: @strangergraphics

((It isn’t all written in bullet points bear with me I’m just setting the scene))

• Your life as a human wasn’t spectacular by any means. Born in England, 1954, you grew up with parents who paid very little attention to your existence.

• Having received hardly any support from your family, it’s only natural you formed very deep connections with the other disillusioned teens in your town.

• Like you, they came from small, cramped homes and had to leave school early to provide for their families. No one had much hope for the future, especially with the ever present threat of nuclear war looming over your heads.

• So unsurprisingly, you all grew to oppose any and all forms of war and violence. The system was broken, and you felt angry that it was your generation paying for the mistakes of the previous ones.

• You saw how it drained the souls of your working class parents, blindly obeying authority with the naive hope that things will improve. Society needed reformation. That was something you believed in deeply, with your whole being.

• They labelled you as hippies in the press. Policemen and neighbours would shout grief at you when they’d catch sight of your group. The flared trousers and layers of beaded jewellery meant you’d stick out like a sore thumb, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t care that they called you dirty or naive. They just didn’t understand. They were blind and misguided— too far gone.

• Within your little group, you sort of became the unofficial spokesperson. People just seemed to listen to what you had to say more than they did the others. You had a knack for getting sympathy from people, which was especially important when the police would arrive and try to break up your gatherings. Just a few well placed words and you were able to steer the direction of someone’s thoughts. Alter their perception, if you will.

• Perhaps that strange gift of yours is how you survived being turned in 1968. You don’t remember that night, so you can only guess.

• Two days after the attack, you awoke in a field somewhere under a partially clouded sky. The exposed parts of your body were alight with a searing pain, like sunburn but much more intense. There was no flush to your skin though. On the contrary, it appeared much paler than it had been before, and was completely devoid of all previous scars and imperfections. You could see the texture of your skin with a level of clarity that shouldn’t have been possible, and were shocked to see that it had taken on a harder, marble-like quality. It couldn’t have been marble though, for marble did not scatter light in such a way.

• Such a way that made you glow ever so slightly under the fragile sunlight.

• Something was terribly wrong. If that wasn’t clear from the unexplainable changes that had occurred to your body, then the scattered corpses of what had been your friends made it abundantly obvious.

• They looked like broken dolls, with contorted limbs that had been gruesomely twisted into unnatural angles and glassy eyes that stared unseeingly into empty space. What was most shocking though, were their throats, which were all torn open to varying degrees. Some only bore small ruptures, whilst others had been completely split apart to the point where you were sure you could see their mangled larynx’s hidden amongst the distorted flesh.

• There was a noticeable lack of blood, though. The grass should’ve been drenched in it, there should have been deep crimson puddles flooding the soil, but there weren’t. You were keenly aware of this, and disturbingly, it made you angry.

• Angry in a primal, animalistic way. Not for the depravity of the murders, but for something far more selfish. You felt like a starved animal being teased with scraps of half eaten food. The thirst you were experiencing was unlike anything you had ever felt before. It had the all consuming intensity of hunger, yet the tight ache settled distinctly in your throat, not your stomach.

• You had risen from the ashes of your own demise a new creature. This terrible darkness that had been so easy to ignore as a mortal had awoken and reared its ugly head, silencing all moral thoughts to allow the new animal within to take control.

• It was like your new body had become nothing more than a vessel for the ravenous monster inside your mind. The monster demanded a constant supply of slaughter and blood, forcing you to comply with a supply of near constant pain. Nothing could soothe the ache in your canines like the puncturing of delicate skin, nor could the scorching of your throat be satiated by anything other than fresh, warm blood.

• So you drained what was left of your friends, before seeking shelter underneath an ancient willow tree.

• And then, when night finally descended upon the land, you hunted.

• The next few years were spent grappling with your new reality. Due to your newfound sensitivity to sunlight, you were forced to stick to the shadows, stalking grimy alleyways and feasting on the worst humanity has to offer. There was also the issue of your eyes, which for the first year or two after turning, remained a vicious shade of red.

• Even if you could’ve ventured out into the sunlight, your gorgeously horrifying appearance would’ve made blending in practically impossible.

• The resourcefulness you had as a human was carried over into your new life as a vampire. You made sure not to waste your kills, draining them of blood before stripping them of their clothes and any loose cash.

• It was a lot easier to steal than it was to walk into a shop wearing sunglasses and attempt to buy something from a suspicious shopkeeper.

• Though, that’s not to say you couldn’t. The gifts you had possessed as a human only seemed to mutate into something greater after turning. You could put whole ideas or beliefs into people’s heads, just by uttering a few words. They came in handy when your own carelessness led you to nearly being discovered a couple of times.

• By the mid 80s, the cherry red of your eyes had matured into a deep crimson, and your aversion to sunlight had thankfully been reduced. Whilst your skin still had that slight, strange glow to it, you no longer felt like you were being actively burned alive when stepping out from the shade.

• It was around this time that you came across a small group of vampires travelling through the midlands. There were three of them: two males and a female. They all looked to be older than you, perhaps in their twenties, thought you later learned that despite the perceived gap in age, they’d all been turned in the 20th century.

• The leader of the group, Victor, stood out the most. His brown hair was shorter than what was considered fashionable in the 80s, but he had styled it in a way that would’ve helped him blend in with the punk scene at the time, so as not to seem anachronistic. With his gelled spikes and tattered leather jacket, the only betrayal of his vampiric nature was his perfectly contoured face and burning red eyes.

• Clinging to Victor’s arm, was his mate, Ruth. It was hard to tell whether she was very tall, or if Victor was just short. Ruth’s height made her quite intimidating, along with her wild mane of auburn hair that sort of resembled that of a lion. Unlike her mate, who had regarded you with friendly curiosity, she had seemed irritated by your presence. From the moment you met here, it was clear that she didn’t like you at all.

• The final vampire, Paul, stood a little further back from his companions. His skin was much darker than Ruth and Victor’s, a sort of soft mahogany that contrasted starkly with their ivory pallors, and his hair was more conservative, buzzed close to his scalp. He had been the more subdued of the three, watching you with a guarded, though not necessarily hostile, expression.

• In some ways these strangers were like you, wearing clothes that were a strange blend of past and present. Eccentric and beautiful— oddly alluring to any humans that would pass them by.

• The only difference was that whilst you tended to shy away from humans, living in isolation and only feeding when necessary, these vampires practically bathed in any attention they could get. It made you cautious to accept the offer to join their clan, their family, but after some consideration, you did.

• Even vampires need company, after all.

• Huge parties were thrown every month, filled to the brim with intoxicated humans who had no idea what they were stepping into. Many left unharmed, but there were always some who’d catch the eyes of your coven mates, and would he invited to a more private part of the house.

• You had your suspicions that it wasn’t just blood your companions wanted from the mortals, as they were selective with who they picked. The sounds you’d hear behind closed doors weren’t always ones of pain, and you weren’t blind to the obvious beauty of the humans that were to be fed from. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.

• You, being permanently trapped in the body of a fourteen year old, never participated in that. When you needed to feed, you’d single out one of the more reserved humans at the party and use your gift to gain their trust. Then, you’d swiftly drain them in an empty bathroom, away from everyone else.

• Of course, monthly feedings weren’t frequent enough for your likings, so some partygoers were taken aside and kept in the basement to be fed from later.

• Victor would often ask that you use your gift to stop them from rebelling— convince them that the world outside your mansion was cruel and dangerous. Tell them that they’d be better off under your protection.

• You did as he asked, despite your discomfort at the thought of stealing away their freedom to even think independently. It was silly, really, how you could justify killing, but not supernatural manipulation. Manipulation that would ensure the humans would spend their final days feeling safe, believing that they were protected.

• It still didn’t feel right. This went against everything you had believed as a human, and everything you still believed as a vampire.

• As time went on you, came to realise that the more you used your abilities, the harder it became for you to form your own opinions. Even the simplest of decisions sent you into a spiral, so you found yourself relying much more on your coven.

• You cried to them many nights, terrified that one day you would end up as nothing more than a thoughtless doll, your mind unable to even make the decision to move. To feed.

• Ruth straight up told you to your face that you were becoming impossible to live with. She despised children, and apparently, you were acting like one.

• Perhaps if you’d had a shred of your own autonomy back, that would’ve prompted you to leave. You really should’ve, but Victor made it impossible.

• Your gift was more important to him than he let on.

• The fact that you stayed meant you were there when the Volturi came in the early 90s.

• Your coven had recently crossed the English Channel into France, where you spent most of your nights going to underground clubs and picking out prey.

• Whether it was your irresponsible actions that garnered the Volturi’s attention, or your growing proximity to their territory as you travelled further east, you never found out.

• Of course, they claimed it was the former, but at the time you had your doubts.

• Four guards arrived under the cover of darkness, coldly stating that your coven was to be put on trial for acting in a way that threatened to expose your existence to human kind.

• Ruth and Paul had tried to run. They got about two paces before the twins stopped them.

• Victor stayed very quiet the whole time. He obviously knew this was going to happen, and so didn’t bother trying to escape. You followed his lead with no resistance, unsure of how to handle the situation.

• Perhaps you could’ve used your gift to somehow free yourself from the situation, but without instruction, it was impossible to know what to say. You looked to Victor for any indication of what to do, but his gaze remained fixed on the young girl who seemed to be in charge of the Volturi’s small troop of guards.

• You’d never seen him so scared.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Saturday 5 September 1992

Victor had told you very little about the Volturi. Your knowledge basically extends to the names of the three kings and a couple of their most important rules— don’t create an immortal child and don’t threaten the secrecy of our species. He’d said that any other details weren’t important seeing as you’d probably never have to deal with them.

They only deal with major threats, Victor had assured you. We have nothing to worry about.

Talk about famous last words…

You’ve been made to walk in pairs, so that the guards can escort you in a diamond formation. If you weren’t so nervous, you’d have found the excessive performativity laughable. The hallways are dramatically lit up by torches, and the guards are wearing charcoal grey cloaks that seem to have been pulled straight from the 18th century.

You can’t help but feel a tad bit underdressed in your leather miniskirt and fur jacket. If you’d have known that the Volturi rejected modernity to such an extent, then perhaps you’d have tried to find something a little more historical to wear.

“Aro isn’t too pleased about having to speak with you again, Victor,” the girl at the front muses, her voice soft and dangerous, with a strange accent you can’t quite place. It sounds, for the most part, English, though her pronunciation of certain words is distinctly Germanic. You believe her name is Jane. She looks to be around your age, but from the way she speaks it’s clear that she was born many centuries before you. Jane’s face is hauntingly cherubic, so deceptively innocent that you find it almost impossible to believe this is the same guard who had tortured Ruth with nothing more than a silent glare.

“Yes, I can imagine.” Victor replies quietly from beside you. His eyes are boring into the back of Jane’s head, where her pale brown hair has been pulled back into an impeccable bun. You’re sure that there’s something you could do to get yourself and your coven out of this trial, but without any guidance from Victor, you don’t dare try.

Maybe he’s got a plan. You’ve just got to be patient.

“You’ve put yourself and your coven in a truly unfortunate position,” the guard on your left chimes in, his accent similar to Jane’s, only a little more Greek sounding, “and yet you don’t seem remorseful in the least.”

You nearly roll your eyes at the sound of his voice. Since arriving in Volterra, this guard in particular has done nothing but tip his nose up and smirk at you all. He walks with one arm folded neatly behind his back, and his head held high as if to make sure that the lights of the torches will perfectly illuminate the highlights of his tousled sandy hair. Whoever he is, he needs a serious ego check.

“Your authority is undemocratic,” Victor growls under his breath, clearly just as irritated as you are, “no one voted for the Volturi to have governing power. Why should we abide by any of your laws?”

The guard merely chuckles before replying smoothly, “That’s a dangerous mindset to have. One would think you were asking to be executed.”

Jane huffs, “Be quiet, Demetri.”

Demetri doesn’t reply, but from the corner of your eye you can see his head tilt slightly to the side in a subtle show of irritation. You accidentally let out a quiet snort, which is met with a sharp, silencing glare.

Worth it.

The group falls into a tense silence that stretches on until Jane suddenly stops walking, having reached a pair of dark, wooden doors. She casts a glowering look over her shoulder, aimed mostly at Victor, before pushing them open and stepping to the side to allow you all to enter.

Victor doesn’t hesitate to move forward, striding inside with a sudden burst of confidence. You, on the other hand, find yourself dithering in the doorway, suddenly all too aware of what’s about to happen.

You’re going to die.

How pathetic that an immortal being such as yourself will fail to outlive an average human. Dying at forty-one is considered young by human standards, but for a vampire? That’s basically infant mortality.

Demetri grips your shoulder with a firm hand and leans down to murmur into your ear. “If you don’t start walking then I’m afraid I’ll have to drag you to your knees before my masters. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

You stiffly shake your head in reply and force yourself to walk, wanting nothing more than for the marble floor to swallow you whole. Demetri’s hand remains fixed in place as he walks closely behind, only leaving you be when you get to the centre of the room.

You watch as he moves over to stand with another guard. This one was part of the original four to bring you here, though you aren’t sure what his name is. All you know of certain is that he’s by far the tallest person you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.

The giant guard catches your eye with a dark smirk. His lips pull back into what is probably supposed to be a smile, though given the circumstances, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume he’s actually bearing his teeth. You freeze under his gaze before quickly turning your attention elsewhere, afraid that he’ll assume you’re trying to pick a fight.

It’s only then that you notice the three men sitting at the far end of the room. If the elaborate thrones didn’t give away who they are, then their demeanors certainly do. They’re different from the rest of their coven. Not just in the way they dress, but with their actual, physical appearances too. You’d always thought that vampires couldn’t age, but these three suggest otherwise. They don’t look old in the human sense, as in, they sport no wrinkles and retain the beauty of their youth, but there’s something off about them. It’s as if the venom has completely taken over what’s left of their human bodies, leaving them with translucent, almost glowing skin and eyes that have faded from bright red to a softer, milky pink.

The one on the right seems to be physically the oldest, likely turned in his early to mid thirties. His face is sharp and cruel, framed by silky locks of white hair that reaches just below his shoulders. It contrasts starkly with the black, fur-lined cloak that’s draped over his body. Beneath the heavy folds of material you can make out what looks to be a very expensive waistcoat in a rich shade of red, and a scarf in the same colour.

On his left, sitting on a similar throne, is a slightly younger looking vampire, with curious eyes and hair blacker than even the darkest of night skies. It’s an impressive length, cascading far down his back like an unbroken stream of ink. His posture isn’t as rigid as his fair-haired brother, nor is his expression as disapproving, though an air of danger hangs over him just as strong as it does the other king. Perhaps even more so. The cloak he wears is almost identical to his brother’s, though there is no fur adorning this one. That makes it easier to see what he is wearing underneath, which is a surprisingly modern suit. All black, of course, and most certainly of designer quality. This coven is nothing, if not filthy rich.

The third and final Volturi leader looks much like the second, though his wavy, textured hair is a little lighter and not quite as long. His dark cloak is pooled at his elbows, having obviously been shrugged off his shoulders before your arrival and not put back into place. It gives you a clear view of the embroidered waistcoat he’s wearing over a high collared shirt with billowing sleeves.

The king with the excessively long hair stands up and clasps his hands with a childlike grin of delight.

“Ah, Victor!” He breathes out in an unsettling soft tone, “I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to see you again so soon, but we both know that’s untrue.”

Victor doesn’t move. You don’t need to look at him to know that he feels absolute contempt for this man. He’s always hated the monarchy, and any form of government in general. It was what drew you to him in the first place, his utter mistrust for authority. “Aro, am I not correct in assuming that it was you who ordered for my coven to be brought here? You were under no obligation to do so.”

The laugh that spills from Aro’s lips is so offputting that you have to make a conscious effort not to pull a face. He begins to walk closer, keeping his attention fixed on Victor, much to your relief.

“Not just me, my friend.” He gestures to his scowling white-haired brother with a lazy flick of the wrist. “Caius is also keen to see you punished for your actions, but that’s beside the point.”

You follow the movement of his wrist to glance at the other king. Keen seems too weak a word to describe Caius’s desire to see your family punished. From the depraved hunger pooling in his eyes, the term desperate feels much more fitting. You don’t know much about this particular king, other than the fact that he, unlike his brothers, isn’t gifted. Perhaps that’s why he’s so eager to dish out retribution. Maybe he feels the need to prove himself useful.

Or maybe you’re just reading too far into his cruelty.

Aro pauses, as if expecting protest, but when none comes he continues with a mild smile.

“You have broken a very important law, though I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that. You and your clan have been acting in a way that is becoming dangerously conspicuous. Had we not intervened when we did, the safety of our kind as a whole would have been put at risk.”

He tilts his head slightly at your leader with a patronising expression. “You’re a sharp man, Victor. It puzzles me why you would do this.”

“I understand that our actions have been… irresponsible,” Victor replies icily, ignoring the questioning tone in Aro’s last statement, “but I see no point in you punishing the rest of my family. They were only following my example. Let them walk free and I give you my word that none of them will cause you any trouble.”

Another voice, cold and unfamiliar, cuts in before he even finishes his sentence.

“Does this seem like a negotiation to you, boy?”

Your gaze flickers nervously to the two kings behind Aro.

Caius practically leaps up from his throne, marching towards the centre of the room with a vicious glare. He isn’t even looking at you, yet you still find yourself shuffling behind Victor like a scared child. His arm moves out slightly to try and shield you from the kings, though it doesn’t do much.

Caius doesn’t notice the action, too caught up in his own rage, but Aro certainly does. His eyes dart over to your face, wide and curious as he unashamedly studies your expression. You squirm under his gaze and grab a handful of Victor’s jacket, trying to tug him closer.

“You should know by now that the Volturi doesn’t offer second chances!” Caius snarls, stopping beside his brother to face Victor. “It was your responsibility to teach them our laws. The fact that you have failed to do so doesn’t make them exempt from punishment.”

Aro’s attention finally moves from you back to Caius. A weary sigh slips from his lips as he addresses the other king, choosing to speak in a manner that might be used to placate a frustrated child. “Now brother, let’s do this fairly. I’d like to see Victor’s perspective before we make any major judgements.”

Caius’s whole face twitches, like he’s trying to fight back an involuntary scowl. You wait for him to snap back at his brother, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. His face settles back into its usual frown as he takes a small step back, either in submission to Aro or simply due to a sudden loss of interest, you don’t know. It’s abundantly obvious that he doesn’t care what crime has been committed, so long as someone will be executed for it.

“Let’s not make this any more difficult than it needs to be,” Aro urges, his voice like silk as he offers out his hand.

Victor stays still for a moment, as if in contemplation, before giving in to the request. A heavy silence fills the room as Aro takes the other man’s hand and searches his thoughts. You can’t help but find the whole ordeal a bit dramatic, but that’s probably the point.

After a few moments, Aro abruptly pulls away, his focused expression shifting to one of awe as his eyes dart over to meet yours.

“What a truly remarkable gift…”

You stiffen at his words and tighten your grip on Victor’s jacket, suddenly feeling very small under his gaze. Aro’s lips stretch into a giddy smile at your reaction.

“It would be a shame to put such talent to waste,” he murmurs, taking a step closer, “perhaps… we could make an exception.”

The sharp murmurs from your covenmates behind you are quickly drowned out by Caius’s loud objection.

“An exception? What could the child possibly have to offer that would be worth sparing her life for?”

Aro seems remarkably unaffected by his brother’s outburst, almost as if he’d been anticipating it. “Her gift is unlike anything we have ever come across before,” he answers vaguely, glancing over his shoulder at the two other kings before turning his attention back to you. “I must say, your story intrigues me— though there was only so much I could learn from Victor’s memories. Perhaps you could fill in the gaps?”

You certainly can fill in the gaps, but do you want to? Absolutely not. The thought of anyone, let alone him, filing through your memories makes you feel violently ill, but you know that he isn't asking for permission. Denying the will of one of the kings simply isn’t an option- he will get his way no matter what answer you give.

“Of course.”

His eyes darken, “Splendid.”

You put forth your hand without waiting to be asked, which judging by the soft hum that leaves Aro’s lips, seems to please him. He doesn’t hesitate to encase your small hand in his much larger ones, as if worried you’ll pull away. You doubt anyone would have the courage nor the stupidity to do such a thing, but maybe in the past some ballsy vampire tried.

Aro’s milky eyes become unfocused as he searches through your memories. His lips, which appear far too red against his ghostly skin, part with a slight tremble at something that must’ve caught his attention. After a few more seconds, he finally, almost reluctantly, pulls away from your hand.

There’s another beat of silence as he regards your face, as if only now that he has studied your every thought is he able to truly see you.

“She was an unwilling accomplice,” Aro finally announces, raising his voice despite the obvious lack of need to. “The child will be spared and welcomed into the Volturi, where her gift can be put to better use.”

What?

What?

You blink at him, wondering if perhaps you’ve truly lost your mind. Did he really just say that? He wants you to join them? No, he said that you will join them. It wasn’t an offer, it was a statement. A fact.

You shoot Victor a panicked glance, but he’s refusing to meet your eye. Desperate for some kind of reassurance, you look to the other two for help, but they only stare back at you in outrage, as if you’ve somehow betrayed them.

Guilt blooms from within your gut, despite knowing you aren’t the one at fault here. Aro has just promised you safety, yet after seeing the way your family has reacted to the prospect of you joining the Volturi, you suddenly wish he’d condemned you to death as well. Perhaps he will, if his brothers, or even enough of the senior guards, reject the idea.

Jane looks repulsed by Aro’s statement. Her face is contorted into a disgusted glare that only hardens when you accidentally catch her eye. Standing beside her is a boy that looks like he could be her brother. His hair is ear length, and slightly darker in colour, though his features are similar to the furious girl beside him. He doesn’t look as upset as she does, but there is a hint of caution in his eyes that makes you feel mildly uncomfortable.

The other two guards who brought you here, to their credit, seem like they’re trying to look open to the idea. Demetri’s expression is polite, and maybe even a little apologetic, as if he’s realising that what he said earlier might not have given off the best first impression. The taller vampire beside him looks puzzled, his eyes flickering between you and his master like he’s trying to decipher what your gift is. What could possibly be so special about you.

None of the guards say anything. If any of them oppose the idea, which Jane clearly does, they don’t need to speak up, seeing as Caius is all too keen to play devil's advocate.

“You haven’t even told us what it is she can do!” He seethes, not even bothering to acknowledge your presence with a glance. “This is a matter that concerns the whole guard, Marcus and I should at the very least be consulted before you make such a rash decision.”

You glance behind him at Marcus, who’s still slumped in his throne staring apathetically at the scene beneath him. Contrary to Caius’s statement, it doesn’t seem like he cares at all about whether or not Aro consults him in any major decision making.

“Calm yourself, brother.” Marcus warns, his voice flat and disinterested, “let’s not forget that Aro can see things the rest of us cannot. Have faith in his judgment.”

A satisfied smile pulls at Aro’s lips as he takes a step back and turns to address Caius directly. “You don’t trust me? Tell me, Caius, when have I ever been wrong?”

The other king doesn’t argue, but you can tell from the way his jaw ticks that he isn’t pleased with the decision that’s been made.

“Fine, have it your way,” he growls, eyes narrowed and lips pulled back into a sneer. “I’m assuming the other three are still to be executed? That is of course, unless you’ve decided you’re going to pardon the whole coven.” Caius’s voice turns mocking towards the end, as if he can’t help but make his displeasure at Aro’s decision known to everyone in the room.

“Of course not,” Aro replies smoothly, clearly used to dealing with his brother’s attitude. “We have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

He then turns to address the guards with a pleasant smile that feels wildly out of place given the circumstances. “Demetri, would you be so kind as to make sure our new friend here keeps a safe distance from her… companions?”

Demetri nods, giving you no time to react before he’s suddenly at your side. One of his hands finds its way to the small of your back as he inclines his head to look down at you. Trapping you beneath a pair of burning red eyes that seem to be searching for something in your expression. Demetri always looks like he’s searching for something, you realise, having noticed that same intensity earlier in the dark hallways. It’s like he sees things no one else does.

“May I escort you somewhere a little more private?” He asks, his voice low and lacking its earlier cockiness.

You don’t immediately respond, instead glancing over at Victor to see him staring back at you with a contrite frown. He looks like he wants to speak, but can’t find the right words. What could he possibly say now that would make this any better? Tell you not to worry? Apologise for allowing this to happen? Neither would be of much help.

“I’d rather stay here.” The firmness of your voice surprises you, and clearly Aro too, whose face flickers with an emotion you can’t quite place. He obviously hadn’t expected any resistance on your part, not after seeing how fragile your mind has become as of late.

“You… understand what fates lie in store for these people, yes?” His voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his expression looks concerned in an oddly paternal way- like he’s already trying to fill the hole you’ll be left with when Victor is gone.

Anger stirs like a restless animal in your gut. It’s been so long since you’ve felt anything other than blank contentment and reluctant dependency, that the sensation feels foreign. Perhaps even a little liberating, as if your existence has suddenly become sharper.

What right does he have to take this away from you? After all that has happened, the Volturi really expect you to just accept their will? Accept that they are going to slaughter your family, and then keep you here as prisoner?

Is Aro really that stupid?

“I understand that you’re about to murder my whole family, yes.” The words come out cold and bitter, in a tone far too harsh to address a king with.

Demetri goes very still beside you, his posture rigid.

Aro’s brow twitches.

For a long moment, you wholeheartedly believe that he is going to sentence you to death, but then his lips slide back into a practiced smile and he speaks again in that frighteningly soft tone.

“You would rather be present for their executions?”

You don’t flinch beneath his sharp gaze.

“I will not abandon them.”

Aro’s smile becomes slightly strained, but he nods in reluctant agreement. “Very well. I would still rather you stood to the side with Demetri though, to ensure that no unfortunate accidents happen.”

The air is thick with tension and unspoken words. You want to argue with him on the matter, but it’s clear that with any more resistance, the delicate thread that is Aro’s patience will surely snap.

“Fine.”

The word sounds traitorous on your lips. It tastes like submission and betrayal, a promise of your future here. You might as well drop to your knees and confess your everlasting devotion to the Volturi, because this feels just as bad.

His smile softens into something a little more genuine at your agreement. “Thank you.”

You don’t smile back. Demetri’s hand on your back becomes firmer as he begins to guide you away from the centre of the room. Away from your family.

You think about saying something to him. Perhaps you could compel him to attack his masters and use the distraction to escape. Would that work? You don’t have much practice compelling vampires.

Anxiety stirs in your gut, nauseating and sickly. Fear is such a human emotion, you’d almost forgotten what it feels like.

When you finally reach the wall, Demetri’s hand doesn’t leave your back. His presence is overwhelming behind you— a dark, silent shadow watching every nervous twitch of your body. Is this what is to become of your undead life now? Years of supervision and cold stares?

You stand completely still, keeping your face blank and controlled. Your head is a flurry of thoughts, a back and forth battle between the different strands of your mind. Time is running out, yet you can’t bring yourself to do anything.

Your coven has minutes, perhaps even seconds left.

And the only person who might be able to save them, is you…

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

• Watching your family die was even more excruciating than your transformation into a vampire.

• You had screamed and begged Aro to at least spare Victor, promising your own blind loyalty in return. When he denied you with a pitying smile, you tried taking matters into your own hands.

• Demetri caught you in a crushing grip before you could even take two steps. In his hold, you thrashed and snarled and bit, but it made no difference. His face remained infuriatingly calm, with the only hint of emotion being a strange, sadistic glint in his eyes.

• Aro had seemed mildly disappointed by your little show of defiance, tutting at you like he believed the reaction was entirely unwarranted.

• Caius, unsurprisingly, looked like he wanted to rip off your head and kick it across the room. You almost wished he would.

• After the trial had ended, you were escorted to an unused room by Demetri and Felix, who you learned was the Volturi’s main executioner. He certainly looked the part, standing at well over six feet tall with cropped brown hair and muscles that were visible even under his cloak. His skin, like Demetri’s, had a strange undertone to it that made him look slightly tanned.

• For the first few hours, you were left alone. Or at least, as alone as the Aro felt comfortable with you being. Demetri and Felix were posted outside to make sure you didn’t try to bolt.

• A little while later, Aro came to collect you himself, saying you needed to become familiar with the rest of the Volturi. He introduced you to Chelsea— one of the most important members of the guard. She had soft brown hair, similar in colour to Demetri’s, and a warm smile that looked much more sincere than all the others you had received in the past few days.

• Unlike Caius, and Jane, she seemed genuinely happy to welcome you to the guard.

• Her mate, a redhead with shoulder length hair that had been tied back into a loose ponytail, stood to the side in silence. He wasn’t as animated as Chelsea, though he did offer up a small smile when you accidentally caught his eye.

• Aro didn’t even acknowledge the other guard, so you only found out that his name was Afton weeks later, when you built up the courage to ask Felix.

• The meeting left a strange impression on you, though it was hard to say exactly what changed. In the days that followed you began to see the Volturi in a new light. It became strange to think that you had once hated them with your whole being, after all, they saved you from your coven. Victor only cared about you for your powers, and the other two only tolerated you because it was what he demanded of them.

• You were nothing but a tool for them to use.

• Aro promised that you were so much more than that. He told you that the Volturi were your family, and that you mattered to them as an individual, not just because of your gift.

• Who were you to argue with that? They were your kings, after all, and you revelled in the attention they gave you.

• Aro, naturally, was the first to take an interest in you. He found your powers fascinating, and would constantly have you use to test the limits of your compulsion, despite knowing the toll it was taking on your mind. Every day you’d grow more reliant on him to make simple decisions, and he loved every second of it. Aro had never much understood Carlisle’s paternal streak until he met you and saw the bond you’d had with Victor.

• He wanted it for himself.

• Of course, there were the twins. He had sired them himself when they were only fourteen, which had in turn formed a unique bond that occurs only between a vampire and their dominus. Aro had admittedly come to see them as his own children, despite their oftentimes frustratingly independent natures.

• But they weren’t anything like you, no, Alec and Jane were secure in their attachments. They confided in eachother with their worries, and when that wasn’t enough, they’d go to Aro.

• You, however, had no one. The vampire who had turned you was long gone, and the one you had slowly grown devoted to had been killed before your very eyes. With no ties to anyone, mortal or immortal, you were left vulnerable and alone, craving affection.

• Well, he was happy to provide.

• It began as a mere ploy to ensure your loyalty, but Aro soon came to enjoy the role he had taken in your life, somewhere between a mentor and a father-figure.

• He began giving you lessons in Italian and Greek, claiming it was necessary for all members of the guard to be proficient in multiple languages. Being a vampire gave you photographic memory, so it wasn’t hard to learn (especially with the frequency of his lessons) however that’s not to say you didn’t get frustrated sometimes.

• Aro would have you sit across from him for hours at a time, translating passages into English. You’d have much rather been reading a novel or watching TV, but the king wouldn’t allow it. He loved hearing you stumble over new words, and being the one to gently correct you. Such an oddly intimate thing it is, to teach someone your mother tongue.

• He absolutely adored it.

• Not only that, but the extensive time spent together often led to more personal conversations. You’d open up to Aro about your deepest fears and insecurities, despite him already knowing every inch of your troubled mind.

• It was different though, hearing you say them out loud. He found it fascinating how you articulated yourself— which details you chose not to mention, and which ones you put specific emphasis on were so very telling of your character.

• Despite your gift, Aro couldn’t help but think of you as much more fragile than the rest of the high guard. Your combat skills were average at best, and your mind was just so… malleable.

• Aro was sure that even without Chelsea’s gift, he would’ve been able to win over your loyalty.

• Of course, he couldn’t have been further from the truth, but how could he have known that?

• It’s not like they ever gave you a chance to hate them.

• Marcus was the next to grow attached. He could see the bond between you and Aro growing into something deeper than what Chelsea had created, and it made him curious.

• What was it that made you different from the rest?

• There were the obvious factors of course, with your age being a big one. But that wasn’t necessarily unique. Aro hadn’t been like this when the twins had joined the guard, so there must’ve been something he saw in the depths of your mind that the others could not.

• For the first time in a while, Marcus envied his brother.

• So he decided to figure you out the traditional way. Through painstakingly long conversations and hours of chess.

• You were quite surprised when Marcus started to spend more time with you, seeing as he never seemed particularly interested in any other members of the guard. Though you weren’t opposed to his company— quite the opposite in fact.

• His attitude towards humans was refreshingly similar to yours. Whilst everyone else viewed them as animals, vermin, lesser beings— you and Marcus simply saw them as different. Neither of you held any particular fondness for them, but you could both appreciate certain aspects of their nature.

• With time, you began to seek him out more and more. There was something about the patient weariness in his eyes made you feel safe, like you could tell him every thought you’d ever had and he’d listen without judgment.

• Sitting in the library with Marcus after a hard training session with Felix or Demetri became routine. After hours of intensive fighting you’d crave the comfort he offered, curling up on a sofa and telling him about all the little things you’d thought were too silly to tell anyone else. He always gave you his full attention, as if every word that came from your mouth was of upmost importance.

• Whilst Aro’s obsession was fixed on the twisted vulnerability you hid away from the world, Marcus’s was focused on the softness he was able to coax out of you.

• After the death of his mate, Didyme, he stopped letting himself care about others. No one could ever come close to bringing him the same level of happiness that she brought him, so why should he allow them to try?

• Well, that’s what Marcus used to think, but after getting to know you better, he began to see some similarities between you and his late wife. Nothing obvious to anyone else— it’s not like you physically resembled her, but sometimes you’d smile at things she used to smile at, and notice changes in his mood that only she used to notice.

• Marcus couldn’t help but wonder if Didyme had somehow sent him this child from beyond the grave. Not a replacement, but someone he could learn to love as strongly as he had loved her. Perhaps in another life, the two of them might’ve raised you together.

• Oh how different things could have been…

• Caius paid you very little attention in the beginning.

• To him, you were just another vampire on the guard, only worth as much as your gift.

• And unfortunately, your gift wasn’t worth much to him, seeing as it couldn’t really be used to torture people.

• So whilst you were certainly in Caius’s presence a lot, thanks to Aro constantly summoning you to the throne room, he didn’t really connect with you like his brothers did. He assumed that Aro’s interest in you came from the fact that you were a shiny new toy for him to play around with, and Marcus… well, his behaviour was a bit more unusual, but he seemed happier than before, so Caius didn’t pry. He tolerated having you around, even if only to keep his brothers happy.

• Eventually though, he found himself forced into your company.

• Thanks to the combined efforts of Chelsea and Corin, it was very unusual for the kings to argue with their wives. Athenodora shouldn’t have had any reason to be upset with her husband, but somehow (much to Caius’s dismay) she’d managed to find one.

• It was over something relatively minor. He’d promised that he’d visit her in the tower one afternoon, but there’d been an emergency trial which meant that he’d had to postpone. No big deal, right?

• Wrong.

• According to his dear wife, it was very much a big deal. So much so, that she refused to speak to him for the three days.

• By the third day, Caius was at his wits end. He knew logically that this was nothing to worry about. It wasn’t like she’d fallen out of love (their bond as mates made him certain of that), however that’s not to say he wasn’t extremely frustrated by the whole situation.

• How petty can one be?

• Unsure of what to do, Caius had sought out Aro. To say he wasn’t surprised to find his brother teaching you to play senet would’ve been a bold-faced lie. He was shocked.

• What was the point? It’s not like you needed to know how to play the ancient board game to do your job effectively. What purpose did this serve? Caius couldn’t wrap his head around why the other king was so intent on wasting his time teaching you such nonsense.

• He’d been hesitant to speak to Aro with you in the room, not wanting news of him and Athenodora’s argument to spread, but his brother was quick to assure him that you wouldn’t tell another soul, and then suggested that they took you to meet the wives. Your gift might prove itself useful in such a situation. Perhaps you would be able to convince Athenodora that she was in the wrong.

• His immediate instinct was to send you on your way and have a serious conversation with Aro about keeping the guard separate from the coven. Unfortunately Aro left little room for discussion, so Caius had no choice but to take you with him on his trip.

• The journey to the tower was awkward, to say the least. The kings walked on either side of you; Caius on the left, looking like he’d rather pull out his own teeth than introduce you to his wife, and Aro on the right, sporting his usual uncanny grin. Why he had insisted on walking at a human pace, you did not know. It didn’t seem like Caius knew either, because the whole way there he had grumbled under his breath about how long it was taking.

• Despite how uncomfortable you felt, you couldn’t deny that strange pill you felt towards your masters. It made no logical sense for you to feel such an all encompassing loyalty towards the men responsible for the deaths of your coven mates. Deep down you knew that, yet it was impossible to muster up a single ounce of ill will towards them.

• Why were you so accepting of everything?

• Why did you want so desperately to prove yourself worthy of Caius’s respect?

• You distracted yourself with these thoughts for as long as possible, until you finally reached the imposing hardwood doors that marked the entrance to the wives’ living space. Two unfamiliar guards stepped to the side to let you in, bowing politely to the kings as they entered. Aro smiled in acknowledgement, Caius did not.

• The interior of the tower appeared to be frozen in time. The space was a huge open plan, lit by natural light that poured in from the large, arced windows that spanned the whole of the back wall. From floor to ceiling the room was a sophisticated blend of marble and polished stone, accented with shimmering gold and supported by elaborately designed Corinthian columns.

• And then, in the centre of the room, draped across beautifully carved Hellenistic daybeds, were the wives.

• They both had an ethereal beauty to them, one that superseded nearly every woman you’ve ever met, save for Heidi. Sulpicia’s hair was long and dark, each strand perfectly curled and glossy, taking on a deep maroon colour in the places where it caught the sunlight. Her face was sharp with youth, though her eyes, which were an even cloudier red than Aro’s, betrayed just how old she really was.

• Athenodora’s eyes had the same hazy quality as her sister’s, and her skin looked just as delicate. Her face, however, was slightly more mature, and framed by long, wispy hair that was perhaps only a fraction darker than Caius’s.

• They both seemed eager to meet you. Sulpicia more so than Athenodora, though you assumed the other queen’s quietness was partly due to her argument with Caius.

• There was something not quite right about them though. They almost seemed… intoxicated. You had seen many humans in a similar state, but never a vampire. Ruth had told you it wasn’t possible for your species to get high on drugs, yet Sulpicia and Athenodora didn’t seem sober at all. Their eyes would drift into space when you spoke to them, and their movements, whilst still graceful, didn’t have the same precision as their husbands did. As any vampires did, for that matter.

• There was another woman present, this one with thick, dark hair that had been braided into a style you had never seen before. Something that must have been lost to time, forgotten by modern civilisations. She stood a respectful distance out of the way, watching you with a curious expression.

• Aro greeted her by her name, Corin, but other than that didn’t pay the guard much attention.

• Caius, on the other hand, immediately went over to her, his expression full of impatience as he questioned her ability to do her job right. To her credit, Corin didn’t seem at all phased by the harsh scolding. She explained something about having to tend to Chelsea, but otherwise didn’t argue back or defend herself for whatever she had apparently done wrong.

• You tried to focus solely on the conversation you were having with Aro and Sulpicia about the time they met Marcus Aurelius in 171 AD, not wanting to seem like you were eavesdropping in on Caius and Corin.

• Unfortunately, you might gotten a little too engrossed in the Marcus Aurelius story, because you almost flinched in surprise when a hand belonging to Caius himself came down to rest on your shoulder mid-conversation.

•His grip tightened to a painful degree as he suggested in an uncharacteristically soft tone that you should introduce yourself to his wife.

• You had glanced at Aro for help, but he was too busy exchanging a silent look with his brother. The two of them always seemed to have this strange way of communicating without words.

• So, following Caius’s wishes, you shyly introduced yourself to Athenodora. She was kind to you, which was surprising, considering her husband’s temperament. Apparently opposites do attract.

• She had asked you about yourself, eyes gleaming with genuine interest and… something strangely maternal.

• The kings watched from the side as their wives quickly seemed to fall in love with you. Aro was fascinated by the interaction, whilst Caius was a little more unsure. It wasn’t often that the two women were allowed to interact with members of the guard, so naturally he was nervous about how they would react to you.

• Seeing Athenodora so enamoured though, made him rethink his original opinion on you. Perhaps his brothers’ behaviour wasn’t as absurd as he’d come to believe. Maybe there was something to you after all.

• Caius had initially planned to have you use your gift on his wife, but after seeing how you’d managed to lift her mood, he decided against it. There was also the fact that you were only able to use it on one person at a time, so unless you were extremely subtle with it, there was a risk of Sulpicia realising what was going on.

• He may have been starting to warm up to you, but he still didn’t trust you enough to be discreet with your power.

• Not yet, anyway.

• In the weeks leading on from that event, Caius found himself growing increasingly fixated on you. It was inevitable, really, that this would happen. The bond between him and his brothers was one forged of iron, which led to a tendency to adopt eachother’s partialities and biases. It was only a matter of time before Caius was pulled into Aro’s and Marcus’s strange fascination.

• It didn’t take long for the higher guards to catch onto this. Demetri and Felix already spent a large amount of time with you during training, so they realised immediately.

• Felix would tease you about the obvious favouritism, though there was never any malice behind his words. He found it endearing how you spoke about the kings in private, like they really were your family. It was very rare that he ever saw the softer sides to their masters, which was usually reserved only for the wives, so hearing you so blatantly discuss how Aro had insisted on fixing your hair before a trial was hilarious to him.

• You had no idea how important you were.

• Demetri was relieved that the kings had taken such a liking to you. Even with the one-to-one training you were receiving, he still worried that you relied too heavily on your gift. You were smaller than him, and reckless with the way you fought, throwing yourself into his chest and striking wildly with the hope that you’ll get lucky with one of your hits. Felix found it funny. Demetri, on the other hand, did not.

• Thankfully, Caius was keenly invested in your progress, and would regularly drop into your sessions to see how you were getting along. It soon became abundantly clear to him that your combat skills were… less than satisfactory, so he decided that on top of your training with Demetri and Felix, you would also meet with him once a week to spar.

• The thought of having to fight with Caius every week was terrifying, but Demetri assured you that you should feel honoured that he’d taken such an interest in your development.

• You felt the furthest thing from honoured. In fact, what you mainly felt was embarrassment at the fact that Caius had deemed your fighting skills so useless that he’d felt the need to personally step in.

• And then, to make matters worse, Aro had decided to tell you right in front of Demetri and Felix that most of your duties would be carried out within the palace.

• He claimed you were more use to them nearby.

• Really though, it was pretty obvious that he was worried you’d be killed if he sent you out.

• You were a little annoyed that he hadn’t waited to tell you this in private, because now you had to deal with the reactions of your two mentors.

• Felix was undoubtedly disappointed. He obviously believed that with persistent training, your combat skills would grow and you’d be able to join them on missions. Apparently that was something he’d been looking forwards to.

• On the contrary, Demetri couldn’t have been happier. Unlike his friend, he viewed you as a vulnerable little thing that should be kept far away from any sort of danger. You had your strengths, yes, but you also had far too many weaknesses for him to feel comfortable with you being sent on missions.

• He thanked the Gods that Aro felt the same way.

• The two of them were reassured that your training would continue as a precautionary measure, but there would be more focus put onto self defense.

• That seemed to appease Felix, though you could tell he was still mildly disappointed.

• The twins took the longest to warm up to you. In fact, they didn’t even speak to you for the first three months. Aro told you it was nothing personal— Alec had always been very quiet and Jane was… well, she just didn’t really like people that much.

• Their standoffish behaviour made things a bit awkward in the beginning, as you always had to stand near them during trials. It didn’t make much sense why Aro insisted on this, as your powers were nothing like theirs.

• The only explanation you could come up with was that it was purely for aesthetic reasons. Aro perhaps thought that you, a vampire who had been turned at fourteen, would look out of place standing among the older guards, so had placed you with the two who were turned at the same age instead.

• When you had first joined the Volturi, you had sort of hoped to form a friendship with them. It’d been years since you’d spoken to anyone your own age, and whilst they may have been born centuries before you, they were still mentally teenagers.

• Unfortunately, it seemed like the twins didn’t share your desire for companionship. They had each other, you supposed. Why would they need anyone else?

• Aro noticed pretty quickly that they were avoiding you. Alec out of habit, and Jane because she didn’t really know what to make of having another teenage girl on the guard. There was also the fact that she had a bit of a possessive streak to her, and wasn’t too happy with how Aro was dividing his attention between you and the twins. He recognised this, and devised that the only way to solve the issue was for the three of you to create a friendship of sorts.

• Aro called it a friendship, but really what he wanted was more than that. You had become as much his child as Alec and Jane were, so it troubled him that there was such a rift between you and them. Why weren’t the twins accepting their new sibling? He was going to have to step in before apathy turned to rivalry.

• Their alienation from the rest of the guard had never bothered Aro before. As long as they were devoted to him and at least tolerant of the others, he was happy to let them be. This was different though. This actually mattered.

• He very nearly had Chelsea manipulate the three of you into liking each other. Nothing too drastic or noticeable, just a little nudge in the right direction to smooth out any arising wrinkles. Fortunately, the twins eventually came around, and no intervention was necessary.

• Jane initially didn’t see the point. She was perfectly happy spending time with her brother, and it wasn’t like you were alone either. When you weren’t spending time with Demetri or Felix, she’d often see you following Heidi or Afton around like a lost puppy. It was clear that you didn’t need the extra company, so why was Aro so keen on having you get to know each other?

• Alec was a little more open to the idea, but he still made no effort to speak to you. Instead, he started watching you from the shadows, observing how you interacted with the others. It was fascinating to him, seeing how different you were to him and Jane despite being so similar in age.

• Somehow, Alec managed to convince Jane that they should take Aro’s advice and give you a chance. Of course, it took a lot of convincing and bargaining on his part, but eventually his sister agreed. She’s never been all that great at saying no to him.

• You started to notice the twins lingering around more, growing braver each day until finally Jane spoke.

• It hadn’t been a particularly groundbreaking conversation. She’d complimented your outfit, despite knowing that Aro had probably coordinated it, just as he did for her and her brother. Regardless, you still appreciated the sentiment, thanking her with a shy smile which she hesitantly returned.

• You got the impression that Jane wasn’t used to people smiling at her, which perhaps explained why she soon came to yearn for your company. You noticed that she’d started complimenting you often, attempting to coax out more smiles. The words would always sound stiff and a little uncertain, though that was probably because she didn’t have much practice in actually being nice to people.

• Alec was a bit more subtle than his sister. He didn’t talk as much, but he was very observant of your quirks. For example, after feedings he noticed that you’d search the bodies of some of the humans for trinkets. Sometimes you’d take an unusual piece of jewellery, other times it would be something as simple as a set of keys.

• It must’ve been an old habit you’d retained from your time before joining the Volturi. After all, there was no need to scavenge for second-hand junk when you had access to unimaginable riches, and a lot of the things you took weren’t even valuable.

• Despite not understanding why you had such an interest in collecting these things, Alec found it intriguing. He started to keep an eye out for anything that could be added to your collection.

• It was always a surprise when he’d appear out of seemingly nowhere to offer you a pretty bracelet he’d found, or a custom-made vintage lighter. The gifts didn’t come often, as Alec was very particular about the quality of what he gave you, but you didn’t mind. If anything, that made them more special.

• For years, you were content with your role within the Volturi, proud even.

• Your gift started to blossom into something greater under Aro’s watchful eye. It wasn’t completely refined yet (that would take centuries of practice) but on occasion you were able to stretch your compulsion to multiple people, or set a vague idea in someone’s mind without speaking.

• It was slow progress, and after many of your sessions you were left feeling dazed and confused, almost detached from what’s real. Your mind felt slowed down.

• Aro had reassured you that many young vampires experience side effects when they are getting used to their gifts. Especially when stretching the limits of their capabilities.

• For Jane it had been excruciating migraines. Alec had experienced nausea.

• Even Demetri had quietly admitted that his own gift used to give him such severe vertigo that he couldn’t stand up straight sometimes.

• That made you feel slightly better about your own symptoms.

• Thanks to Chelsea’s influence, you never once questioned the grounds on which you were brought here. Thoughts of your old coven very rarely plagued your mind, and when they did, they came with no emotion. You felt no anger or grief- only indifference.

• That never struck you as odd. Or at least, it didn’t, until one of the trials went wrong.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Monday 13 October 2003

The air in the throne room is heavy with the weight of what rests on the trial. Aro has been waiting for a reason to call these two vampires in for a while, watching their moves relentlessly for years. It feels almost surreal seeing them here now, summoned for adopting a human child of all things. After everything you’ve heard, you can’t help but feel a little disappointed seeing them in the flesh. Two five-hundred year old vampires, and yet they exude none of the ancient charm that the Volturi do.

Their only defining qualities are the strange golden hues of their irises, which gives them an odd felineesque appearance. More human perhaps, but not quite. These two are certainly vampires, but not in the same way the rest of you are. They don’t have the darkly angelic beauty that you do, and their skin is dull, resembling the lifeless pallor of a drained corpse rather than a perfectly crafted being of the night.

Almost like they’ve been deprived of blood… but that can’t be the case. Their eyes would be black as coal and feral with the need to feed. They shouldn’t be able to fight the instinct to kill the small child that stands between them, yet the pair seem completely unbothered by his scent. It’s as if they’re unable to feel the pulsing vibrations of his heart in the air, interrupting the otherwise perfect stillness of the room.

How can such starved looking creatures ignore the pull? Even you, despite having only fed three days ago, can feel yourself struggling against your own instincts. The uncontrolled savagery of the monster you’ve learned to accommodate battles fiercely with the discipline Aro and Caius have spent over a decade drilling into you.

The other guards don’t seem as affected by the boy’s presence, though that isn’t particularly surprising. They have centuries, some even millennia of experience, that makes your measly fifty-or-so years seem pathetic.

Alec and Jane flank your sides, standing a little further forwards than you, acting as a barrier of sorts. From your position in between them, it’s impossible to see the expressions on their faces, but you know them well enough by now to hazard a guess. Jane is no doubt scowling at the two vampires on trial, annoyed that she hasn’t been given the okay to use her gift on either of them. Alec is probably a little more subdued, watching for any sign that they might lash out.

He’s always felt personally responsible for Aro’s safety, as if Renata’s presence isn’t enough assurance for him. Your eyes flicker over to the small, dark-haired woman that lingers a few feet away from the king, and you can sort of understand why Alec would feel that way. She seems perpetually anxious, which you suppose is understandable. You’d be a little on edge too if your sole responsibility was keeping Aro safe.

You turn your attention to where Demetri, Felix and Santiago are standing a detached semicircle, their bodies taut and eyes diligent. Demetri, the most senior of the three, is a little further away from the other two. His expression is one of cold authority, though beneath that, there is an undeniable thirst. Every now and again his eyes drift over to the human boy with a dark intensity, like he’s imagining what shade of red the child’s blood will be when he tears through the skin.

Demetri’s irises aren’t black though, no, they’re still a rich crimson, completely unaffected by the presence of such an enticing scent. His thirst certainly isn’t the same as the one you feel. Yours is instinctual and blind— something that needs to be contained. Something you need to learn to ignore. Demetri’s on the other hand, is controlled, perfected. A guilty pleasure perhaps.

The masters will allow him to indulge in this thirst, so long as he behaves.

Conversely, Santiago barely seems to notice the boy. His hard stare is fixed on the parents, waiting for the first hint of rebellion with visible impatience.

You can see discomfort flash in the golden eyes of the mated pair. Santiago is certainly intimidating, but not in the same way as Demetri and Felix. His dark, curly hair falls haphazardly along the sides of his face, barely contained by the ponytail he had clearly done as a last minute precaution.

Santiago isn’t as disciplined as the other two. His willingness to perform the more unsavoury of Caius’s demands is probably the only reason he’s able to get away with such unruliness.

Perhaps Demetri had scolded him before the trial about his hair getting in the way. Demetri’s always been a stickler for the rules- more so than Felix, who probably wouldn’t have even noticed such a small detail.

Out of the three of them, Felix seems to be the most at ease here. Well, as at ease as one can be, in a situation like this. You can see the tension in his stance and the way his shoulders are pulled back slightly, despite the brazen smirk on his face.

Even the most laid back of the guards are still on edge.

You study them for a moment longer, before glancing to the back of the hall.

The kings are taking up their usual positions.

Marcus is lounging in his throne, chin resting on his hand as he stares impassively at the scene below. His hair is tied back loosely behind his head, with a few dissenting strands lingering around his face that he obviously gave up trying to control.

Caius’s posture is in every way different to Marcus’s. He sits like a statue, cold and imposing— the physical embodiment of aristocracy and power. There is no apathy in his filmy red eyes, only impatience, which steadily grows more prominent by the minute.

Aro is, unsurprisingly, taking the lead. This was all his idea, after all. The only reason you’ve all been called to the throne room and made to wear the most regal outfits you own is because he wants one of the yellow-eyed vampires, Alma, to join the Volturi.

The only problem is that she is able to consciously shield herself from all psychic abilities.

So Aro can’t even read her thoughts.

Jane can’t torture her.

And you can’t compel her into joining the guard.

For the first time in a while, the Volturi are having to rely on prestige and charm alone.

“You are making this process so unnecessarily complicated, my dear,” Aro sighs, his face a mask of disappointment as he glides closer to the young woman. She’s pretty, but then again, all vampires are. Her features are softened by her youth, and complimented by the waves of honey-blonde hair that falls onto her shoulders and spills down to her mid back. Similar in colour to her strikingly unusual eyes.

No one has questioned Alma’s peculiar appearance yet, so you hazard a guess that this is something your much older covenmates have come across before. You’ll have to ask someone about it later, after the trial. Probably Marcus, as he’ll be the least likely to tease you for your lack of knowledge.

“Why don’t you lower your shield and show me your side of the story, hm? Perhaps then we can come to an understanding.”

Alma bares her teeth, and Felix takes a precautionary step closer, eyes narrowed with predatory focus. “I’ve already told you my side of the story- and you’ve seen enough from Joseph’s thoughts to know the truth.”

Ah, Joseph. The wholly uninteresting mate who has no gift and yet has the audacity to act like he actually matters. Like Aro’s going to take any of his demands into consideration.

He too has strange, golden eyes, though they don’t suit his face as well as Alma’s do. The brilliant richness of his irises clashes with the fiery red of his short, curly hair in such a way that you almost want to pull a face of disgust. Of course, he’d still be considered attractive by human standards, though to you, he looks wrong.

Alma pauses and gestures to the young, human boy that clings to her legs. If it weren’t for the rapid pitter-patter of his heart, you might’ve forgotten he was there. “Our child is not immortal, as you can clearly see. He will be turned once he reaches a suitable age, in accordance with the law.”

There’s a loud crack as Caius slams his fist into the arm of his throne. You allow yourself a second to glance at his furious expression before returning your attention back to the defendants. Aro will no doubt lecture you later if he notices your focus drifting.

“Whether that thing is mortal or not is irrelevant! It’s far too young to be trusted with such an important secret.”

A little harsh, calling the child a ‘thing’, but you’re inclined to agree with Caius. Letting the boy live would simply be too big a risk, even if he is still human.

“Unfortunately my brother is right,” Aro murmurs, clasping his hands together with a mildly sympathetic frown. “As sad as it is to have to cut a young life so short, I’m afraid the risk he poses is far too great to ignore. The child must be dealt with accordingly.”

He almost looks remorseful as he turns to address Demetri. “Make it quick— let’s not cause any unnecessary suffering.”

The tracker nods and moves to grab the human, but Joseph is faster. He lunges forward and barrels straight into Demetri, tackling him to the marble floor with a vicious snarl.

It takes less than a second for Felix to jump in, tearing away the offending vampire and throwing him across the room. Joseph slams into one of the side walls with a resounding crack as the pillar behind him struggles to hold up against the impact. A loud, wailing cry sounds from the child at the sight of his ‘father’ being absolutely battered. You can’t decide whether the sound makes you want to soothe the boy or kill him.

Luckily that decision isn’t yours to make.

The shield tries to insert herself into the fight, but Santiago has a hand wrapped around her neck before she can move. With both parents incapacitated, there’s no one there to stop Demetri from kneeling down before the child and taking his head in both hands.

You try not to feel anything when a quiet snap echoes through the room. There’s been countless feedings where you’ve seen your fellow guards kill young children, so why does this feel so much worse? Why does this trial seem so unjust?

The small figure goes limp in his hold, and Demetri gently lays him to rest on the floor.

“Villains, all of you!” You glance over at the sound of Joseph’s voice and see that Felix has him restrained, one arm around his midsection and one around his throat. He thrashes in the larger vampire’s hold, eyes crazed and teeth bared in a show of feral anger.

“You call yourselves just and fair rulers! What fair ruler would condemn an innocent child to death?”

Aro’s expression sours at the man’s vulgar language. “You have brought this upon yourself. Any humans who know of our secret must be killed or turned— unfortunately for you, the child was far too young to become a vampire, so that was out of the question.”

Alma looks utterly furious, “And what about the humans you’re keeping alive?” She snaps back, “We passed your mortal Secretary on the way in. Do you have any intent to turn her?”

Aro hums, his eyes flickering with quiet irritation before softening back to a more professional gaze. “Of course. She serves an important purpose here, and will be rewarded for her efforts at a later time.”

“You’re nothing but a lying hypocrite!” The woman screeches in response, completely ignoring Aro’s words. You watch on in passive silence as she struggles in Santiago’s grip, almost becoming manic. “Do not take me for a fool, Aro! We both know this has nothing to do with my son. You just needed an excuse to bring me here because I have something you want!”

From your peripheral vision you can see Caius moving slightly in his throne— a subtle outlet for his endless supply of anger. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he replies curtly, voice stern and controlled. “You and your mate’s decision to raise a human child put our whole species at risk of being discovered. We had no choice but to intervene.”

Aro nods in support of Caius’s statement. “He speaks the truth, my dear. You know that we do not take disobedience to the law lightly, which brings me on to the next issue.” There’s a dramatic pause as the king slowly turns his head towards where Felix is still holding Joseph. “Your mate…”

The shield lets out a low growl, cutting him off. “What about my mate?”

Aro’s lips tighten into a small, agitated smile. “Let’s not beat around the bush, now. He interfered with a direct order when he attacked Demetri— we cannot ignore such blatant disregard for authority.”

Joseph snarls at the king, “You expected me to stand by and allow him to kill my child?”

“Precisely.” Aro’s voice is smooth and impossibly calm, a stark contrast to the combined hostility of the mated pair. “You should have known that this day would come when you decided to expose a human to our world.”

“We were going to turn him!” Alma cries hoarsely, her face twisted with grief. “He was only four years old, Aro. You slaughtered a baby!”

Aro remains entirely passive, “The secrecy of our kind will always take priority. It was the recklessness of your own actions that led to the child’s demise, we are simply upholding the law.”

You subtly shift your gaze over to Caius, hoping that he’ll put an end to this endless back and forth between his brother and the two vampires standing trial. Unfortunately, the usually outspoken king doesn’t seem willing to interrupt right now. Is he interested in Alma’s gift too? The thought troubles you slightly, which is surprising. She’d certainly be a valuable asset to the guard, but her scathing attitude towards your masters isn't doing her any favours.

It’s silly, but you can’t help but feel rather… jealous? No, that’s not it. You certainly wouldn’t want to be in her position, trapped under the scrutinising eyes of the Volturi’s best. Perhaps it’s contentment then. She doesn't deserve the honour of being offered a place among the elite, not when so many others have come forth and practically begged to join.

If only Aro could see that. You’re certain that Caius must feel the same way as you, and is only outwardly going along with his brother to present a sense of unity amongst the coven. Marcus, no doubt, doesn’t care either way. You’re not really sure why he bothers being present for trials when he clearly has no interest in their outcomes. It’s not like anyone’s forcing him to be here, so you can only assume he literally has nothing else to do.

The conversation must’ve continued on whilst you were lost in your thoughts, because Alma’s suddenly growling at something Aro said. He smiles patronisingly at her before slowly turning to nod at Felix.

You don’t need to have heard the order to know what’s about to happen. Felix tightens his grip on Joseph and drags him over to where Caius is now standing, having finally left his throne. The king’s face is cold and stiff, yet you can see a barely discernible glimmer of delight in those milky, red eyes of his.

Much to your relief, he gives no speech on the importance of the law, nor a justification for the punishment. That's more Aro's forte. Caius’s hands instantly find their way to Joseph’s throat, molding to fit around his porcelain skin like they were made for the sole purpose of ending the man’s life. For the briefest of seconds, his lips twitch up into a faint smirk, a betrayal of his enjoyment, before returning to a thin, pursed line.

There’s a loud tearing sound, and then a resounding rip as Joseph’s head detaches from his body. Caius studies it for a moment, admiring his work, before tossing it over to one of the lower guards to be burned.

Glancing back at Alma, you can see the grief clearly painted on her face, with lips pulled back into a silent scream and eyes watery with venom. It’s quite an unsettling sight, seeing a vampire cry, though not one you are completely unfamiliar with. Such incidents do occur from time to time, in particularly testing cases.

“Is this what has become of the Volturi? You butcher your own kind under the pretence of the law! Am I to be butchered too?”

By now, even Aro is beginning to grow tired of her relentless hostility. You can see it clearly in his eyes- the way they undoubtedly darken, as if in the presence of prey.

Well, he sort of is. The child remains dead on the floor, body growing colder by the minute but still flushed with blood. You haven’t inhaled at all since he was brought in, afraid that his scent would be too sweet to resist.

“I truly hope it won’t come to that, dear, not when I see such a bright future ahead of you within the guard,” Aro replies earnestly, taking a few slow, careful steps towards Alma and Santiago.

“That is of course, should you accept our pardoning.”

His shoes clap once against the floor as he abruptly stops before the woman.

And she flinches.

Not enough movement to catch the eye of a human, but it’s certainly noticeable to every vampire in the room. Alma is finally scared.

“Let us put this behind us— think of it as an atonement for your crime. You could make up for all your wrongdoings by serving your kings and upholding our laws. What greater honour is there than to wear the Volturi crest, hm? It doesn’t seem like you truly grasp how exceptional of an opportunity this could be for you.” Aro’s voice is sweet now, sickeningly so, like he’s trying to toe the line between threatening and nurturing.

It takes a few seconds for Alma to respond, the conflict painted clearly on her face for a moment before her features harden into a glare.

“Your silver tongue may have worked on them,” she growls, gesturing to the guards scattered around the room, “but it won’t work on me. Word gets around, Aro. I know that the loyalty they show you is manufactured, that they are bound to you indefinitely by chains they cannot see— perhaps cannot even comprehend.”

Aro’s posture straightens at the accusation. He looks like he’s about to speak, but Alma doesn’t let him. “Do you remember Victor Wainwright? You had him executed eleven years ago for allegedly threatening the secrecy of our species.”

It takes every ounce of willpower not to show any reaction to the mention of your old coven leader. His name brings no comfort or nostalgia, but all the same, you find yourself curious as to what she has to say about him. Had they known each other personally? Surely you’d recognise her if that were the case.

“You should do,” Alma continues, her voice growing in strength, “the newest member of your guard belonged to his coven, after all.”

She then abruptly snaps her head in your direction, fixing her furious, scarlet eyes upon your face. It doesn’t seem like her anger is directed at you, but regardless, you shift yourself into a more defensive stance just in case.

“A bit of a redundant question, don’t you think?” Aro replies evenly, though sounding noticeably tenser than before. “Of course I remember Victor. It was a great sadness to put an end to such a… spirited individual, but you must understand that the actions we took were necessary for the safety of our kind.”

There’s a pause, and then he adds, “I must confess, Alma, that I fail to see what relevance he has to the situation at hand.”

She scoffs, finally turning back to meet his piercing stare. “You are blinded by your own arrogance.”

A low growl sounds from near the thrones, which is quickly silenced by a pointed look from Aro. You don't need to look to know that the noise came from Caius. It’s always Caius.

“I knew him, you see.” She explains coldly, “He was a friend of mine, as I’m sure you saw in his own memories. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to meet the rest of the coven, though I knew of them. Victor spoke highly of his family.”

Alma takes a second to collect herself, sucking in a large amount of air before continuing. “He spoke highly of her, in particular— your little guard. Not just of the extraordinary gift she possesses, but of her relentless dedication to nonconformity. To see her standing here now, against everything she once so adamantly abhorred, is downright insulting. Wearing your crest around her neck like a collared animal, bearing eyes devoid of all passion and joy. Her loyalty to you goes against her very nature. You have her bewitched, and now you intend to do the same to me.”

Aro’s face is hidden from your view by a curtain of long, black hair, but you can see the way his hands tighten into fists behind his back. He’s on edge, which consequently puts you on edge as well. How much of what Alma says is true? Surely you cannot be bewitched, as she claims. Something would feel horribly wrong, so noticeably out of place that you’re sure you’d be aware if you were under any sort of supernatural manipulation.

And Aro wouldn’t do that— he said the Volturi are your family. What family would need to force the bonds between its members?

“I am sorry to hear that you believe such outlandish lies.” Your master’s voice is colder now, completely devoid of all previous pleasantries. “Your accusations are entirely untrue, and lacking any real basis. All members of the guard are here by their own volition, and have the right to leave at any time should they so please. If you don’t believe me, then feel free to ask any of them personally.”

Alma rips herself out of Santiago’s hold with a snarl. You watch his arms jerk forwards to pull her back, but Aro stops him with a raise of his hand.

“Do not insult my intelligence! Such radical change of one’s core identity can only be achieved through supernatural means. I may not know who of your guard possesses such a devastating ability, but I can assure you now, Aro, that it will not work on me. I would sooner join my family in death than even consider joining you.”

A heavy silence punctuates her declaration. The throne room falls into a state of absolute stillness as everyone awaits Aro’s response.

You carefully glance over at the other two kings, making sure to keep your head motionless so as not to draw any attention to yourself. Caius has now returned to his throne, and is glowering at the scene before him. You’re convinced that if he were still mortal, his body would tremble with emotion and his face would be flushed red with fury. As a vampire though, all he can do is grip the arms of his chair so forcefully that small cracks blossom beneath his fingertips. He, without a doubt, wants Alma killed for her insolence.

And then, further to the left, sits Marcus. You nearly jolt back when you see that his soft, cloudy gaze is already directed at you, as if he’s been waiting to catch your eye for some time now. Unsure of what to make of his stare, you keep your expression neutral and study his reaction. There’s something not quite right about the way he looks at you. His eyes seem distant, and his features are twisted into a small frown, as if what he sees worries him.

Oh.

He’s studying your bonds.

And clearly, he doesn’t like what he sees.

Ignoring the anxiety that has slowly begun to worm its way into your thoughts, you turn your attention back to Aro. Whilst you were distracted by the other two kings, he must’ve pulled his hair back behind his ears, because you now have a much clearer view of his face. It’s evident from the deep furrow of his brows that he is displeased with the direction this trial has taken.

“Is that truly what you would prefer? You would rather be killed?”

Alma hisses at the traces of disappointment in his tone, "Without a doubt!”

Aro sighs, looking down at the floor for a moment as if to grieve the missed opportunity, before turning around to silently consult with his brothers. Caius gives a sharp nod without even needing to think, clearly eager to put an end to such disrespect. Marcus’s approval comes slightly slower, as if he is distracted by something else.

You try to quash your rising unease at the troubled look on his face— there’s no way of knowing for sure that this has anything to do with you. Perhaps he, like Aro, is simply disappointed by Alma’s refusal to join the guard.

Somehow though, you doubt that the one king known for his apathy actually cares about what is to become of the shield.

“Well then,” Aro sighs, slowly turning back around, “if that is what you want…”

He trails off at the end, as if too upset to even verbally give the order. The guards seem to understand what he wants from them, though, because Santiago and Felix are at Alma’s side in an instant, roughly holding her by the arms. This time, she doesn’t resist or struggle against them. You can see the clear acceptance written across her face, there’s perhaps even a hint of relief in her eyes.

This is a victory. She has beaten Aro’s game.

That doesn’t anger you as much as it should.

Aro steps forward and brings his hands up to cup her cheeks. Unlike Caius, his touch is much more gentle, almost sorrowful in nature. There’s hesitation in his long, dexterous fingers when they brush over Alma’s ivory skin, as if searching for a weakness in her shield. Trying fruitlessly to read her silent thoughts.

You see the point in which he finally accepts defeat. The way his delicate caress transmutes into a violent grip, and dark cracks begin to spread like veins across her face. Venom leaks out from the fresh wounds, thick and clear. Alma’s expression turns to a grimace of pain, but to her credit, she doesn’t cry out. Even when the crystalline skin of her neck begins to split from her head, she does not give your masters the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

Aro rips off her head and drops it at his feet with a drawn out sigh. As soon as it hits the floor, a small pool of fluid begins to spread across the marble, slow and syrupy like blood. He stares down at it for a moment, an unreadable look crossing his face, before taking a step back and turning to Caius.

“Theyll both need to be burned.”

Caius nods sharply and turns to a transitionary guard posted near the entrance. “Bring me a torch.”

The lower vampire bows her head and leaves in an instant, her pale grey cloak little more than a blur as she moves. Caius watches her go, before looking back at his brother expectantly.

“That concludes our business here, then?”

Aro sighs again, for maybe the hundredth time today. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

An oppressive silence punctuates his sentence, heavy and absolute. He seems to be mourning the missed opportunity, genuinely upset by the outcome of the trial. Marcus too, looks bothered. His elbows are propped up on his knees, and his thumbs are pressed into his temples.

Somehow, Caius is the only one of the three who’s in a somewhat pleasant mood.

You remain utterly still between Alec and Jane, hands folded neatly behind your back as you await your dismissal. Cleanup duty is always left to the lower ranking guards, so you and the twins won’t be expected to stay for much longer.

Across the room, Felix and Santiago have moved away from the two dismembered bodies, returning to their positions against the wall. Demetri is still lingering near the dead child, as if staking a claim over it.

Your own desire to feed flares up at the thought of him drinking the boy’s blood. It’s easier to ignore the thirst now that his erratic heartbeat no longer pulses through the air, but the scent still lingers. Even despite not having breathed through the whole trial, you can still clearly remember how sweet he had smelled. It’s practically burned into your brain, consuming your every thought.

You grind your teeth together and imagine sinking them into human flesh. The sound, despite being so quiet, still penetrates the silence, clear for everyone to hear.

Demetri’s gaze snaps over to your face challengingly. His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you worry that he’s going to berate you.

“[Name].”

Caius’s voice rings out clearly, surprising both you and Demetri. Your posture instinctively straightens as you turn your attention to your master. All traces of his earlier satisfaction are gone, replaced with a scolding glare. He, as well as everyone else in the Volturi, knows that you have trouble controlling your thirst. You tend to get rather… territorial when feeding.

“You may leave now.” Caius says sternly, his head inclining ever so slightly in the direction of the doors. Aro glances over at you with a raised brow. Clearly he was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the rising tension between you and Demetri.

“Is there a problem?” His voice is smooth, though there’s an undeniable edge to it.

You dip your head respectfully, “No, master.”

A frown crosses his face as he studies your expression. It’s almost impossible not to shrink under the weight of stare, but you somehow manage. Marcus is watching you too. You can’t see him, but you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. It’s not often that you’re the focus of all three kings. Being subject to such attention usually isn’t a good sign.

Aro finally relents with a small nod. “Very well. Alec and Jane, you two may leave as well.”

The rigidity in your shoulders softens with relief. You haven’t been completely let off, but at least you aren’t being interrogated any further in front of the other guards. With a quick, hurried bow to the kings, you turn and make your leave, before any of them can change their minds.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

• You returned straight to your chambers after that, needing time to process your thoughts.

• Alma’s words had hit deeper than anyone else realised, and you didn’t want the kings or the other guards to find out about your wavering loyalty.

• The more you considered what she had said, the more it all made sense. Chelsea was valued by everyone for her ability to manipulate bonds between people— something that came in very useful during trials. But what if it was more than that? What if she really was tethering you all to the Volturi?

• Then who was tethering her?

• You thought back to the first time you had met the queens. Corin had mentioned something about ‘tending to Chelsea’ when Caius had gotten upset with her.

• The kings must’ve had Chelsea completely dependant on Corina’s gift.

• They were using the guards on each other to ensure loyalty.

• Your head spun at the realisation.

• When Alec asked a few days later why you were being so quiet, you told him you were unsettled by the golden eyes of the two dead vampires. That wasn’t necessarily a lie, you had found Alma and Joseph creepy. Just, not as creepy as the fact that you were actively having your feelings altered under the kings’ orders.

• Alec explained to you that the strange hues of their irises were brought on by drinking animal blood, and mentioned an old friend of Aro’s called Carlisle Cullen who had lived with the Volturi a few centuries ago.

• You were able to mask how you truly felt about the trial with intrigue about the ‘vegetarian diet’. Vampires could feed on animals? Why had no one ever told you about this?

• Alec answered all your questions with unyielding patience, obviously glad that you weren’t bringing up any of what Alma had said.

• You had a bad feeling Aro had sent him to check in on you and report back everything you say. In fact, you were pretty sure the king had instructed most, if not all of the guards to keep a closer eye on you.

• That only made you want to avoid them more. It was pretty obvious that they’d all been here far too long to have any hope of breaking free from Chelsea’s manipulations. You though? You still had a chance, albeit small.

• Jane started demanding your attention more frequently, whining about how little female company she had. Claiming that Aro and Alec weren’t spending enough time with her. You wouldn’t ignore her, would you?

• No, of course you wouldn’t, because despite everything, you still loved her like a sister.

• Jane had a knack for getting her way. For most people, the threat of torture was more than enough incentive, but for you, guilt tripping worked just fine.

• She was skilled in the art of manipulation— something she had learned over millennia of living with Aro.

• Felix started seeking out your company too, inviting you to spar with him outside of scheduled training sessions. When you told him you were getting sick of all the spontaneous fights, he simply shrugged and ordered suggested that you play pool with him instead.

• And when it wasn’t pool, it was solitaire or chess. Every time you turned him down, he’d come up with something else to do, until you ran out of excuses and had to play with him.

• And when you’d finally manage to escape from Jane and Felix infringing on your free time, Demetri would often appear out of nowhere. He wasn’t as obvious as the other two about it though. Rather than actively making you participate in activities, he’d just… linger. At first you thought it was a coincidence that he always happened to be in the same room as you, but it soon became clear that he was purposely seeking you out.

• Not just seeking you out, but tracking. Hunting. The realisation filled you with dread, and you started to grow paranoid, knowing that at any moment Demetri might turn up.

• You felt silly being so anxious about him, but he was much more perceptive than the other two. You worried that he’d see an emotion on your face before you even felt it, and report you to Aro. That would give the king more than enough reason to search your thoughts and see the truth.

• Though you knew that even without Demetri there, your masters were surely growing suspicious. You’d been not-so-subtly avoiding them, no longer seeking out Marcus’s company as frequently for fear that he’d see how mistrustful you were of everyone.

• You stopped your language lessons with Aro completely, claiming that you wanted to focus on developing your skills as an artist instead. Unfortunately, you didn’t think that excuse through, because Aro, though he had been disappointed, was happy to call in Caius and suggest his brother tutor you in painting.

• You hadn’t anticipated that he would comply. Of course, living with the Volturi for over a decade, you were aware that all members were skilled artists and musicians. They had centuries of practice, after all.

• Yet Caius had never really struck you as the teaching type, so you were surprised when he readily agreed to Aro’s suggestion.

• Maybe he genuinely did want to help you improve.

• Or maybe he just wanted to keep a closer eye on you.

• Either way, you had no choice but to go along with it so as not to cause any more suspicion.

• Painting with Caius wasn’t as dreadful as you thought it would be. Sure, he could be very critical of your technique at times, but he gave you praise when it was due.

• You hated how much you enjoyed his praise, knowing now that the only reason you seemed his approval was because of Chelsea. This man was responsible for the deaths of your coven, he had done nothing to earn your respect.

• Though even with this knowledge, it was impossible to feel any animosity towards him.

• Your unshakable loyalty battled fiercely with rationality and logic.

• Despite knowing the truth, part of you still felt guilty for doubting them. The thought of losing your devotion to the Volturi filled you with dread, because it wouldn’t just be your purpose you’d loose, but your family.

• Superficial or not, you had bonded closely with many of the guards.

• And the kings? You practically worshipped them.

• In some strange, twisted way, you had grown to see them as parental figures of sorts.

• Or at least, your version of such. It was difficult to put labels on your relationships within the Volturi due to the complicated hierarchy.

• Not only that, but such ancient beings don’t tend to put much effort into following modern expectations for social roles. They acted on their own vampiric instincts, forming unique bonds that could not be defined by any mortal terms.

• This, you learned, was common across all vampires, not just the Volturi.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Wednesday 10 December 2003

It’s been two months since the trial, and no one has eased up.

Jane still pines for your attention, Demetri still stalks you like an ever present shadow and Caius still insists on painting with you.

Twice, you have considered using your gift to make them leave, and twice, you have had to mentally talk yourself out of it.

To say these last two months have been tense would be an understatement.

“Your focus is slipping again, child.” Caius’s cutting voice snaps you back to the present, cold and authoritative.

You take a step back from your canvas and glance over at him. Your master is standing in front of his own work, his shockingly white hair glistening like snow in the sunlight. He’s wearing an old tunic rather than one of his usual dark suits, presumably to avoid getting paint on anything expensive. Though the cream fabric is completely spotless, so perhaps the outfit change is out of habit rather than actual need.

You glance down at your own attire and wince at the state of yourself. Unlike him, you haven’t quite mastered the art of confining the paint to the canvas alone.

“Forgive me, master,” you apologise quickly, noting the furrow of his pale brows, “I’m having trouble capturing the movement of the birds.”

His milky eyes flicker to the window, taking in the snowy landscape you’re both painting. Then they move to study your artwork. He walks out of the sun to join where you have situated yourself in the shade, still uncomfortable with direct light. There’s a moment of heavy silence as he regards what you have been working on, before he finally speaks to you in a critical tone.

“You’re trying to include too much detail. Don’t paint the birds as separate entities, they are merely part of the scene. Treat them as such.”

You glance at the window, scanning the white capped rooftops of Volterra. It’s difficult to treat the birds as part of the landscape when their movement contrasts so greatly with the quiet stillness of the buildings. The streets too are practically deserted, only a few early risers are out. The day is still young, yet the sun is bright and cold. It reflects delicately off the snow, casting iridescent prisms that aren’t visible to the eyes of humans. Beautiful, but blinding. Even after half a century, you’re still adjusting to the new superiority of your senses.

“Maybe I should just paint over them,” you relent with a sigh, turning back to Caius. “They look out of place, I don’t like how the black feathers stick out against the pale sky.”

He purses his lips, a look of deep contemplation crossing his face. “It’s not the colour that is the issue here, but the composition. You’ll need to paint over the birds and add them in again, more naturally this time. A little contrast is fine, it adds depth to the scene.”

You have to force yourself not to groan at Caius’s critique. It’s not that he’s wrong, but you know that even after you correct the birds, he’ll find something else that needs changing. This painting should have taken a few weeks at most, yet here you are two months later, still nowhere near finished.

“Are you sure? I think maybe I should just scrap the birds altogether. They don’t really add much to the scene other than visual noise.”

His frown deepens into a scowl of displeasure. “Am I sure? Do you believe your knowledge on the matter to be superior to mine?”

Caius takes another step towards you, his movements slow and precise. “I must say, [Name], that I’ve been finding your recent attitude highly intolerable. My brothers may have the patience for it, but I certainly do not.”

You shuffle back, fingers twitching anxiously at your sides. “I’m sorry to have upset you, master, though I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

His eyes narrow dangerously as he continues to move closer. “That.” The word sounds venomous on his tongue. “You keep referring to me by my title, and trying to cut short our time spent together. Not to mention the fact that you’ve been outright avoiding Aro and Marcus.”

You turn away from him, looking out the large window instead. Volterra’s snow-dusted streets provide a few seconds of relief from Caius’s accusing glare, before his slender fingers grab your chin and drag you back to face him.

“You will look me in the eye when I speak to you, little one.”

You force yourself to hold his gaze, keeping your body completely still.

“I thought you preferred me calling you master.” Your reply comes carefully, so as not to irritate him any further.

His hand drops from your face. “You know it isn’t necessary when we are alone.”

No, he’s right, it isn’t. Though that seems to be a rule that only applies to you— none of the other guards have the privilege of referring to the kings by their names in private (except maybe Alec and Jane when they’re with Aro). You’ve never understood where the blatant favouritism came from, but you know better than to question your kings. It has always been their right as leaders of not just the Volturi, but vampire kind as a whole, to do as they please.

“I know,” you admit softly, “but it doesn’t feel right calling you by anything else. The others, they don’t…”

Caius seems to understand exactly what you’re trying to say, even without finishing your sentence. His eyes darken in reaction to your perceived defiance.

“You aren’t like the others,” he growls, staring down at you stiffly.

You aren’t sure what to say to that. Disagreeing with him is unthinkable— as a guard you should be in support of your masters at all times. But to agree? Well, how can you agree when you don’t understand what he’s saying? There’s nothing that makes you inherently different from the others, other than perhaps your youth. That isn’t permanent though. The gap in experience will become negligible once you’ve been here for a few hundred years.

After a tense moment of silence, Caius releases a barely audible sigh and walks towards a chaise across the room. It’s one of the few pieces of furniture that occupies the vast space, which is mostly just littered with half finished paintings hanging from the walls and strewn across the floor. He sits down with an unreadable expression and glances over at where you’re still standing by your canvas.

“Come here.”

You dip your head and take a few cautious steps forwards. Caius watches you in silence before gesturing to a spot on the floor by his feet.

“Sit.”

You do as he says without argument, kneeling down on the hard stone. There’s more than enough room on the chaise for you to join him, but with the state of your clothes, it’s understandable why he’d rather you avoided the furniture altogether.

Caius doesn’t speak immediately. For a few long seconds, he just regards you with a tight frown, studying your own expression, which is no doubt filled with discomfort. You’ve never been particularly good at hiding how you feel.

Eventually, he breaks the silence with a long sigh and props an elbow up on the arm of the chair. “Athenodora loves you.”

The bluntness of his statement catches you off guard. That might be the last thing you’d expected to come out of his mouth. Such an honest admittance puts him in a vulnerable position. Had that been his intention? To try and break down your defences by lowering his own first? You try to decipher the look on Caius’s face, but he seems to be purposely keeping up a facade of neutrality.

The safest thing to do would be to assume that this is a condemnation. If that is the case, and he’s upset that his mate has grown attached, then you should feign ignorance.

“Oh, I— I wasn’t aware.”

Caius narrows his eyes, “Don’t play coy with me. I know you aren’t stupid enough not to see it.”

You open your mouth to speak, and then close it again, taking a moment to consider your next words.

“Does that upset you?”

His face flickers with momentary surprise, “Am I upset that my wife has finally found the one thing she’s desired most in her immortal lifetime?”

You study him carefully, feeling completely lost. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh come on now,” Caius looks exasperated, as if this should be completely obvious to you, “you’ve been with us for eleven years, and with the amount of times Sulpicia and Athenodora have requested you specifically to guard them, you’ve certainly spent enough time with them to see it.”

When you don’t show any sign of understanding, he changes tactics. “Do you know what she’s always wanted, even before meeting me? The one gift I could never give her?”

You pause, genuinely trying to think, before hesitantly shaking your head. “No, I don’t. She’s never mentioned anything.”

Caius doesn’t give up. “Think, [Name]. She never mentioned anything? Anything at all?”

“No, I don’t…” you trail off, suddenly beginning to connect the dots. “She sometimes talks about wishing she had a child of her own.”

Caius nods, though he doesn’t speak just yet, clearly wanting you to come to the conclusion on your own.

“But mast— Caius, why me? Why not the twins? They’ve been here far longer, and the Volturi is all they’ve known. I had another coven before this, another family.”

The shift in tension is almost immediate. As soon as the words come from your mouth, you know you’ve said the wrong thing. Caius’s expression darkens and his voice lowers to an icy hiss.

“It is not your place to question my mate’s reasoning. She wants you, not them.” He narrows his eyes, before continuing quietly, “And you are not to speak of your former coven again. They were never your family, not like we are.”

You dip your head in submission. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” His tone grows in severity. “Or are you just afraid of punishment?”

Your teeth grind against each other in your mouth as you anxiously flex your jaw. Of course you’re afraid of punishment. For the past two months you’ve been an anxious mess, torn between your loyalty to the Volturi and the undoubtable truth that you’ve been manipulated into staying here, that the fundamental aspects of your very being have been altered. You’ve been moulded into a perfect guard, and now Caius is trying to mould you into something more.

A daughter.

But whose daughter? From the way he’s phrasing it, you’d assume this is only about what Athenodora wants, but you can’t ignore the way the rest of the coven have been acting. Or, more accurately, have always acted. How many times have the kings and their wives crossed the line of what constitutes professionalism? How many times have they acted more as parents than masters?

Too many to count.

And it’s only now, after having taken a step back and analysing what has become of your life here, that you realise just how differently they’ve been treating you compared to the rest of the guard.

You’re completely ensnared.

“No, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that I hold any preference for them over you.” The defence sounds weak, even to your own ears. You know that it would probably come across as more sincere if you actually looked him in the eye when you said it, but you can’t.

His voice alone is intimidating enough, you don’t think you’d be able to manage the scowl that accompanies it as well.

“Perhaps not, though the fact that they even crossed your mind at all is somewhat concerning. You’ve been thinking about them a lot lately, haven’t you? That’s why you’ve been so avoidant of my brothers— you’re afraid they’ll catch on to your wavering loyalty.”

You finally glance up at Caius, only to immediately regret it. Despite the coolness of his tone, his face looks furious, maybe even a little offended. You aren’t sure how you’ve managed to elicit such a reaction just by apologising.

“Yet you haven’t gone to the same lengths to avoid me. Why is that, hm?” He shifts in his chair and reaches out to glide his pale fingers across the top of your head, as if petting a dog. The action might have struck you as tender, if it weren’t for his frigid glare.

“Is it because you think I’m easier to hide things from? You believe my lack of gift makes me less perceptive?”

You almost choke trying to get your words out, desperate to prove yourself. Not only to avoid his wrath, but also because despite everything, you still feel loyal to him. Devoted, even. “What? No, of course not! I’m just as loyal to you— all of you, as I ever have been. And master, I’d never think any less of you because you don’t have a gift.”

Caius’s fingers go still in your hair. A contemplative look crosses his face as he decides on how to respond. “I’ll admit, you’re a good actress, little one. Even so, I think it’s due time Aro checks your thoughts, wouldn’t you agree? Then we can decide whether more input from Chelsea is necessary.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself further, but then think better of it. Your master’s word is absolute, and even if it weren’t, what could you possibly say to convince him that your loyalty isn’t wavering? Or at least, isn’t on the path to it. The fact that you’re questioning the grounds on which you were brought here, on which you stay here, is more than enough for them to have Chelsea take action.

Caius looks like he’s about to speak again, when a distant sound catches his attention. His head inclines ever so slightly in the direction of the entrance, likely trying to decipher whose footsteps he’s hearing. You can hear them too, fast and graceful, though perhaps a little heavy with urgency. Whoever’s coming clearly has something important to say.

A moment later, Demetri appears in the arched doorway, wearing a dark grey cloak over his (what you like to call) human attire. The outfit is stylish, of course. Demetri always dresses impeccably, though the clothes aren’t particularly flashy. Nothing that would stick out to mortals. His eyes aren’t their usual striking red either. Right now they’re a deep, earthy brown. Or at least, to a human eye, they probably are. You can see, even from where you kneel on the floor, the crimson that shines through beneath the chocolate pools.

“Demetri, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Caius asks smoothly. “You’ve just got back, I see. Has Aro sent you?”

Demetri bows respectfully, his gaze landing on you for a split second before returning to the king. “Master, please forgive my interruption, but your immediate presence is requested in the throne room.”

“A trial?”

He nods once. “A large coven, yes, we’ve only just brought them in now.”

For a moment, it seems like Caius is going to refuse, but then he pushes himself up from the chaise with a sigh and grabs the black cloak he had left on the backrest earlier.

You remain kneeling on the floor, awaiting instruction. Demetri looks at you again, his expression unreadable as he no doubt tries to piece together what tense conversation had been taking place before his arrival. He doesn’t speak to you directly, but the question is clear in his eyes. What have you done to upset the king?

With his cloak now on, Caius finally directs his attention back to you. “You are to stay here and continue painting, understand?”

You reply with a quick nod, but Demetri cuts in before you can verbally say yes. “Master Aro requested that the both of you attend.” He sounds apologetic, maybe a little uncomfortable at having to object to Caius’s wishes.

“I do not care what Aro wants,” your master snaps, gesturing to you, “look at her! [Name] is absolutely filthy, she’s in no state to attend the trial.”

Demetri takes in your paint-splattered clothes with a slight grimace, before nodding. “Very well, I’m sure he will understand.”

Caius scoffs at the tracker’s diplomacy but doesn’t make any comment. He simply adjusts his cloak, making sure it covers the pale tunic underneath, and then turns to leave without sparing Demetri another glance.

Your fellow guard looks at you for a moment, his expression caught somewhere between sympathy and suspicion, before he too leaves the room.

You stare blankly at the doorway, still processing everything that just happened. It’s difficult to think clearly when you’re around the rest of the Volturi. You never used to notice before, but now it’s become abundantly clear that Chelsea’s influence does make it impossible to think negatively of your coven when they’re nearby.

Perhaps that’s why they’ve made such an effort to be at your side more frequently as of late.

You stand up and rub your temples with a frown, casting a glance back at your unfinished painting. How does Caius expect you to concentrate on such a trivial task after threatening to have Chelsea alter your mind again? How far will she go this time?

You don’t see how more meddling will fix things. Yes, maybe you’ll feel more devoted to the kings and the rest of the guard, but that won’t erase everything you now know. Could they really make you indifferent to their indoctrination with Chelsea’s powers alone? Perhaps Aro will have Corin intoxicate you too, as he does with Sulpicia and Athenodora. Make you so dependent on her that leaving the Volturi would cripple you. The thought brings a grimace to your face. This might be the last moment of clarity you’ll have before everything changes.

Surely something can be done to convince them.

You suck in a sharp breath of air, only to immediately regret it. The scents that flood your nose only overwhelm you more. Wet, heavy paint, Caius’s sharp, smoky musk and Demetri’s faint, woody aroma all assault your senses at once, like a coordinated attack.

It’s almost nauseating how much of themselves they leave behind. Even when alone, you’re still haunted by their lingering presences, oppressive and inescapable, a constant reminder of who you belong to. Because deep down, you know that the Volturi do own you. Aro decided that they do from the moment he saw your gift in Victor’s memories. Of course, the same goes for the rest of the guard, but they’re too far gone to be convinced of that. And even if you could get through to them, Chelsea’s control is so deeply rooted in their minds that they would be unable to function without it. She gives them purpose. To try and convince any of the other guards that they live like slaves in an organisation that is closer to a cult than a government, would be like trying to convince a devoted priest that God does not exist.

They simply cannot be swayed, because doing so would destroy the very purpose of their beings. With the illusion shattered, they would have nothing. They would be nothing.

You’re suddenly overcome with a painfully familiar sense of loneliness, like some distant echo of your time as a human. You don’t remember much of your mortal life, but you do remember this hopelessness. Knowing that the system is fundamentally flawed, and not being able to make others see the truth. Your views being something that needs to be corrected rather than considered.

But perhaps, if you can get just one person to listen, then you might be able to change your masters’ minds.

With a resigned sigh, you decide to abandon the painting entirely. Getting lost in a landscape of white and beige and blue will only make it harder to escape your racing thoughts, and the overwhelming scents that still hang in the air are giving you a headache.

A moment longer spent in this sun-drowned room and you might tear apart every canvas in sight. That would certainly anger Caius, so for his own sake, you should probably take a walk. Clear your mind a bit. Yes, this is the right thing to do.

You feel a little silly, justifying your own actions to yourself as you put on your cloak, but it’s a habit you’ve been forced to pick up since joining the Volturi. Aro claims that doing so makes it easier for him to understand the nuances of your thoughts. Of course, it’s been a while since he’s actually searched said thoughts, but you still continue the practice. It will certainly happen again, especially with Caius’s promise of the later meeting.

You wouldn’t want him to misinterpret anything.

Once your paint-stained tunic is effectively hidden by the grey cloak, you cross the length of the room in half a second and leave through the doorway.

This section of the castle is always quieter than the rest. It’s above ground, so access is only granted to high ranking guards— anyone else must ask for permission to enter. You walk through the sunlit halls, trying your best to stay in the spots of shade, and quickly descend the spiral staircase that leads to the ground floor. Caius and Demetri’s scents still remain in the air, faint but relatively fresh. That’s to be expected.

You can also smell the sharp, floral perfume of the new human secretary. Clearly no one has told her yet how sensitive vampire noses are. Foolish woman. You follow her scent to the reception area, which reeks completely of artificial roses and sickly vanilla. Beneath that though, there’s the unmistakable tang of sweat.

Ah, perhaps the perfume is to mask her fear then, rather than to appeal to the male guards. The thought almost makes you laugh. You probably would’ve, if you weren’t still bothered by Caius’s earlier threat. Doesn’t she realise that the vibrations of her pounding heart are sensed just as strongly as the musk of her fear?

Keeping your footfalls light, you creep around the corner and immediately zero in on where she’s sitting at her desk, writing what looks to be a letter. Or, more accurately, translating one. You can see the curvature of her green irises flickering back and forth between the passage and the translation she’s drafting. Too absorbed in her task to even notice you watching her.

She’s prettier than the last one, but remarkably bland to look at after being surrounded by vampires for the past decade. Her hair is a dull black, nothing like Aro’s rich mane, and her skin is a sort of faded bronze. Kissed by the sun, and then slowly bleached by the winter clouds. Her Mediterranean features look too pale, nothing like the eery whiteness of a vampire, but rather a sickly pallor of a human lacking in nutrients.

You scrunch your nose in displeasure. Is Aro growing desperate? Could he not have found someone healthier-looking to fulfil the role of secretary?

Oh well, she could be worse. Your feet silently take you over to her desk, keeping her unaware of your presence. It’s only when you’re standing directly over her that she finally reacts, flinching in her seat and then quickly standing up out of respect.

“Signorina! How can I help you?” She asks in rushed Italian, eyeing the dark grey of your cloak.

Your lips twitch slightly in amusement at the way her heart immediately begins to race. The human must’ve been told about the Volturi’s hierarchy then.

“I need to know, has anyone passed through here? A woman, perhaps, with golden-brown hair?” You stick to speaking in Italian for now, unsure of whether she knows any English.

She shakes her head with a frown, seeming troubled by her inability to help. “No, I haven't seen any women. Two men passed through though, one of the kings, I think, and a guard with spiky hair.”

You have to refrain from rolling your eyes at her. At the very least she should know the names of your Aro, Caius and Marcus. “Yes, Master Caius and Demetri, they’re attending trial. Was there no one else?”

“Sorry signorina, they were the only people who passed through.”

You rub your eyes with a weary sigh. “Right, okay. Thank you…”

“Gianna.” She quickly cuts in.

“Thank you, Gianna.”

Gianna shoots you a small smile, “And you are?”

“[Name].” You reply curtly, not particularly interested in exchanging pleasantries with the Volturi’s newest human. She probably won’t last long anyway. “I’d suggest you learn the names of the vampires you’re serving, if you plan on staying here for an extended period of time.”

The vibrations of her heart thrum louder at your tone of voice. You swallow back the venom pooling in your mouth and try to ignore the allure of her blood.

“I— I know Aro and Felix.” Gianna’s cheeks darken as she mentions your fellow guard. Of course she’d know Felix, he’s always the first to get cozy with the human women that work here.

“You should know more than two names.” You say bluntly, already starting to disengage from the conversation. Where could Chelsea be? There’s a high chance she’s in the throne room with everyone else, which would be… inconvenient. If that’s the case, then you might as well just return to your painting. There’s no way you’d interrupt a trial just to speak to another guard.

But if she’s not, then this might be the only chance you’ll get to speak with her alone before you’re summoned by the kings.

“Forgive me, I haven’t been here very long. I will try to learn the names of everyone.” Gianna’s nasally voice interrupts your train of thought.

You open your mouth to snap at her for speaking, and then pause, detecting a familiar scent beneath the overwhelming stench of cheap perfume.

Chelsea.

Yes, that’s definitely her. You can hear her footsteps now, walking away from the throne room. She must have left mid trial. That’s unusual.

You step away from Gianna’s desk, turning around just in time to see Chelsea enter on the other side of the reception. Her hair has been styled into milkmaid braids, so you can see clearly the look of surprise on her face when she notices you.

“[Name], I was told you were painting.” Her lips twist into a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

You smile back, pretending not to notice the tension in her voice. “Yes, I was. I just needed some time away from the canvas to… collect myself.”

Chelsea nods slowly, then glances at Gianna, who looks even more uncomfortable now that another vampire has turned up. “And you decided conversing with the new secretary is the best way to do that?”

“Well, I was actually looking for you. I only came here to ask if she’d seen you pass by.”

She raises a brow, clearly surprised that you’d actively seek her out after avoiding most of the guard for the past couple months. “In that case, perhaps we should find somewhere a little more secluded to talk?”

The thought of going anywhere secluded with Chelsea makes you uneasy, but you know better than to say no. She is your superior, after all.

“Of course. Do you have anywhere in mind?” You ask politely, still maintaining your pleasant smile.

Chelsea mirrors your expression, then replies, “Aro has a private library near his study, we could go there.”

You’re familiar with both Aro’s library and his study, but you don’t tell Chelsea that. Now probably isn’t a good time to get competitive about who’s granted the most privileges. And besides, you shouldn’t care about such frivolities. Not now that you know the full extent of what the Volturi have taken from you.

“Will he mind us using his space?”

Chelsea has already begun walking, as if in a hurry to get away from Gianna’s overwhelmingly strong fragrance. She casts you a glance over her shoulder, as if to tell you to hurry up. “Of course not, I have access to places that the rest of the guard don’t. You won’t get into trouble if you’re with me.”

You purse your lips and hum, eyeing her jet black cloak. It’s only a few shades darker than yours, but the difference still seems striking. “Did the masters send you to check on me? I would’ve thought they’d need your presence for the trial.”

Chelsea turns sharply round a corner and starts leading you down another flight of stairs, to the section of the castle below ground. Here, the lack of windows means that the walls are only lit by a few sparsely placed torches— a welcome break from the strain of the sun.

“Caius did, yes.”

You frown. “I was with him a few minutes ago. What need did he have to send you?”

Chelsea continues down to the lowest level, where the treasury, artefact rooms and most of the kings’ private areas are. She hesitates before speaking, carefully choosing her words.

“You know how he is, he just wanted to know that you were okay. Caius doesn’t like leaving his little girl all alone.” She looks at you again, this time with a lopsided smile.

“Caius’s little girl?” You repeat, unable to keep the indignation from leaking into your voice. If it were possible, you’re sure that your cheeks would be burning with embarrassment at what she’s implying. “Chelsea, I was born nearly half a century ago, I’m not a child.”

“That’s still very young, sweetie.” She replies dismissively, slowing her pace now that the door to Aro’s study is in sight.

“Either way,” you continue, trying to keep your irritation in check, “He isn’t my dominus, and I’m not his progeny. Our relationship is purely that of a king and his guard.”

“Is that truly what you think?” Chelsea asks softly, not sounding entirely convinced. She stops in front of the ancient door of Aro’s study, expertly crafted from mahogany many centuries ago, and pulls out a brass key.

“Yes, it is.” Your reply comes out icier than you meant it to. “Maybe Caius holds a different opinion, but from my perspective, there isn’t anything more to it than that.”

The conversation you intend to have hasn’t even started, and yet you can already feel this small talk morphing into something more aggressive. She knows that your loyalty is starting to slip. This is just her way of confirming that.

Suddenly, this little plan of yours doesn’t seem like such a great idea.

Chelsea’s voice becomes unsettlingly quiet, “I don’t think you’re being completely honest with me.”

You stiffen behind her. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Not completely,” she admits delicately, “I think you’re pretending not to see, because you are afraid. The trust you once had in us has been shattered, you believe you’ve been wronged. That is why you feign oblivion, why you reject what is so clear to the rest of us.”

There’s a pause, and then a click as she sticks the key into the hole. The door unlocks after one twist, but Chelsea doesn’t immediately open it. “Have faith in your family, we only want what’s best for you.”

It seems more like they want what’s best for them, but you don’t argue with her. If you’re going to get Chelsea to see things from your perspective, you’ll have to be tactful. “I don’t doubt that, but perhaps my family holds more concern for me than they should.”

She glances at you again from over her shoulder, frowning softly. You meet her gaze evenly and try not to let the discomfort you’re feeling show on your face. After a stare down that lasts far too long, she finally opens the door and steps to the side to allow you to enter the study.

Inside, it is dark and cold. The temperature doesn’t bother you, but it’s certainly noticeable. Aro’s assortment of candles are unlit, of course, but you can still see the hand-crafted wooden furniture clearly through the gloom. All of the shelves and paintings and settees seem larger without the usual amber glow of the flames. It’s unsettling, like walking through a forest with no breeze or noise or scents. Just pure, still emptiness.

Chelsea brushes past you and quickly crosses the room to where the second door is. This one doesn’t have a lock, so she wastes no time in pushing it open and gesturing for you to follow her into Aro’s library. You do so without question, preferring to have this inevitable conversation surrounded by the comforting smell of books rather than under the watchful eyes of your master’s many self portraits.

Chelsea leads you deeper into the library, before lighting a single candle on the coffee tablet and settling down into a leather armchair. You hover nearby, unsure of whether she wants you to sit down or stay standing. Chelsea notices your uncertainty and sighs, flicking her wrist towards the other chair. A silent invitation to take a seat.

You lower yourself onto it, sitting significantly more upright than she is. If Chelsea observes the contrast in posture, she doesn’t comment on it.

“So, what was it you wanted to discuss?” The question comes bluntly as she reclines further into her chair.

You clear your throat, not out of necessity, but to give yourself an extra second to gather your thoughts. “Well, I’ve noticed that the way I’ve been acting lately has raised concern from our masters, and by extension, the rest of the guard.”

You pause, studying Chelsea’s face for any kind of reaction. When she gives none, you continue to speak. “It was not my intention to cause such unrest. I am worried that Aro and Caius —perhaps Marcus too— are going to have you use your gift on me. I wanted to talk to you first, before they force you to alter my mind. Perhaps you could… speak to them? Convince them that my loyalty is as strong as it was before? There is no need for such a drastic intervention, surely you must see that.”

Even after your speech, Chelsea’s expression doesn’t change other than a slight narrowing of her eyes. She regards you in silence, before finally speaking in a hauntingly quiet voice. “You sit here trying to assure me of your loyalty, and yet every word that leaves your mouth contradicts the one that came before.”

Her tone makes your shoulders stiffen imperceptibly in the darkness. A natural reaction to the threat of another predator, whose red eyes glow like rubies in the flickering candlelight. Watching every muscle in your face flex and shift with unease, revealing to her the guilt that you so adamantly deny.

Your reply comes clipped and cold. “I contradict myself. How so?”

Chelsea’s lips twitch dangerously. “Your words imply that you believe us all to be slaves to our kings, that they would have to force me to use my gift on you. To serve the Volturi is a privilege that many desire, but very few can have. I am always honoured to carry out Aro’s wishes, especially when I find myself in complete agreement with him and his brothers over the reasons why they ask me to do what I do.”

The towering shelves of books suddenly feel more restrictive than comforting, like giant looming walls of a cage you walked straight into. One in which you entrusted Chelsea with the key. “You agree with them? You believe that I am no longer devoted to the Volturi?”

Her head tilts slowly to the side, as if she’s pretending to consider the question that you both know to be rhetorical. “That is what Marcus believes, and I am inclined to trust his word more than yours.”

You pick restlessly at the leather armrest of the chair, mentally reevaluating your initial plan. Convincing her of your loyalty is a lost cause, but perhaps you can still talk her out of using her gift on you.

“Chelsea, you are like family to me, all of you are. I beg of you, please trust me when I say I promise I have no intention of causing any harm or trouble. Alma’s words affected me, yes, but that does not mean I am going to betray the kings. There’s no need for you to interfere.”

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I know, sweetheart. You’re too smart to try something so reckless. The kings are aware of that too.”

You lean forwards, eyes wide with desperation as you try to reason with her. “Then why go through all this trouble? Why are they so worried?”

Chelsea looks at you with a pitiful frown, her expression turning deceptively sympathetic as she stares at you through the dim orange glow of light. “Because you’re unhappy. We’re doing this for you, not ourselves. The kings just want you to see that this is where you belong. They are your fathers, [Name], they know what’s best for you.”

The candle flickers as if reacting to her words. You watch it dance in the quiet stillness of the room, like a living creature fighting to be put out. Like you fighting not to be subjected to Chelsea’s gift.

Your brows knit together in worry. She isn’t budging at all. Worse still, she genuinely believes every word that comes out her mouth. She believes that Aro, Marcus and Caius have every right to claim themselves as your fathers, even after they had your family slaughtered. “They aren’t my fathers. I cannot fill the role they want me to. I am a guard, nothing more.”

Chelsea stares at you in silence, her face a mask of disappointment before she abruptly stands up and brushes herself off. “I’m sorry you think that.”

You spring up from your chair only a moment after she does, alarmed by the sudden movement. “Where are you going?”

She sighs. “The two of us are going to the throne room. We will remain there for the rest of the trial and then speak privately with the kings once it has concluded.”

“Wait! I can’t—” you stammer, beginning to panic. “Please just sit down and talk to me, you’re the only person who might be able to stop them from doing this. I need you Chelsea.”

Chelsea stares at you with an unreadable expression. She doesn’t look at all affected by your desperate plea for help. “I don’t want to stop them. Now come on, let’s join the others for the trial.”

As she turns in the direction of the door, you lunge forward and grab her by the wrist. Time seems to slow for a beat, or maybe your brain is speeding up, reacting at a pace so fast that you can barely register the decision to act. Chelsea freezes at your touch, then says in a quiet voice, “Let go of me.”

You tighten your grip. There’s no going back now. Either Chelsea will alter your bonds, chaining you to the Volturi forever, or you will alter her desires. Only temporarily, but it will be more than enough to free yourself. Free yourself, but also completely destroy what little trust they still have in you.

“Chelsea,” you say carefully, feeling your desperation transmorphing into something else entirely: a burning need to obey, which you thrust upon your fellow guard like a heavy blanket. Blinding her to her own thoughts and desires. Filling her with a need to serve you, please you. It feels disgustingly hypocritical, to beg her not to tamper with your thoughts and then do exactly that yourself, but what else is there to do? It’s kill or be killed now. “You’re guilty, aren’t you? Because you know you have wronged me. Don’t you want to fix this? Remove my loyalty to the kings, then I will forgive you. Make me completely apathetic towards them.”

Chelsea slowly turns back to look at you, her face dropping into an expression of horror. For a moment, you’re worried it hasn’t worked, but then she drops to her knees and pulls you closer by the wrists.

“Gods… what have I done?” Her voice is barely a whisper, yet it still rings out clearly through the muffled quiet of Aro’s library, echoing like a soft choir off the ancient walls.

You gently lower yourself to her level, trying to hide how disturbed you are by her reaction. “It’s okay, you can still fix this. I just need you to make things the way they were before. You can do that, right?”

Chelsea barely seems to be listening. Her glittering red eyes stare blankly ahead, directed at you, but clearly unfocused, as if the weight of her guilt has completely robbed her of her senses. After a few seconds without response, you awkwardly pry your wrist from her hold and rub her knuckles in an attempt to be soothing. “I really need you to focus, Chelsea. Please, I need your help.”

She blinks, and then exhales with a shaky nod. “I’ll try, but it might not be perfect.”

You attempt to give her a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t feel quite right on your face. “That’s fine. Just do the best you can.”

Chelsea’s distressed expression tightens into one of focus. Her brows furrow and her fingers curl into her palms as she works her gift on you. The change is subtle at first, like a sort of dawning realisation, but then it becomes more intense. You can feel the foundations of your love and devotion come crashing down, leaving only rubble and ruins in the wake of her tampering. Distant memories of your loyalty that feel like bitter stains on your thoughts. You had expected to feel a sense of peace or liberty, but all that haunts you now is dread for the future and horror at the past.

Chelsea stares at you with unblinking, hopeful eyes, waiting for your next command. You can feel your influence on her beginning to slip, the strain of it beginning to confuse your thoughts. She didn’t remove your loyalty to the guard, only the kings. Does that mean your love for them is real? Surely not. You try to think about them through the same lens you’re not seeing the kings through, but it’s impossible. Everything they’ve ever done, things you know logically to be wrong, seem dulled by an overpowering fondness that urges you to excuse it all.

She must have tethered you to the whole Volturi.

You slowly stand up, returning to your full height, and look down at where Chelsea kneels by your feet. The effects of your gift are already taking hold. Indecision keeps you frozen in the dark library, so strong it’s almost paralysing. You know you cannot stay, not after committing what would likely be considered treason, but you don’t know how you’ll manage being alone again after so long. A small voice in the back of your head screams at you to beg Chelsea to leave too, but staying with her for an extended period of time would be too risky. You have no choice but to go alone.

“Don’t follow me,” you urge her quietly, “and don’t ever use your gift on me again. Even just the thought of it will make you feel entirely repulsed.”

She nods in acceptance, though you can already see the first hints of doubt flickering in her eyes. Will this be enough to ensure your freedom in the future? You have no doubt that the moment the kings realise you’ve left, they’ll send out Demetri, but would they force you to come back even if Chelsea is no longer able to influence you? Aro said himself that every member of the guard is free to leave if they so please. Surely he wouldn’t go against his own words.

No, he wouldn’t, but Caius might. Caius wouldn’t care about what all this could mean for their image. He’d probably drag you back to Volterra himself and keep you here using fortified chains.

Marcus likely wouldn’t be as concerned about the Volturi’s image either, so really, your only hope rests on whether Aro will be able to stop his brothers from doing anything rash. Not that you can really picture Marcus of all vampires going on a rampage, but then again, you can never be too sure.

As you turn towards the door, Chelsea’s soft voice breaks through the silence. “Are you sure you want to leave? Where will you go?”

You respond to her first question with a sharp nod, still striding purposefully away before she gains back full autonomy over her thoughts. “Yes, I cannot stay here any longer.”

She doesn’t follow you out into Aro’s study, nor does she press further about where you are planning to go, which is a small relief. Truthfully, you haven’t thought far enough ahead to consider that yet. Leaving the Volturi had never even occurred to you as an option until a few minutes ago. The thought of abandoning your ‘family’ had always been unthinkable, yet here you are anyway, rushing through the empty castle walls without any knowledge of how the outside world has changed in the past decade.

Blending in will be difficult, especially without the help of other vampires. Perhaps you could find a new coven? If someone were to recognise you as a former Volturi member though, they’d probably turn tail and flee. Rightfully so, you suppose. The guard has certainly garnered themselves a reputation over the years.

You continue moving swiftly through the dimly lit halls, pondering your situation. This part of the castle isn’t as familiar to you, but you still recognise it as one of the ways out onto the streets of Volterra.

The walls are slightly damp, and not nearly as maintained as the more regularly walked through areas. In fact, you aren’t even sure they really constitute ‘hallways’ at all, but rather tunnels. Just dark tunnels, devoid of the usual torches you’re used to. There’s daylight though, which is a good sign that you’re getting close to the exit. It filters through the sparsely placed drain grates in the ceiling, which also explains the shallow layer of water covering the ground. A slight frown pulls at your brows as you try to figure out how that actually works architecturally. What’s stopping the melted snow above ground from flooding the castle?

Perplexing, but also not at all important right now. You should be planning where you will go, not musing about Volterra’s drainage system.

There’s a few covens who have amicable relations with the Volturi, allies perhaps, though not quite, as that would imply they have equal political power. You can’t go to any of them— they’d return you to the kings without question. On the other end of the spectrum, there’s also many covens who would consider the Volturi their enemies. The Romanian and Egyptian covens spring to mind, yet they aren’t feasible options either. Caius had told you many stories about the tyranny of the Romanians, and Demetri never has anything good to say of Amun, his dominus from the Egyptian coven.

So who else is there? Who else can you run to, now that your first family is dead, and your second have revealed themselves to be power-hungry monsters?

The only other group of vampires you can think of are those vegetarians Alec told you about. It had sounded like their leader, Carlisle, had been friends with Aro at some point, though they clearly aren’t close enough to have regular contact with each other. A perfect middle ground perhaps, if he’d be willing to help you. If not, you’ll have to try your luck as a nomad again. It wouldn’t be ideal, but you’ve survived that way before, and it’ll still mean freedom. That’s all that really matters.

You reach the end of the tunnel, slowing to a halt beneath a grate that sticks out as being much larger than the others. It’s slightly displaced, clearly having been moved many times by your fellow guards coming and going on missions. This is it, your way out.

You cast one final glance over your shoulder, staring down the gaping darkness of the tunnel behind you. For a few moments you just stand there in perfect silence, listening to the faint noises of humans walking through the snowy streets. The distant chatter and muffled footsteps sound like freedom.

Then, with a newfound sense of determination, you turn back to the crooked grate and make your decision.

You’re going to find Carlisle Cullen.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A/N- HOLY FUCK THAT WAS LONG. I am literally going insane I cannot think about anything other than vampires

[l0stglitch]

Asking the Volturi what their favourite colours are:

Aro

• His eyes light up like you’ve told him Christmas is coming early.

• Immediately begins to poetically describe some niche colour that doesn’t really exist.

• “My favourite colour is the shade of partially oxidised blood that is lit only by a single, flickering candle.”

• “So… maroon?”

• “… No, my dear. Not maroon.”

• Then proceeds to describe this unknown colour in fifteen different ways without actually giving it a name.

• 4/10. Makes you regret asking.

Caius

• If you catch him in a bad mood, he’ll roll his eyes and tell you not to ask him stupid questions.

• If he’s having a good day though, he’ll give you a whole list of different colours and then proceed to tell you how they got their names and random facts about them.

• Turns out Caius is really passionate about colours.

• He takes his art very seriously, after all.

• 1/10 on a bad day, 8/10 on a good day.

Marcus

• Tells you it’s blue, and then looks really sad about it.

• When you ask him why he tells you it was Didyme’s favourite colour.

• Sometimes he sits in the courtyard on a sunny day and just stares at the cloudless sky, thinking about her.

• Doesn’t own anything blue because it makes him sad to look at.

• All of Didyme’s old blue gowns and jewellery are locked away deep in Marcus’s chambers.

• They’re there, but he never looks at them.

• 5/10. Good answer but makes you sad.

Demetri

• Stares at you for a solid ten seconds trying to figure out if you actually mean it or if you’re just asking weird questions for the sake of it.

• (Yes, this man thinks it is weird to ask someone what their favourite colour is).

• Finally answers and tells you it’s wine red.

• Doesn’t elaborate, just eyes you suspiciously until you leave.

• Randomly asks you what your favourite colour is a week later, when you least expect it.

• 6/10. He’s weird about it for no reason.

Felix

• The complete opposite of Demetri.

• He doesn’t hesitate to tell you that his favourite colour is burnt orange. And he is PROUD of this.

• Burnt orange???

• Bless his heart, Felix has obviously wanted to tell someone about his favourite colour for years, but it’s never came up in conversation before.

• You make the mistake of letting a small laugh slip, and his face immediately falls.

• Then he gets super defensive about it…

• “What’s that smile for? It’s a sophisticated colour. Stop laughing!”

• “I’m not laughing, I’m just surprised.”

• “How is this a surprise to you? What else did you think I’d say?”

• 7/10. He will defend his favourite colour with his life.

Jane

• Gives you this weird smile and then says in a really sweet voice:

• “My favourite colour is red. Specifically blood red.”

• No surprises there.

• And then she shocks you by saying, “Pink is tolerable too, though it has a time and place. Red is preferred.”

• Kind of just stands there in silence after that, until she realises you’re waiting for her to ask what your favourite colour is.

• She returns the question but you can tell she doesn’t really care about the answer.

• 6/10. Could be worse, but she’s kind of creepy about it.

Alec

• Unlike some of the others, he’s not at all weirded out by the question.

• Alec happily tells you that his favourite colour is green.

• It reminds him of the English countryside where he grew up.

• Obviously, there’s very little green going on in the Volturi castle, which is why he enjoys being sent across the globe on missions.

• He genuinely just really enjoys being among nature.

• Visits the courtyard a lot in his spare time to see all the plants.

• 10/10. Simple answer. Alec is the only half normal person on the guard it seems.

Bonus: Heidi

• Doesn’t answer the question properly.

• “My favourite colour? Well, red is clearly most suited to my hair and complexion.”

• “Yeah, but which one is your favourite?”

• “I look best in red.”

• So… her favourite colour is red, you think.

• She won’t tell you whether that’s actually her favourite colour or if it’s just what she wears the most.

• You ask Demetri if he knows, but he just looks suspicious again and asks what you’re planning.

• Won’t answer the question. He just looks slightly concerned and leaves.

• 3/10 for both of them. They make life difficult for no reason.

(Guys idk why I made this I thought it was funny 😭)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

[queercharlieswan]

Team Bella Gets Therapy, but not so she doesn't monsterfuck, so she can process the obvious grief of that comes with being an undiagnosed neurodivergent child.

[dogposts]

[neko-no-oto]

そしらぬ。それぐらいの距離感大事よね。

The black cat and the crow. They act as if they don’t know each other, but I realized that sense of distance is important.

※すべての写真および画像は私の所有物であり、私の許可なく使用することはできません。

※All photo & images are mine and cannot be used without my permission.

[support-for-the-suicidal]

When we talk about the autonomy of suicide, it's almost always discussed from the side of the right to die — which is definitely important and does need to be accepted by more of society. But there's also the side of the right to live. Until society stops punishing people for their existence and depriving them of what they need, the autonomy of suicide for everyone cannot be reached. Because when people are killing themselves because of changeable, societal structures, that is not a completely autonomous decision. It is one that has been forced upon them.

Suicidal people will always exist and people who will always be suicidal exist and that is not inherently an issue that needs to be solved. But it becomes an issue when people are forced into it. Currently, suicide prevention involves institutionalizing suicidal people, telling them that they must survive, by any means possible, but so many of them have been told the opposite for their entire lives, implicitly or otherwise. Suicide prevention should involve working to improve society, making it a livable and survivable place for all people. Only then will the autonomy of suicide be achieved. Otherwise, so much of it is social murder.

In short, "Don't kill yourself 🥺" isn't enough — solving the why behind it is.

[important-cat-pics]

[lovecatcher]

https://www.instagram.com/p/CbztGSAhUMR/

[jojadoja1]

[overclassy]

[rachelblairy]

the four horsemen of the apocalypse

pestilence

war

famine

death

[overclassy]

[simpforvictoria]

THE HUNTER COVEN — JAMES & VICTORIA X VAMPIRE HUNTER READER

For generations, the bloodline of Y/N’s family had been steeped in shadow and steel. She belonged to an ancient vampire hunting coven whose roots stretched back centuries a secretive order that treated the pursuit of the undead as both sacred duty and inherited obsession.

Y/N’s ancestors had been legends within the coven. They had been hunting and studying these creatures for hundreds of years to understand the very root of their existence, and analyse their strengths but also their vulnerabilities. They had been slayers who amassed archives of vampire lore, mapping nomadic patterns, identifying covens, and perfecting methods of extermination.

Some of them had even stood face to face with the Volturi at some point through history, but never had the chance to expose them to the world.

Her father had followed in their footsteps with fanatical devotion, training from childhood in combat, tracking, and the subtle arts of deception against immortal predators, besides being a simple, normal human being.

Her mother, however, had been different. She had married into the coven but never shared the same fire for the hunt as her husband did. She married Y/N’s father out of affection. And later, after finding out about her husband’s paranormal activities, bearing their daughter while quietly yearning for a normal life, one where her family could live without the constant threat of fangs in the night.

She participated in hunts only when necessary, always prioritizing safety over glory.

And when Y/N was born, her mother’s priorities sharpened. She wanted nothing more than to shield her only months old daughter from the dangerous world she was going to be raised in.

A few days after Y/N’s became 3 months old, she went out, just before 12 o’clock, to go to the 24 hour shop near their house, to get some milk to feed her daughter in the morning. She had run out just hours before and knew she wouldn’t have time the next day to go buy some before her newborn would wake up.

It was calm when she got there, it was pretty late, a random Tuesday night, and every other humans was already fast asleep, getting some energy to go to work the next morning.

The buzzing from the white ceiling lights at the shop could almost be heard from outside.

She closed the big, glass fridge and took the carton of milk to the register to go pay.

— This please.— she said to the elder woman behind the counter smoking a cigarette that had almost nothing left in it.

The woman sighed and touched some buttons on the register with clear laziness, she was clearly in a bad mood.

— That will be 2 dollars.— Her voice sounded raspy from the smoking.

She rapidly put the money on the counter. — Thank you, have a goodnight.—

The woman didn’t respond and just lit up a new cigarette. She grabbed the carton of milk and walked out of the shop with a slow pace.

The street was silent, the only sound that could be heard were the crickets from the dark woods nearby. It was just a normal, warm summer night.

She walked patiently, with her eyes on the road ahead of her. But then, her legs just stopped.

She caught the glimpse of a shadow running fast under a yellow-ish street light, just a few meters ahead from her.

She tried to follow it with her eyes, but it was too fast. Like a brisk wind that disappeared within seconds.

Her head turned sideways, trying to analyse if anyone was around, or if she was going crazy and just seeing things because she was tired and it was late at night.

The night air felt suddenly colder, heavier. Her hunter instincts, dulled by years of reluctant participation and motherhood, flared to life.

Another blur. This time to her left, closer. A low, mocking chuckle echoed from the darkness between the streetlights.

—Look at her, James,— a woman’s voice purred, smooth and dangerous. —Standing there like a lost fawn. So fragile. So tasty.—

Y/N’s mother spun around, heart hammering. Two figures materialized from the shadows with inhuman grace.

The man was tall and lean with wild blond hair, his crimson eyes gleaming with predatory excitement, while leaning against the lightpole behind her with a certain nonchalance written in his face. The woman beside him had striking red hair that seemed to burn even in the dim light, her expression one of cold amusement.

James stepped forward slowly, circling her like a wolf savoring the hunt.

—Humans rarely wander alone this late,— he said, voice dripping with sadistic delight. — Especially not alone. Tell me, little human… What are your plans for tonight?— He looked back at Victoria with an amused smile. — Maybe we can join in.—

Victoria moved in closer from the other side, her movements fluid and threatening. She smiled, fangs glinting.

—Mmm, she’s sweet. I can hear her heart racing. Let’s play with her first, James. I want to hear her scream before we feed.—

Y/N’s mother backed up slowly, her free hand slipping toward the concealed wooden stake hidden in her jacket. She tried to keep her breathing steady, mind racing. These two were clearly nomads, dangerous, hungry, and treating her like nothing more than prey.

James lunged forward in a blur, stopping just inches from her face. She gasped, stumbling back as the milk carton nearly slipped out of her hands.

— Come on… run off if you want.— he taunted, eyes dancing with cruel joy. — The chase is always better when the prey thinks they have a chance.—

Victoria laughed softly, a chilling sound that echoed down the empty street.

—She’s trembling so beautifully. Look at those wide eyes. I wonder how long she’ll last before she breaks. Maybe we drain her slowly… make it fun.—

The air crackled with tension. Y/N’s mother could feel death closing in. The vampires saw her as nothing more than an ordinary, vulnerable human woman, an easy midnight snack. She forced the words out, voice shaking but desperate.

—Wait! Don’t kill me. I have a daughter. I’ll do anything. Just let me go home to her.—

James smiled softly, this information just made it so much better for him. — Oh that’s cute… too bad you don’t really have a choice.— He was about to throw himself onto the woman, when she pulled out the wooden stake that had been hiding in her lightweight linen jacket.

Both James’s and Victoria’s eyes turned instantly, the hunger was gone. Now it was pure surprise and a slight amount of confusion.

— Be careful with your decisions vampire.— She spoke softly, but demanding.

— You think because you have a wooden stick you are gonna win from us?— James laughed amused. — It’s two against one honey. And we haven’t fed in days, believe me, you don’t know what we are capable of.—

— You don’t have to do this, just listen to me carefully.— She responded with a certain calm that neither of the vampires expected from her. — We can make a trade.—

—A trade?— he repeated, smirking as he glanced at Victoria. —Bold little human. Most just scream or beg. What could you possibly offer us that we couldn’t simply take right now? Speak quickly… before we get bored.—

Victoria remained tense and watchful, circling slowly, her red hair shifting as she studied the terrified woman with hungry interest. She clearly saw no threat, only a prey.

Y/N’s mother took a breath.

— I’m part of a hunting clan, my husband is a descendant from The Lumina Sanctum, a clan that has killed your kind for centuries now. If you kill me now, they will easily know it was vampires and will track you down within days.—

Both James and Victoria looked intrigued and started to sense some kind of danger they normally wouldn’t get from a human. They had heard about this clan, about their encounter with the Volturi, almost exposing their kind to the normal world.

— We can arrange a trade.— She continued. — If you let me go, I won’t tell a soul of our encounter, nor your presence in the area.—

James’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. He exchanged a quick glance with Victoria, whose playful hunger had shifted into sharp caution. The name Lumina Sanctum clearly carried weight even among nomads.

—So the rumors are true. There is still an active line of you pests.— Victoria said with a soft grin.

James stepped back just enough to give her breathing room, though his body remained coiled like a spring.

His amusement had turned darker, more calculating.

—You’re offering us silence? How generous,— he said, voice laced with mockery. —But what’s to stop us from killing you right now and disappearing before your precious clan even notices you’re gone?—

Y/N’s mother swallowed hard but didn’t lower the stake.

—Because even if you succeed, they will find out. My scent is all over this street. My husband will know the patterns. And when he does, he won’t stop until every vampire in the region is ash. But if I walk away unharmed tonight… none of that happens. You disappear into the night, and we never cross paths again.—

Victoria stopped circling. Her red eyes narrowed.

—And what else? You’re not just buying your own life. You’re a mother. There has to be more to this little bargain.—

Y/N’s mother hesitated only a moment before laying out the rest, her voice still steady and with raw honesty.

— My daughter is only three months old. If anything ever happens to me… if the world I live in catches up to my family… promise me you’ll protect her. Keep her safe when no one else can. That is the full trade. My silence and your freedom now, for her life later if she ever needs it.—

— You want us to protect a human vampire hunter?— James was truly in disbelief about the things the human was demanding from them, it sounded surreal at this point.

— She doesn’t have to be, I don’t want her to grow up in a world where killing supernatural creatures is her obsession like my husband’s. So she will never be a danger to you.—

A heavy silence fell over the deserted street. The crickets continued their song, oblivious. James studied her for a long moment, his sadistic grin slowly returning, though now mixed with reluctant respect for her audacity.

—You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid,— he said finally. —But… we’ll take it.—

Victoria gave a single, sharp nod, though her eyes still burned with suspicion.

—We keep our word, hunter. But remember this: if you betray us, there won’t be anywhere safe for you or your precious family.—

The tension broke. James and Victoria melted back into the shadows with the same unnatural speed they had appeared, leaving only the faint echo of their presence and the smell of ozone in the air.

Y/N’s mother stood there for several long seconds, legs shaking, before she finally turned and ran the rest of the way home, milk carton still clutched desperately in her arms.

But fate, as always, had other plans. Only minutes later, another rogue, newborn nomad would find her.

The attack was brutal and instantly, there was no room for dialogue. The carton of milk fell on the floor next to her as she tried to fight off the creature that was feeding from her, but it was just incredibly strong.

With the last strength she had left in her body she killed it with the wooden stake she had held just minutes before in front of James and Victoria, right through its stone cold heart.

The venom was racing through her body, burning her up from the inside. It was like she was trapped in a house that was set on fire, but instead of feeling like her surroundings were burning, the fire was inside of her body. Her body was just a casket that was experiencing the deepest part of hell.

She had learned about this from her husband, they had heard that this was what a turning felt like. Like you are being eating from the inside and every part of you is turned into ash.

She didn’t go home that night, she couldn’t, not till her transformation was completed. So she hid in the nearby woods for three days. The street beside the woods were filled with flyers, she had seen her husband going into the shop and heard him talk to the lady at the register from a few nights before about her, if she had seen her, if she had said anything that night that would clear up her disappearance.

On the fourth day. She slipped through the front door as quietly as she could, hoping to avoid waking anyone. But the moment the door clicked shut, her husband appeared in the hallway, his face lighting up with pure relief.

—Thank God you’re back!— he exclaimed, rushing forward. —I’ve been worried sick. You’ve been gone all these nights. I was about to call the coven for help. Where have you been? Are you alright?—

Before she could respond, he pulled her into a tight, desperate hug, burying his face in her hair.

Y/N’s mother stiffened. She tried to return the embrace, but her body felt wrong, unnaturally rigid, her skin like ice.

Her husband froze mid-hug. His arms tightened for a second, then pulled back sharply. His eyes widened in horror as he gripped her shoulders, staring at her face.

—You’re… ice cold,— he whispered, voice cracking. —Why are you so cold? It’s the middle of summer.—

She tried to pull away, panic rising in her chest.

—It’s nothing. I’m just tired. I don’t know what happened, I got lost for some reason... Let me see Y/N, I just want to check on her.—

But he wouldn’t let go. His trained hunter’s instincts kicked in instantly. He touched her cheek, then her neck, feeling the complete absence of warmth, the unnatural stillness of her pulse. His expression shifted from relief to dawning terror.

—What happened to you?— he demanded, voice rising. —You’re not… You can’t be… Tell me you didn’t—-

Y/N’s mother’s crimson eyes, which she had been desperately trying to hide in the dim hallway light, finally met his. The truth hit him like a stake to the heart.

—They got to you,— he breathed, horror twisting into rage. —After everything I taught you. After everything our family stands for. You let them turn you.—

—I didn’t let them!— she cried, voice breaking as the burning thirst clawed at her throat. —There was a rogue one after I left the store. I tried to fight, I swear. It was a newborn and it was insanely strong. Please… you have to understand.—

Her husband staggered back, hand already moving toward the hidden compartment where he kept his weapons. Tears streamed down his face, but his jaw was set with the merciless resolve of a Lumina Sanctum hunter.

—You’re not my wife anymore,— he said coldly. —You’re one of them now. And I won’t let you endanger our child.—

The struggle was short and devastating. In her weakened newborn state, disoriented and fighting the bloodlust, she stood no chance. He drove a wooden stake through her heart while she begged for mercy, screaming for her baby.

Then, with grim efficiency, he dragged her body to the backyard and set it ablaze before the sun could rise and finish the job.

When the flames died down, he buried the ashes and returned inside to his sleeping daughter.

To Y/N, he would later say her mother had died in a tragic car accident shortly after she was born. The lie became his truth. The promise made under the streetlight, however, would one day come back to haunt them all.

And that day, was today.

Y/N had been tracking these two nomads for months now. She had moved to Forks, specifically for this, for them.

She knew the couple of nomads moved around a lot to not expose themselves too much, but they kept within a certain area that she had studied for years.

It was like an obsession to her, just like her dad. With the early passing of her mum, hunting vampires and learning about them, was all her life was based on. Her dad made her intrigued in the subject from an early age, and she developed skills and interest for it in a very intense form. Sometimes it was even scary.

She wanted nothing more than killing vampires, eliminating their kind. Go to the very root of their existence and making them vanish from the planet forever.

Now, deep in a remote cave in the dark and rainy woods of Forks, that obsession had finally borne fruit.

James and Victoria hung suspended from the ceiling by reinforced iron chains, arms wrenched high, legs shackled to the stone floor. Y/N had starved them for days. No blood. No escape. Their eyes burned with crimson hunger and fury.

Y/N circled them slowly, wooden stake in one hand and a blowtorch in the other. The flickering lantern light cast long shadows across the damp walls.

—Comfortable?— she mocked, her voice echoing coldly. —The great tracker and his fiery mate. How does it feel to be the prey for once?—

James snarled, straining violently against the chains, muscles bulging with effort.

—You pathetic little insect. When I get free, I’m going to make you suffer like I’ve never done with my preys before. I’ll make you beg for the end.—

Victoria’s eyes were slits of pure hatred, her red hair a tangled mess.

—You have no idea what you’ve done,— she hissed. —Release us now and we might make it quick.—

Y/N pressed the blowtorch closer to James’s cheek, watching with satisfaction as his skin crackled and blackened at the edges. He roared in pain.

—You’ve slaughtered hundreds,— Y/N said, voice low and venomous. —Families, children. I’ve followed your trail for two years. But I will end this tonight.—

As she raised the stake toward James’s heart as he suddenly laughed through the agony, a low, ragged, almost delighted sound.

—You really don’t know, do you? After all this time chasing us… you still don’t who we are.—

Y/N paused, stake hovering.

—What are you talking about?—

Victoria’s voice joined in, colder and more controlled.

—Your mother. The night she met us. A warm summer evening. She was carrying a carton of milk for her three-month-old daughter. She thought she could face us alone. Brave little fool.—

James grinned savagely, eyes gleaming with memory.

—She pulled a wooden stake on us when I got too close. Told us she had a baby girl waiting at home. Offered us a trade right there on the empty street, her silence about our presence to the Lumina Sanctum, safe passage through the territory… in exchange for a promise. That if anything ever happened to her, we would protect her daughter. You.—

Y/N’s hand trembled. The details were too specific. The milk. The exact age. Things her father had never mentioned.

—You’re lying,— she whispered.

—We don’t lie about interesting hunts,— James growled. —She was terrified but fierce. Stood her ground even when Victoria wanted to play with her first. We accepted the deal. We let her walk away alive. The rogue who turned her attacked after we left. Your father found her afterwards… and burned her for what she had become. Then lied to you about it your whole pathetic life.—

Y/N slammed the wooden stake into James’s rib, making him screaming out of agony. — Don’t make up stories about my mother, ever!—

Victoria smiled amused, the rage in her eyes was for some reason entertaining. — We don’t lie about our preys.—

Y/N fastly yanked the wooden stake out of James’s rib making him now grunt of relief.

— You can either believe us, or kill us. But if you kill us, you will never know the truth about your mother.—

Y/N started trembling. Her heart raced and her breath shortened. The subject of her mother was incredibly delicate, rarely talked about, yet always surrounded by too many questions and almost no answers. It had been the gaping wound in her life that her father had filled with hatred and purpose instead of truth.

She stepped back, stake still gripped tightly in her white-knuckled hand. The blowtorch lay forgotten on the ground. For several long moments, only the sound of dripping water and James’s heavy breathing filled the cave.

—Why should I trust anything you say?— Y/N finally said, voice cracking. —You’re monsters. You hunt people for sport.—

James let out a pained chuckle, his crimson eyes still locked on her with that unnerving intensity.

—Because deep down you already know we’re telling the truth. You feel it. That pull you’ve had toward us this whole time. The dreams. The way hunting us felt… different. Even a bit personal.—

Victoria’s voice softened just a fraction, though her gaze remained sharp and calculating.

—Your mother was brave that night. She didn’t beg for her own life at first, she begged for yours. A mother willing to bargain with two predators to protect her three-month-old daughter… that kind of desperation leaves a mark. It created something between us. A bond. When she died, it passed to you.—

Y/N pressed her back against the cold cave wall, trying to steady herself. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, tears of rage, confusion, and a deep, aching grief she had buried for years.

—I spent my whole life hating what you are… because of my dad.— she whispered. — He told me vampires are creatures made to end human existence.—

James’s expression darkened with something almost like sympathy, though it was still laced with his natural sadism.

— Your father used her death to make you into his perfect little weapon, how pathetic.—

Y/N slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold floor, stake resting across her knees. She stared at the two chained vampires, her mother’s would-be protectors, her father’s greatest enemies, and to her… something else entirely.

—I won’t free you yet,— she said quietly after a long silence. —I can’t. Not until I’m sure. But I won’t kill you tonight either.—

She reached into her pack and tossed two fresh bags of blood toward them.

—Start talking. Tell me everything about that night. About my mother. About this… trade. And don’t stop until I tell you to.—

James tore into one of the bags with a feral grin, his eyes never leaving her.

—As you wish, mate. We’ve got all the time in the world now.—

Victoria accepted her bag more gracefully, but her gaze held the same possessive weight.

—And when you finally accept the truth… you’ll choose to run with us. Not hunt us.—

The cave settled into a tense, fragile truce. For the first time in her life, Y/N was listening instead of killing.

A few days later, under the cover of night, Y/N stood in the dimly lit living room of her childhood home. Her father sat in his old armchair, the same one he had occupied for years while filling her head with stories of vampire atrocities. The air was thick with tension.

Y/N’s voice was steady but laced with barely contained fury.

—Tell me the truth about Mom. No more lies.—

Her father looked up slowly, his face hardening.

—What are you talking about? Your mother died in a car accident shortly after you were born. I’ve told you this a thousand times.—

Y/N slammed the old journal she had taken from his hidden study onto the table between them. Pages detailing Lumina Sanctum protocols for dealing with turned hunters fell open.

—You burned her,— she said coldly. —She was turned by a newborn the same night she went out for milk. She made a deal with two nomads to protect me. And you killed her for it.—

Her father shot up from the chair, eyes wide with shock that quickly turned to rage.

—How do you know any of that?! You were never supposed to find out! I protected you from the truth!—

—Protected me?!— Y/N shouted. —You lied to me my entire life! You turned me into a weapon because of your guilt and hatred!—

The argument exploded. Her father’s face twisted with the fanatical devotion she had once admired.

—She was no longer your mother the moment she was turned! She was a monster. A threat to you, to the coven, to everything we stand for! I did what any Lumina Sanctum hunter would do. I protected our bloodline!—

He lunged forward and grabbed her arm roughly.

—And now that you have found out the truth you became this pathetic and fragile human who is just playing the victim. I should have seen it coming. You’ve always been too much like her.—

Y/N ripped her arm free and shoved him hard, sending him crashing into a side table. Furniture shattered. He grabbed a hidden silver dagger and slashed at her.

—You’re betraying everything I taught you!— he roared.

Y/N dodged, blood trickling from a shallow cut on her arm.

—You never gave me the truth! You stole my mother from me!—

The fight turned violent. Her father, still a formidable hunter despite his age, landed several heavy blows. Y/N countered fiercely, years of training matching his.

—Now!— she shouted desperately.

The windows shattered in a blur of motion.

James and Victoria burst into the room like vengeance incarnate. James tackled her father to the ground before he could stab Y/N again. Victoria was right behind him, snapping the man’s arm with brutal force.

Her father screamed in pain and fury, staring at the two red-eyed vampires with dawning horror.

— You brought monsters into our home?!—

James laughed darkly, pinning him down.

—We’ve been waiting a long time for this.—

The fight was chaotic and merciless. Her father fought like a cornered animal, using every trick the Lumina Sanctum had taught him. He managed to slash James across the chest and kick Victoria back, but he was badly outnumbered.

Victoria tore into his shoulder. James ripped the silver dagger from his hand and drove it into his thigh. Y/N, tears streaming down her face, finally drove her wooden stake deep into her father’s chest while James held him steady.

Her father gasped, staring up at her with betrayal and rage.

—You chose them… over your own blood…—

—You never gave me a choice,— Y/N whispered.

Victoria delivered the final blow, tearing his head from his body with savage efficiency. James quickly gathered flammable materials and set the house ablaze, ensuring nothing of the Lumina Sanctum hunter remained.

The three of them stood outside as the flames consumed the building, and with it, the last lies of Y/N’s old life.

James pulled Y/N against his side, his touch firm but careful.

—It’s over now,— he murmured. — You are free to go.—

Y/N looked at them, her eyes still glimmering from the tears she had shed before, she didn’t respond, she only stepped closer to James and grabbed Victoria by the hand as they were watching the house burn down in front of them.

Both vampire knew in that very moment, that leaving wasn’t an option anymore, from now, it was the three of them.

[catasters]

[idratherhavefreedom]

[overclassy]

[interdimentional]