For We Could Never Be Kind

The blood slickens her throat, running past her sharpened teeth and across her tastebuds, singing with the siren song her kind covets. Her delicate pianist hands, shaped like violent claws about her victims bruised neck, release the young women she's just drained, shoving her away as though her once-humanity is contagious.

Leaving the body, reminiscent of a cold china-doll left in the rain, in the pouring streets of Verona, Renesmee stands. Her stolen leather jacket hangs heavily about her deceivingly fragile-looking shoulders, protecting her impermeable skin from the downpour. Recognizable cinnamon curls are tucked away beneath the leather, concealing her identity from any of the ones she knows are searching, or would a more accurate word be hunting, for her.

Raising the cuffs to her rosebud, bloodstained mouth, a tiny pink tongue darts out like a snake, licking off the seeds of blood waiting to blossom into life upon the scratched leather, scratched by the scores of humans who have clutched at her in their last final attempts to walk alive again.

But they never did, for Renesmee was very, very careful.

Turning her back on the pristine perfect fairytale life that other people had planned for her, leaving her aunts in dismay, her uncles in panic and her parents in depression, had been the best thing she'd done in her fifty years on this planet.

And Jacob. Jacob the mutt, the ever-present shadow behind her, the over-bearing presence who growled at every boy's lust filled glances at her body like her guard dog.

She'd been expected to see the dog who'd heeded her every command as the future husband to stand by her side for better or for worse and not the family pet as she was so accustomed? If her mother, undeserving of her happiness as she is, could choose higher than the mutt, so could she.

Though her mother had opened her heart and her legs to another man, Renesmee had opened her eyes to the world.

Paris, Tokyo, Mumbai, Moscow, Beijing, London, Hong Kong; She's travelled through them all and her intense chocolate eyes, now flecked with scarlet from her victims, watched the world pass by, half in child-like wonder and half in the cynicism her darkness created within her.

Now she's in Italy. Verona – home to the fabled star-crossed lovers. She smirks as the dawn breaks over the cobbled horizon, her skin glowing faintly in the weak sun. (That's a triumph of her kind that pure vampires can never measure up to) Renesmee watches the sun rise to it's highest extent as she moves over the Italian countryside to the great walls of Volterra.

She's about to break the highest rule her sainted family ever set her. And she loves it.

The gentle twilight light, which paints the skies gray, allows Renesmee to walk the streets of Volterra freely for she knows how seriously the Volturi take their anonymity amongst the mortals of the city.

The ancient castle, so ancient it's evocative of the gothic Castle Dracula she saw on her trip to Transylvania, looms up before her. Pulling her leather jacket closer around herself, she sneers at the descriptions her parents had told her as a child. How it held 'A dark sense of foreboding' or it was like 'A dark shadow against the sky'. To Renesmee, it looks like power.

"Of course, we will be glad to keep you here, Miss Cullen," The papery skinned creature nods from his throne, the smokiness of his carmine eyes seeming to swallow up Renesmee as she stares at him.

"I am not a Cullen," She hisses, because that name is the worst obscenity, the laughing stock amongst the vampire race, the slander that pours lemon juice into open, bleeding wounds.

Aro raises his eyebrows, looking at the slender beauty standing delicately before him. The almost unique specimen handing herself over to him with all of her ties to that other coven severed, a gift for him to unravel, somewhere between a jewel and a toy for him to explore at will.

He sees the easy cruelty that glints beneath those eyes, identical to the more innocent pair he saw in her mother, and the passionate iron of her fiery wrath that she wields easily against her enemies and her many faceless lovers indiscriminately.

"Very well, Mi figlia," He nods, beckoning her forward with a enticing finger.

This girl with the stained past and foggy future stands before him, her delicate hands encased by his own. She would stand strong within their cloak-shrouded ranks, gouging a name for herself amongst the halls of the immortals. Her slow-burning fury would slash through any obstacle in her way upon the battlefield. And she would twist through the mazes of mens minds, holding their nightmares around their eyes like puppets til they broke.

Renesmee smiles, dropping to her knees by Aro's side. "Thankyou, Master,"

Yet, no matter how many times she will call him that, now and in centuries to come, she is no-one's servant.

Morning dawn breaks, bright and tantalizingly eerie through the extravagant windows of her new luxurious room, glimmering along the hardened edges of her skin like the glint off a weapon; powerful and ultimately dangerous. She lies on her new bed, the bruised-plum silk covers encasing her body as she chews upon her lip, thinking.

The castle, upon first impressions, seems as silent as the graves they should all be buried within, yet as she listens closer, she hears the gentle hum of voices, the slide of titanium skin brushing past opponents on the practice grounds.

Her eyes skim the room, seemingly disinterested, before resting upon the blackened cloak left on her chair while she slept.

The material feels good, she notes as she walks the stone hallways, but her old beaten-up leather jacket is much better.

"Cullen," A quiet voice, deceptively innocent and naïve but with years of hatred swarming below the surface.

"I don't recognize that name," Her voice is sharp, the words clipped at the end by her scissor lips.

A cherubic face, juxtaposed with demon eyes, is her companion as they move like wraiths along the shadowed corridors.

"You are not like your mother, are you?" Alec's intoxicatingly frosty gaze chills her from the inside, like snow whirling into a storm in her flesh. Her feet lose grip on the ground, her eyesight flickers and dies as the mist of his stare encases her like a coffin.

But she doesn't surrender. Because she knows this is her test, the test her mother and her father failed.

"No," She keeps herself upright as the sun eclipses behind her violet eyelids. "I will never be Bella,"

"Do you feel dead now?" His whispering snakes voice proves that he left her ears open for the answer he wishes to hear. The truthful answer to the question is one reserved for the playground - weakness has no place in these halls of contradictions, fragile alliances, and lasting bonds of loyalty. But to lie would end in a tangled web of deception.

"At last," She hisses, her eyesight blinking back into life like a light-bulb as she locks eyes indefinitely with the ruby fires of his.

"Good," And he's gone, leaving Renesmee with only the memory of the nothingness and the prickling feeling of the rug being pulled out from beneath her, suspending her above the ground as she waits for the drop.

But she made the right decision, the one that silk-skinned Bella never had the chance to make.

She stands with the stature of a graceful hunter, a seductress, and the intent of a deadly assassin amongst the cloak-shrouded ranks of the Guard. Her bronze curls are tumbling around her shoulders, yet now she can hide the legacy of Edward Cullen underneath the blackened-soul hood of the Volturi.

Her fingers, gossamer butterfly wings, brush against the fingers of Alec. Alec, the constant contradiction, recognizes the return of their challenge and allows the nightmares to be weaved within his mind.

He is shaking when Renesmee withdraws her hand, tucking her arm back within the depths of her cloak, his slight physique quivering like leaves trapped within a raging thunder-storm.

But he turns to Renesmee, a satisfied smile twisting his crescent moon lips into the smile that would rest upon the face of an executioner, a friend and an ally. And Renesmee sees the careful acceptance in the boy angelically sinful face.

Alec has one to contend with, one to stand with in battle.

And Renesmee has her foot-hold in the Volturi.

They are perfectly painted contradictions of each other, their differences so minute yet palpable that it was as though an artist made the changes with a cursed brush;

One a frozen forever ancient soul in the jail of a young boy. The other one who grew into womanhood too fast and too viciously.

One the embodiment of the night, his hair like coal and his skin like stars. The other the perfect illustration of the dawn as it breaks, her hair like tendrils of red, her eyes like shadows of morning and her skin like the leaking sky.

One from the times of witch-hunting, burnings at the stake, the other born from alongside the rise of technology, freedom of speech.

One a beating heart. The other a silent shell.

But in their madness-blackened cruelty, they stand together amongst the damned. One of the sun, the other of the moon, keeping a constantly inconstant shroud of pain and oblivion around the world as it turns around them.

And in their alliance, which neither are sure is yet friendship, they spin the myths and legends of a pair so frightful that but to gaze upon their vengeful eyes would send the most hardened of immortals into the spirals of insanity.

Aro is so pleased as their infamy rises like flames licking at kindling. Soon, they will light fires together that will ignite the world, leaving the mortals screaming in their wake.

If one so trivially human were asked to try to interpret and unwind the vastly complex and ravelling spider-web lines that make up their bond, said mortal would fail miserably upon reaching the first layer.

As it is, their bond is so multifaceted and intricate that many of the immortals have attempted to unwind it.

They are not friends, but their affection for each other runs deep.

They are not comrades, but each hold a respect for the other so potent it could spark flames.

They are not enemies, yet pain and insanity lace their every word and footstep.

They are not lovers, yet neither seek other companionship.

They are not acquaintances, because their connection is an attachment so fluid, shifting yet there for all eternity, that mere acquaintances shall not express anything like what they hold for the other.

Renesmee ponders silently as Heidi leads in humans like the macabre pied piper of her childhood tales.

Yet she sets aside such thoughts as the heartbeats palpitate to a rhythm so vibrant and voluble that she can dance to the beat.

She gazes into those defeated eyes as she chooses her meal and grips the shoulders of this broken woman lying upon the stone floor. The others kill with rampant disrepute, yet Renesmee takes her time, finding the pleasure in the kill and sucking the joy til the corpse is dry.

"But you're not like them," The woman whispers, her eyes locking on Renesmee's swirling russet eyes, comparing them to the burning globes of fire she saw in the others. "You're human,"

Renesmee licks her cracked lips and gently, oh so gently, tilts the womans head back so her neck is exposed and pulse is bubbling just below the surface of delicately fragile skin. "I will never be human," She tells the meal and, with a grin of madness, she plunges into the womans throat as the glorious blood runs down her chin.

And when there is no more struggling, only corpses on the floor , drained, still and strewn on the floor as stray blood is meticulously stolen away by her comrades, that her eyes turn back to Alec.

They cannot be described by any word spoken in any tongue. Because they are not human. And the mundanity of humanity's language cannot hope to describe them for what they truly are.

If Alec ever were to be truly honest with himself, a rarity for vampires and virtually unreal for a vampire such as he, he will admit to himself some of the plaguing maybes whispering away in the back of his mind and the edges of his ears, might be truth.

All he truly wants is some-one who would become nothing for him. Would tear themselves away from their lives and run to the ends of the earth with him, disappearing into the shadows.

Because he knows, knows better than almost of the Volturi (Except for Jane, possibly) what it is to be trapped inside a raging inferno. Alone. What is to be forced to tread the beaten path to hell and back without a companion by her side.

Jane may know, but sharing a womb is not enough to experience shared emotions or thoughts. But then again, why would he ask her? She is the stronger, the elder… the most powerful. He is barely allowed to breath in her presence as she fawns over Master Aro.

He loves his sister, have no doubt, he loves her fiercely and would kill even Aro to keep her safe. And he knows she would do the same for him. But would she fade away into anonymity for him? He doesn't know.

But loneliness is a hell all of it's own. And Alec has been trapped there for centuries.

Renesmee offers something. Not a passage out of Hell itself, but a friend to stand by when the world turns its face from you.

Because, really, Alec can't believe in the idea of heaven.

And he's not sure whether he'd like it all that much, either.

"It is strange," Alec speaks into the silence of the courtyard they have both occupied, the repulsive manner of their sadistic duet of skill sending the other guards quietly away. "That you have no venom,"

Renesmee smiles, having considered this thought many, many times before. "But, I believe, that the toxin in my mind more than makes up for it,"

Her hand entangles with Alec's, painting a perfect picture of savage teeth dripping seductively with teardrops of poison that pooled delightfully in a puddle of malice behind his eyelids.

"But I often wonder what it is like to taste,"

Her voice is not quiet, she does not believe her words to be anything to be ashamed of. And her thoughts spiral through the alleyways of Alec's mind, seeping through every momentary thought Alec holds like a pack of cards in his psyche.

The image is simple, yet Alec's centuries cause him to seek infinite meanings within the picture.

"What do y-" He stops, because his mouth is covered, pressed hard against the semi-yielding flesh of Renesmee's strawberry lips.

It is awkward, hesitantly curious as all first kisses are now and in centuries of time to come. They bump noses, adjusting to the sudden proximity, before Renesmee pulls away.

Alec halts the pathetic whimper of loss before it betrays him.

"I need to taste, Alec," She whispers, a hand resting gently on Alec's neck though no images float behind her vision.

The second kiss is of the unforgettable variety. This time, as their lips intertwine, they deepen the kiss, and Renesmee's tongue laps happily at the burning poison locked within Alec's mouth.

She kisses Alec once more, nipping at his mouth to pass on the mingling effects of stunning pain and tingling pleasure that Alec's venom and Alec's kiss bring to her.

She doesn't know it, but, for the first time since she blinked into the sunlight of her existence, her chocolate irises have changed. Her eyes are a deep, frighteningly still black. But from temptation and desire, or the satisfaction of a hunt, Alec is unsure.

In all her years walking the earth, Renesmee has never seduced. Beauty finds beauty, she knew instinctively. And wherever she had gone, suitors had lined up with intentions both pure and polluted for her hand to select.

Not a single one ever left her blood-stained and rumpled bed-covers, but she feels this is beside the point.

But Alec is different. He is not a human who Renesmee can bat an eyelid to and all clothes will fall to the floor in seconds. Nor is he that Mutt, who gladly would have taken her anytime, anywhere.

He is Alec. And Renesmee doesn't know what to do.

But, luckily, it is crystal-eyed Alec who catches her.

The man jailed within the prison of a (Actually quite tall) fifteen year old captures Renesmee's petal-skin within his broad palms and kisses her with eager lips, raising her to him so her slight stature is raised on delicately arched feet.

Passionate declarations are meaningless between the two, and instead they fall into an embrace that swings harmoniously between burning desire and glowing affection.

Clothing tears, scattering like multi-coloured and beautiful ribbons of ruined silk across Renesmee's floor. Facades and cold masks fade away in the candle-light, leaving each to see the other as they truly are.

They watch each other, the feared amongst the feared, and in the gentle, flickering glow of the flames, their features seem softer, more vulnerable.

But they are not helpless, no matter how exposed. And despite their tender surroundings, these heartless monsters can never be gentle.

Nails wind through hair, wrenching her companion near. Teeth close tightly over cherry lips, venom swaps tongues and pain fuses through the deeds of passion and pleasure.

Fervour unwinds into vicious movements of tearing skin and chilling cries both of pain and bliss. It is violent, wild and uncontrollable.

But that is who they are. They could never be kind.

"Al," The voice of his sister is quiet as he slips back into his room before the sun begins its descent, memories of Renesmee's sleep-ridden kiss tantalizing his senses.

He turns to the nickname only she may call him, facing her in the darkness of their almost shared quarters, two rooms separated by a door that is nearly always ajar.

"Jane," He nods, because after centuries 'Hello' looses what little meaning it had beforehand.

"You can't do this, Al,"

He doesn't offer the typically teenaged 'Do what?'. Because she is his sister, and she deserves more. But still, he remains silent, biting his tongue.

"They do not like it when guards mate," She tells him, her scarred heart breaking behind garnet eyes. "Simply look in Master Marcus' eyes,"

And Alec shivers, recalling the unbounded emptiness that will forever linger in their Master's heart.

But still he remains silent.

"We were changed together, Al," She pleads, minutes older yet looking up to her taller, yet younger brother. "We are a matched pair,"

"Were," He tells him, speaking for the first time. Her voice splits across the gap between them. "We were a matched pair."

He can almost hear the splintering of her heart. "But the love I have for you is still here, Jane," He kneels at her side as she sits on the bed in a daze. "I still love you, you must know that."

"But you love her more," She spits, her acid eyes aflame. And for a second, he almost believes she will finally set him alight with her gaze.

"I found something," He tells her, his face never breaking away from hers, because to hide his face would be an insult. "Something that I needed to find. Something you will find one day,"

"One day," She scoffs, her ebony hair falling into disarray in her petite desperation. "One day after I am left alone for eternity. An eternity without you,"

"I will still be here," He beseeches, gripping her bony hands between his. "I will always be here,"

"With her,"

"Yes," Because there is no other truth. "But with you, too,"

She doesn't answer, her mirror-face looking down at her distorted reflection in his shoes.

"Jane. You are my sister. One of the most important people in my life."

"You are the most important in mine," She whispers, her voice scratching in pain.

"That will not always be so,"

"Won't it?" Her voice is derisive, treating him with the scorn she believes he deserves.

"No." He bites back a growl. Because he knows she will be happy. One day. "But, Janie, I need you with me. I need you,"

He thinks its the truth in his eyes that gets her, because the silence around them falls away, like a bubble splitting through the air. And he holds her in his embrace, something he has never truly done before, and hangs onto her as she sobs.

"I'm sorry, Janie," He mutters into her hair, allowing her the one thing he will give no-one else.

He holds him the way a child would cradle an adored toy, because their love for each other is exactly that - children spent in an eternity of the same affection for each other.

But with Renesmee, he knows it is something entirely different.

"They know," Renesmee speaks softly, but no differently to her usual tone, as they wander the hallways. They do not hold hands, but the closeness of their bodies suggests intimacy to even the most blind of onlookers. "It is no longer our secret, Alec,"

"And judgement shall be passed swiftly," Alec continues, as though finishing her sentence for her.

"Indeed," The prospect of her death takes no effect on her smooth voice, the lilting melody of it still music climaxing in the air, though her insides tremble and unseen goose bumps rise underneath the material of her ash cloak.

"And what of the outcome?" Alec asks, unable to halt the tension in his stature, voice and thoughts.

"We shall face it together," Renesmee whispers. And this time, her voice does soften, because affection has been shown, her hand has been played.

"Always," Alec's hand entwines with hers, silently acknowledging Renesmee's tranquil declaration and noiselessly affirming his own feelings for the coppery-haired beauty by his side.

Aro watches from his ornate window over-looking the courtyard as his two pets enter into the daylight, their skin shimmering like diamonds in the rough.

Which, ironically, were his first thoughts upon finding these two messengers of hell.

Their … relationship is worrying, yes. But he cannot solve this one just as he solved Marcus' and Didyme's dilemma. For there can be no choice between the two potent abilities; One to sever the mind, one to wipe an army of its senses. The two most deadly and powerful skills amongst his guard (Save for Jane, of course). It would hinder the Volturi greatly to lose either of these precious finds.

Caius stands behind him, Marcus sitting in his throne, both silently awaiting the outcome of his ponderings.

His eyes then fall upon the odd refraction of his pets' skin, how the previously unmarred flesh is now littered with scars worn as proudly as the badges of war.

And he smiles - Love will not soften either of them.

He can still see the lethality that burns slowly within them, waiting to be unleashed to the world upon their masters' bidding.

And he can still sense the toxic brutality that lingers in their every movement, ready to explode the world of Man and make way for the age of the Vampire.

But down below in a world entirely away from the calculating and scheming world of their Masters, Renesmee and Alec do not see this.

They simply sit, barely touching, on a bench, by a fountain that could almost flow with blood such is the macabre influence of this place.

Tied together for eternity by pain, passion, and (When one dares to admit it to the other) Love.

Fin