Entry for the Straight thru the Heart Contest

Title: Queen of the Night

Summary: Hidden beneath the callousness, it is his love which remains: love that he nurtures gently in his soul, love that festers to consume the rest of him, love that compels him to do anything – anything at all – for his beloved.

Pairing: Aro/Sulpicia

Genre: Romance/Supernatural

Rating: M

Word count: 6,693

Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

It is widely believed that Aro had his sister, Didyme, secretly killed to prevent Marcus's departure from the coven.

It is also widely believed that Marcus's subsequent grief compelled Aro to fear for his own Sulpicia, causing her confinement within the walls of Volterra.

But the truth is rarely pure and never simple.

»»-¤-««

Eyes

»»-¤-««

His eyes touched something within my soul.

Pale, so pale they appeared translucent in his hollow, dirt-smudged face. He had high, jutting cheekbones, and his waxy skin draped over the sharp, starving angles in a mockery of his otherwise handsome profile.

I'd stopped dead in the middle of the market crowd, my hands tightening around my woven, wicker basket.

Someone jostled against me. "Don't just stand there, girl," the stranger growled.

I raised my chin. He faltered when he saw the face underneath my hood, lowering his eyes. "Pardon me, my lady. I didn't see-..." he stammered and then scurried away, afraid of what my father might do to him lest I wished for it.

The boy was barefoot.

He'd pulled his feet close to his emaciated body, desperate to retain what little body warmth he had left.

It was winter, after the raid of the Dorians. The barbarians had pillaged our monasteries, slaughtering priests and common folk alike. Many children had been orphaned and I'd seen countless frozen little bodies littering the streets.

Despite the punishing cold, the boy had given his coat to the small girl beside him. They had similar features, except her eyes were – in stark contrast to his – dark as midnight. Her skin was also drawn tight over her delicate child bones, her expression pinched, her nose red from crying.

"Aro," she'd sniffled, under his oversized coat. "I'm s-s-so cold."

"I kn-know," he'd said, shivering so violently his teeth knocked together.

He looked young – perhaps even younger than I was. His lips were blue, and I knew without a doubt that he would die tonight. Two deaths, because his sister was too young to fend for herself.

Two of many, but for some inexplicable reason, I could not look the other way.

I pushed through the crowd, making my way to them.

His shoulders were thin and bony. I unwrapped my fur coat, draping it over him. "Take this and stay warm for the night."

He'd looked at me in wonder.

"And these are for you." I removed all the bread from my basket, kneeling down to give it to the girl when I noticed the large shoes perched precariously over her tiny feet. They were his, as well.

I hesitated.

While I had more pairs at home, it still meant walking back on the frozen streets in nothing but my animal-hair socks. A painful prospect.

Just a mile, I told myself. The boy would have no shoes for the rest of winter.

Before I could change my mind, I quickly unfastened my boots. "Take my shoes and give your brother back his," I told the girl, as I slipped them off.

"Thank you," she'd said, her voice high and still so childlike.

A few people in the market stared at my garments – now visible without the coat – noting the emblem and the rich embroidery. Is that Sulpicia? They'd muttered. Servius's daughter?

The frozen ground made my toes curl and the cold bit through my thinner layers. More people were starting to stare, and I had no desire to blemish my father's name.

Avoiding the stares, I hurried away.

My mother was dismayed.

"Good heavens, child!" she'd exclaimed when she saw me, "Where are your shoes?"

She'd ushered me inside without letting me speak, staring at my feet. Blood seeped through my socks and into the Mesopotamian carpet my father had brought home. I hadn't even realised that my feet were bleeding, as numb as they were.

My mother sat me down, clicking her tongue disapprovingly and calling the servants to bring medicine and a basin of water.

I winced as she washed my cuts. The water felt like fire against my chilled skin.

She was silent before she spoke. "Don't concern yourself with the beggars, Sulpicia."

I looked up in surprise.

My mother's eyes were shrewd. "Yes, I know what you did, child. I have done it myself." Then she lowered her voice. "But you must understand, we barely have enough for ourselves now. Times have been hard since His Highness Agamemnon's death."

She applied the herbs onto my cuts before gently binding them. "Besides, you cannot save them all." Her eyes fell onto the empty basket, noting the lack of bread, and she sighed. "Do you understand, Sulpicia?"

I'd nodded obediently.

When I came to the marketplace the following day, I craned my neck to search for the boy and his sister. But the spot they'd occupied was empty. It stayed empty the next day too, and the day after.

I dreaded walking past frozen bodies, each time fearing I would see them lying among the dead.

But I caught no sign of them – not living, not dead.

Every now and then, his name would echo in my head. Aro, the girl had called him. Aro, the boy who would've died keeping his sister warm.

»»-¤-««

Courtship

»»-¤-««

Many winters passed after that fateful incident, and my thoughts of him became less and less frequent until they faded altogether, becoming nothing but the hollow shadows of a dream.

And, like the blossoms, my body had grown in some places and shrunk in others; I had become a woman.

"We need to find you a husband," my father finally announced one spring, and I had been excited.

However, the excitement quickly faded when I saw the kind of man I was to marry – wealthy and influential, which narrowed the pool to bearable, at best, and repulsive, at worst.

Many were old enough to be my father and all spoke to me with glazed eyes that fixated more on my form than my soul. It became a tedious affair to take walks with each of them, to engage in polite conversations about nothing at all.

I'd resigned myself to choosing a loquacious man in his mid-thirties – the youngest I'd met so far – when someone rapped on our door late in the evening.

"Now who might that be?" My mother had asked, irritably. It was indeed a late visit, but I knew my mother's anger had more to do with being afraid than being inconvenienced. The unrest had been steadily worsening, and she feared assassination.

"He must be someone of import, if the servants let him through the gate at this hour," my father deduced, rising. "I shall go see."

My father did not return for a long time.

My mother fidgeted, rearranging her utensils over and over. Just as we began to fear the worst, he reappeared in the doorway.

"It was a suitor," he imparted, "He requested to court Sulpicia in the evenings."

My mother's shoulders sagged with relief as she answered, "In the evenings? Surely that's indecent."

"For an hour each evening," my father specified, as though it changed the circumstances. His expression was odd and then he unwrapped the embellished cloth in his hands.

Gold, silver and diamonds clattered onto the table.

My mother's eyes grew wide. "Heavens, Servius. Who is he?"

"He did not say."

"You did not ask?" My mother's brows pulled together.

"He wishes to withhold his identity until the end of the courtship."

How unusual. Most men could not wait to divulge their titles. They would narrate their accolades until my ears grew weary.

"Perhaps he's a thief," my mother muttered doubtfully.

"A thief with an entourage?" My father had questioned, arching a brow. "Nay, I say he is a rich merchant. Perhaps even a foreign prince, if we're lucky. It would do Sulpicia good to leave this city. The fighting grows dangerous."

My mother was unconvinced. "Why would he court Sulpicia, if he is so wealthy that he can have any girl in the country?"

"Our daughter is a beauty," my father said fondly. "But fear not, Amara, I will ensure her safety. I shall send men to follow them."

That seemed to put my mother at ease. "Very well. Make sure not to stray too far, Sulpicia dear." She gave me a kiss on both cheeks before we retired for the night.

He came for me the next evening, presenting even more jewels to my stuttering parents.

His appearance surprised me in many ways.

First, that he was young – perhaps even as young as I was.

Second, that he was striking.

Third, and perhaps most astonishing of all, that he was blind.

White silk concealed his eyes, faint silver criss-crossing each other in a mesmerising pattern.

He stood with the presence of a man who was comfortable in his own skin, not shirking away and yet not proud.

"Sulpicia," he said, bowing. "I'm pleased to finally meet you."

He did not reach to kiss my knuckles, as was customary. Neither did he offer an arm or his name.

I was not sure how to respond to the oddness. It shook the courtship monotony which my body had committed to memory, and for a moment, I had to think.

"What should I call you?" I asked finally.

"You may call me Aro."

Aro?

I peered at his face curiously. His eyes – and his cheekbones – were hidden under the cloth. My childhood memories were blurry, and I could not tell if it was the same boy although of course, it could not be. It was a coincidence that they shared a name.

Still, something about him compelled me to ask.

"May I see your eyes?"

I realised how disrespectful the question was only after it had left my lips. But he did not seem offended. He merely smiled. "One day, you will."

For someone who was blind, he was nimble on his feet. His taps with the cane were sparing and light, and despite his slowness, he descended the steps with an elegance I'd seen in no other man.

I followed him, fascinated by his contradictions.

"Shall we sit in the garden, so it would be easier for you?"

His expression was warm. "An excellent suggestion. You are always so kind, Sulpicia."

Always? I tilted my head, confused by his diction.

He seemed to realise his mistake because he paused. "Forgive me," he said. "This is my first time courting and I am a little nervous."

I hid my smile – not a difficult thing considering his condition – and felt the first flicker of fondness towards him.

His youth was refreshing.

"You're doing just fine," I said, as I watched him pat the grass with his cane and settle down, stretching out his long legs.

He grinned boyishly, letting the last of his formal pretence fall. "It is difficult, you see, as I cannot comment on your beauty."

"I'm glad. I'm weary of such comments." I came to sit beside him, leaning back on the plain grass. The evening breeze was cool, and I could see bright stars spangling the skies. Nearby, a nightingale had begun its song.

"So what brings you to my humble home?" I asked boldly. His age and his candor made him relatable – made me relax. "Are you practising your courtship skills for a princess?"

A pity, because I could picture myself fancying him. But I was not naïve. He was too young a man to be in serious search for a wife, too rich a man to want a girl of my – only moderately wealthy – standing.

He seemed amused. "A princess? Perhaps. Do you wish to be a princess?"

I laughed. Surely he was teasing me. "Not a princess," I teased back. "A princess is frivolous, and far too idle. I wish to be a queen."

The smile continued to play on his lips. "What kind of queen?"

"Queen of the world!" I said carelessly.

"The world?" he murmured. "How do you feel about ruling the night?"

"Why, the night is only half the world, Aro," I said coyly.

"You're mistaken," he said. "The universe is dark."

"It most certainly is not."

"It is to me," he said. His voice had taken a different tone, its timbre now seductive. "My universe is dark and you can be the queen of it. Queen of the night."

I laughed again. He was so fanciful.

His face turned my way, its expression softening. "I do love your laugh, Sulpicia. And I love the way your name sounds on my tongue. Soft – beautiful – in a way that no other can ever be." His words were like an intimate caress over my skin.

My heart beat a little faster.

This seemed to strain the boundaries of practice.

"You are already very good," I said, keeping my voice light. "If you're not careful, you might break an unfortunate girl's heart."

"And whose might that be?" His voice was steady, his expression unchanging.

The last of my insouciance faded, and I could not seem to bring it back.

"Are you serious about courting me?" I asked, more abruptly than I intended.

"I have never been more serious."

I stared at him, at his masked eyes, searching for a truth that I could not find. "Why?"

But then he grew distracted. I turned to see my mother peering through the window. The front door creaked open, and my father gestured at me to come inside.

"Our hour is up, I'm afraid," Aro said.

Already? I was surprised at how quickly time had passed.

As we rose, brushing grass off our clothing, he smiled. "Thank you for your time. I had a very pleasant evening."

"So did I," I replied, beaming, and for the first time, I meant it. Considering his blindness, I did not expect him to guide me to the door. I'd offered to bring him to his servants, but he'd refused.

"Sulpicia."

I turned.

He reached for something within his pouch and brought out a curled hand, which opened to reveal a delicate, six-petalled flower. Its colour was mauve splashed with yellows.

"This is iris," he said, after a pause. "Named after heaven's messenger. A piece of heaven, if you like. The way you feel to me." He smiled again. "Also the answer to your question."

He'd let it flutter down onto my open palm and, before I could say thank you, he'd disappeared into the night.

I lay awake for a long time, butterflies rife in my middle. The next evening, I waited anxiously for his visit. Would he return? Would he simply disappear?

My worries were unnecessary. The moment the sun set, I saw his shadow appear from the corner and heard the light raps of his cane.

"Aro," I'd greeted happily.

"Sulpicia."

His smile warmed me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Like before, he neither kissed my hand nor offered me his arm. We'd sat down on the grass again, and this time I told him about the stars – how they glittered, and how they seemed to form shapes. I did not tell him how I'd found many hearts that night.

Aro had seemed content to lie beside me and listen. "Your voice soothes me so," he'd said, sighing.

Over the course of the next few days I glowed with happiness, finding myself smiling at the most unexpected moments of the day.

My father was thrilled with the match. You'd do well with such a gracious young man, he'd said. My mother was more cautious. He is indeed most charming. But guard your heart until the sure end.

I tried.

But Aro's overpowering presence broke through my every defence, until I found myself losing my heart. My head followed soon after.

I began to dream about forbidden things. I yearned to feel his lips against my skin, to run my fingers across his face, in his hair. I waited longingly for the sun to set each day, my heart leaping at the familiar sight of his shadow as it rounded the corner.

Aro seemed equally affected by me, his face lighting up at the very sound of my voice. I ached to hold him, but for all his apparent affection, he did not.

»»-¤-««

Promise

»»-¤-««

"Why do you never touch me?" I dared to ask him on the seventh evening.

We'd spoken about many things, and our familiarity with each other had grown, becoming cosy.

"I do not wish to break the spell," he'd murmured, leaning close, very close, his knuckle just inches away from brushing my cheek. But then he drew away.

"Lovely Sulpicia," he'd said. "Tomorrow night, I will confess everything. You may decide if you still wish to be with me. I will come for you, my love." And then he'd drawn his cloak over his shoulders and left me at the doorstep before I could ask any more.

But tomorrow night never came, because invaders emerged from the sea that very same night. Violent like Poseidon's fury, they burned the monasteries, and began killing in earnest.

King Agamemnon's son was a proud man who refused to surrender but ultimately, our kingdom fell to the heathens.

In their victorious retreat back to the waiting vessels, the sea people plundered what remained of our citadel, killing anyone who crossed their paths. I'd watched them kill my father, and then my mother. Their blades had swivelled towards me, but before they could finish the deed, they'd each erupted in a fountain of blood.

As the last man fell, his blood running like a river to join the others, I saw my saviour.

He stood at the doorway, his eyes bared to me.

His cheekbones were now revealed, those high, well-defined cheekbones. I don't know why I remember this, amidst the blood and death. It is one of the few remaining human memories that still burns so vividly in my mind.

It was the boy to whom I'd given my coat.

The same boy – Aro.

His eyes were still riveting but no longer pale.

Like a monster from the underworld, they were blood-red and lustrous, eyes he'd disguised by claiming sightlessness.

He'd lifted me up with gentle arms and carried me away from the fire, away from the massacre.

I had been so sure my life was forfeit. Hades himself had come to drag me to hell. But despite my terror, I also felt confusion – for what had been my crime?

"Sulpicia," he'd implored, once I'd calmed down enough to stop screaming. "When have I ever hurt you?"

I'd only stared at him, at those horrifying red irises, and then he'd pressed the familiar silk into my hands. His fingers brushed against my skin – chillingly cold – before he closed his eyes.

"Bind my eyes then, my love," he'd said. "If they frighten you so, bind them so you need not see them."

I'd stared at the cloth in my hands, then at his marble features – still as a stone, and waited for the demons to drag me down to hell.

But there were no demons.

Just the sound of the creek, the crickets in the night, and my own terrified sobs.

When Aro remained still like this, his eyes veiled from me, I could almost see in him the thin, emaciated boy whose life I'd help rescue as the sweet man who'd courted me so affectionately.

"I won't hurt you, my love," he murmured. "I couldn't if I wanted to." He'd dropped to one knee, his head bowed, as though I were Helen of Troy. And then those cold hands covered mine, guiding the cloth in my hands, helping me blind him.

After the task was finished, he did not let my trembling hands go, pressing them on his face, in his hair, the way I'd always dreamt of doing. The silken texture bewildered me.

Could a monster have hair this soft? A disposition this enticing? My fingers remained immobile, and the moment stretched – excruciatingly long.

I was thankful when he removed them, taking my hands in his own. His skin was still freezing cold, but less frightening than before.

He rose to his feet.

"How will you see?" I managed to ask, my voice still hoarse from the screaming.

"Through your eyes," he'd replied, taking my hand gently in his. "Let's move, Sulpicia."

With my entire family dead and nobody left in the world to trust, I did as he instructed.

He led the way silently, keeping his hand gentle on my arm.

There were cracks in the soles of my shoes but I bore the pain silently, until my feet ached and stung and bled, and I could no longer conceal my discomfort.

"Will you let me carry you?"

No.

But I was afraid to say it – afraid to deny him.

"Sulpicia, have no fear. I will never hurt you," he promised, repeating his earlier words. "I have no reason to deceive you." And then very slowly, he untied the blindfold, opening those brilliant eyes. This time I did not flinch.

"I never thanked you," he said suddenly. "For the coat, the shoes, the bread. For saving my life."

Just then, the first rays of dawn peeked from the horizon, hitting his skin and setting off a million tiny crystals.

I could hardly look at him – it was like the sun god himself had come to life before me.

He touched my cheek, fingertips tracing my face, pure adoration in his eyes as though he held the world between his palms.

The expression took my breath away.

"I love you," he said. It was the first time I believed the words and here they were falling from this man's – a monster's, an angel's – lips.

What woman didn't want what he offered so tenderly in his eyes? To be loved, to be cherished, to be worshipped.

He'd put his arm around my waist, tucking me close to his body as he stared at something across the distance. I followed his gaze to see tiny wisps of smoke rising, where fire still burned bright. With a pang, I recognised my birth city – its former splendour reduced to ashes and ruins.

I was a vagrant now, with no home, no family and nothing left to my name. My city had fallen. I felt wetness run down my cheeks as grief overtook me.

Aro's arm tightened around my waist, his cool lips pressing a kiss to my forehead and I sank into him, finding strange solace in his embrace.

"Come home with me, Sulpicia," he'd said. "I will protect you from the evils of this world."

And so I did.

»»-¤-««

Bliss

»»-¤-««

He'd removed the soiled leather, washing my dirt-caked feet in a basin of water, just like my mother had that winter night when I'd given my shoes to his sister.

An orphan girl, he'd told his similarly red-eyed companions. And she will be one of us. My beloved.

An orphan. I'd never seen myself that way, but that was the condition he found me in last night.

His sister was among them, and her presence had soothed me.

"Worry not, dear Sulpicia," she'd told me radiantly. "All will be well."

The small girl had grown into a captivating young woman. When she hugged me, her skin was as mystifyingly cold as her brother's.

After Aro had washed my feet, he'd kissed me tenderly, my lips, my neck and I'd felt the burn of a thousand fires – pain as I'd never known it before.

I awoke to a new world in which I'd become a creature just like him. He was always there, guiding me, feeding me, teaching me the secrets of their ways. And when I'd regained enough of my mind, he'd made love to me – sweet, sweet love that had ripped apart the centre of my world and put it back together again.

"My Sulpicia," he'd said, breathless as he held me, all those years ago.

We'd been so young then.

Aro had shared with me his visions of the world. We would never again live with the scarcity he'd suffered in his childhood, he'd vowed. We would never again suffer lack.

And he kept his word. Whatever I wanted, however trivial, I would get. Foreign trinkets. Jewels. Blood.

I'd watched my mate skilfully navigate in the world of others like ourselves until his ascent to power as one of the three rulers.

With his sister on our side, it was not too hard. Didyme was bright as the sun, and she and Marcus had shared a love that shattered the very ground we walked upon. She was joy embodied, and her happiness was a blessing – a rare gift in the endless, dreary passing of time.

Word of her blissful aura spread quickly and gifted vampires flocked to us from all four corners of the world, eager to join, to see and feel our beautiful messiah.

After much wandering, we found a home within a castle and its winding tunnels, in a beautiful place the Etruscans called Velathri.

»»-¤-««

Madness

»»-¤-««

It was about a thousand years after our bliss. Velathri was now Volterra, and our coven had grown and blossomed like spring flowers. But all was not well.

It is my belief that my mind had not been made for immortality.

The voices began as whispers in the dark corners of our home, when I was alone or idle. I'd dismissed them at first as the scuttling of rats or the utterings of our prey from the walls without – after all, our hearing exposed us to the tiniest of sounds, and the populace of warm-blooded humans had grown.

The murmurs blended easily into the background, and I paid little heed to them. But they grew louder and louder, until I often turned my head to what I'd believed to be the calling of my name.

Sulpicia,my mother's voice sang. Where are you my dear daughter?

I'd looked up, bewildered, to see no one in sight.

Sulpicia, my father's voice echoed, clear as a bird's call in spring. Where have you been?

I began to see images. Shadows in the dark corners. My mother's face would loom at me from the mirror. I would see my father's retreating back at the grand gates.

Aro had been away, busy with our growing coven, and when he did return, they had become malevolent. Bloodied corpses shrieked and threatened to kill me if I should reveal their existence.

Desperate, I'd avoided his arrival, making an excuse about hunting outside of Volterra.

It was sweet Didyme who had noticed that something was amiss.

"Let me come with you, sister," she'd insisted.

"I wish to be alone," I'd said feverishly, and without waiting for her answer, I'd fled.

I had run for a long time before I heard the patters of feet behind me. First one set, and then two, and then an entire army. I was surrounded – cornered by the blood-soaked bodies of my late father and mother, of the dead children who'd littered the streets of my home city, of the prey whose blood I'd drained.

They'd clawed at me, their laughter manic, intent on killing me now that I was alone.

I'd screamed and fought them with rising terror, seeking to destroy, to burn, and when it was over, a single broken body lay before me, dead and burning, thick purplish smog unfurling in the skies like a phoenix.

I'd stumbled back, confused. Where was the army? The blood?

And then I caught the sweet scent of the corpse.

Didyme.

Horror and revulsion washed over me all at once and I felt blood rise at the back of my throat. I fell to my knees and retched and retched some more.

Didyme. Didyme. Please be alive. I'd grasped at the blackened remains of her body, but the ashes only crumbled in my shaking hands.

What have I done?

Didyme.

My best friend. Aro's little sister. Marcus's mate.

What have you done, Sulpicia? The voices crooned. The chorus resumed, mocking me, and I tore at my hair as it started to rain. The torrent washed Didyme's scent away and her dust sank into the earth.

I returned home.

The ghosts still followed me, but I was too numb to be afraid. My feet felt wooden as I entered the hall where Aro conferred with our coven and Guard.

I was unkempt, drenched with rain, streaked with blood and earth.

"Mistress?" A young vampire offered, fresh clothes in her hands.

I waved her away limply, keeping my eyes on my mate. Aro's joy faded when he saw my expression.

"Leave us," he said, rising, and the hall emptied instantly.

As the metal door clanged shut, he spoke. "Sulpicia?"

The tender concern in his eyes broke me.

I prostrated myself before him, weeping. My crime was terrible – unforgivable. I'd killed his sister, my best friend – I'd doused the sun. She was the best of us and I had taken her life.

"My love?" Aro was bent over me, unsettled by my wild behaviour. I refused to rise from my position despite his beseeching.

There was only one way for me to pay for my crime – it was with my own life.

Unable to speak, I surrendered my palm to him. I'm sorry. So very sorry, I told him silently. Weak words for the gravity of my crime, but I could do no better.

As though sensing that he was about to learn something terrible, he hesitated, his hand hovering inches from my own.

You have to know.

I closed the gap, pressing my palm lightly against his.

Aro's eyes became unfocused as he drank my memories, a crease forming between his brows.

I saw the exact moment his expression crumpled, breaking my heart with it, and then he'd wrenched his hand away, unable to bear any more.

He stood far from me, hiding his expression and for several agonising minutes, he said nothing at all. And then he composed himself, making his way back to me.

This was it.

Our bliss ended here. He and Marcus would execute me.

He took my hand again, and I lowered my eyes.

Kill me. I deserve whatever way you choose to do it.

But he didn't. He'd gathered me in his arms, gentle as ever, and then he'd carried me high up, away from the tunnels and into the abandoned Volturi tower.

"Stay here," he'd told me. "And speak not a word to anyone. No one."

He'd sent twenty obedient Guards to protect me on pain of their own lives.

And then he'd descended into the tunnels.

I don't know what Aro told him but I heard Marcus's terrible rage from my tower. It had taken seven Guards seven days to contain him, as crazed as he'd become.

His grief was an infinite magnification of my own and I'd crumpled in my fortress, my prison. The guilt had been unbearable. Had the situation been different, I would've gone to him and confessed. But I could not – not without sullying my mate's reputation for his concealment of my crime.

Marcus finally calmed, but it was in the silent deadening of his soul. He became a husk of the man he was before, a creature absent of will or emotion.

He never sought to kill me, so I knew for certain that the truth had been hidden from him.

Aro had protected me.

Against all odds, he'd kept his promise.

»»-¤-««

Stronghold

"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul."

Pablo Neruda.

»»-¤-««

Cestrum nocturnum.

A garden weed. Aro had planted it at the bottom of my tower, and the common shrub had thrived, invasively causing the demise of most other plant life.

It had not always been so common back then – at least not in Velathri. We had travelled to the West Indies where he'd caught wind of the star-shaped flower they'd called Queen of the Night.

He'd pinned them onto my gown with a kiss as he promised me a life of comfort and luxury.

How different we'd both been. How young – how hopeful.

I raise my face to the skies, letting cool rain trickle down my crystallised skin. My arms open and I let the droplets fall on my arms, my palms, my bare shoulders.

It had been centuries, millennia, since I'd last set foot outside of Volterra.

Didyme's death had changed everything.

Without our messiah, we'd struggled to keep our coven strong. One after the other, the gifted vampires began to leave in a slow trickle. Our enemies grew stronger.

Marcus was a dead man, and Caius was selfish. I'd watched my mate shoulder the burden of our coven alone – taking retribution that should have been mine.

To the others he played the part of a formidable ruler, a man you did not cross. To the others he seemed invincible.

Only I was permitted to see his weariness, his pain, his struggle – and, even then, never in the form of words. It was in the way he sank into my arms every night, clinging to me like a man starving for affection.

And I was descending further into my madness, losing more of my mind with each passing day. The nightmares grew stronger.

"You're not real," I told them, trembling. "Not real."

But they were real, and they hurt me. The Guards held me down by the day, for if I had my way, I would've gouged out my own eyes and ears for some semblance of peace.

Aro chose to share my madness, suffering the ghosts with me every night.

I was not aware of it, at first, so loud were their screaming. But slowly, I began to notice. The way he followed my gaze towards the bloodied spectres of my past. The way he sometimes still followed them even after he ceased touching me, as though connected to me even in the absence of touch.

I felt less alone, less terrified, but I began to fear for him. I did not want him to break with me. And so one night I'd drawn away, refusing to let him touch me.

But for the first time, he overpowered me with his strength, holding me down.

"Let me go," I said, trying to twist away.

"Sulpicia," he said, through clenched teeth. "My mind is strong enough for the both of us."

His eyes were hardened and a little mad – a reflection of my own. I could see the pain that he hid so well from the others.

"I cannot bear to see you suffer."

"You hurt me more with your rejection."

"I will not be your downfall!"

I was destroying him. He had to let me go, to move on into the new world without me.

"Sulpicia," he'd breathed, his expression softening. "You have not and will never be my downfall. If you were to perish, I would go with you."

I'd ceased fighting him then, collapsing into his ever-loving embrace. "I'm sorry," I sobbed, "I'm sorry for everything I've caused."

He only held me wordlessly, shielding me from the monsters.

Our conversation that night changed something within him. He changed, locking away the softest, the most human parts of himself, hiding it behind a veneer of smooth self-assurance.

My beloved transformed into a different person before my eyes.

He grew ruthless, searching the world far and wide for something that would cure me, for something that would make my crippled life easier to bear. Whereas before he'd allowed the Guard to come and go as they freely wished, this was no longer the case. Deviously, he used Charmion to bind their loyalties to us. He slaughtered Heidi's coven to acquire her, so that my feedings would be easier. He slaughtered countless more.

And every night, he would bring iris to my room, the way he did our first evening together.

"You're a piece of heaven to me, Sulpicia," he would say, his grip so tight on my wrists that the pain would slice through my mind's cacophony.

My chamber became filled with the flowers' fragrance, and their sweet scent became the single thing anchoring me to reality when the voices threatened to drown me.

"I have a gift for you," he'd told me one day. This time it was no trinket to brighten my room, or even a fresh kill. It was a young vampire, with burning scarlet eyes and hair of the same ilk.

She bowed respectfully. "Mistress, I am Corin."

Aro gave her a nod, and then it was as though all the heaviness in the world lifted from my chest. It was a shadow of Didyme's gift – not effusive happiness, but a dulled, lulling sensation. Contentment.

For the first time in many centuries, my mind was clear again. The roaring voices faded to a quiet murmur in the back of my head.

Aro had taken my hand, testing his theory, and then his smile had lit up my room.

We made love that night.

It was bittersweet – passion tinged with remorse – our first time since Didyme's death.

He'd lain still in my arms for a long time after, his cheek pressed against my breast as he breathed in my scent.

"Aro, my love," I'd said softly. He'd opened his eyes, brilliant as the first day I'd seen them, eyes that had only grown more beautiful with the passing of time. "Thank you for everything."

He'd kissed my forehead. "Always, my Sulpicia."

We pressed against each other – skin to skin – and I had never felt so close to another being.

I draw the shutters above shut. The floor is wet, my hair dripping from the rain.

"Would you like a towel, Mistress?" Corin asks, kneeling before me.

Her hair is so lovely – ruby tinged with gold and copper flowing down her willowy neck.

I reach down and tilt the girl's face up. A long scar runs down her otherwise flawless countenance. A moment of insanity.

My moment of insanity.

They grow rarer and rarer in Corin's presence, but sometimes, I slip.

The stronghold was never meant to protect me alone.

"Run along now," I say gently. "I'm sure Anthenodora would be pleased to see you."

The girl bows and leaves silently. Her absence throbs. She is an addictive drug – but one I will gladly take as a balm for my madness.

Without Corin, I was helpless. I dared not venture beyond the walls, afraid that the alienness of the new world would once again rouse the dying ghosts.

"Fear not, Sulpicia," Aro would say. "All will be well." And he continued to send envoys to comb the world, searching for talents that might one day banish my madness completely – that we might both be free again.

It had been centuries since my mate last ventured out of Volterra himself.

We exchanged no words on the subject, but I knew that it was his way of sharing my predicament – quiet atonement for the crime he'd buried to protect me.

For as long as my madness remained, we were both prisoners within our own home.

Aro will be here soon.

I keep an awareness of his footfalls in the back of my mind. I follow them every moment of the day as he moves around our home and become uneasy when he remains still for too long.

He knows this and avoids it. Renata's light patters echoes his, and she is prepared to shield him in the instance of any assault. He leaves her at the bottom of the tower.

At the exact same hour, the same minute, the same second, every day, his footsteps make their way to my door. His whisper reverberates through the thick wood.

"Sulpicia."

And I open the door, as I always had, every day in the last thousands of years, and always would for many thousands more to come.

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