Author's Note: Ah, I've been dreadfully remiss in the world of Twilight fanfiction over the past few months. Unfortunately, my spring semester was quite torturous homework-wise and I had to put aside my stories for a brief time to concentrate on such ugly things as research papers and power point presentations. But now, at last, I am free to write once more. This chapter was actually written months ago and I never posted it for want of editing. However, I forced myself to go over it again tonight and I've decided to post it "as is", otherwise this story would never continue.

As always, I must thank everyone who has taken the time to read/review/favorite this story so far. You have my undying gratitude and appreciation. And if you're still interested in this story, please let me know. Feedback always makes my day. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

Part Three Alcina

But anger is such energy, beautiful if controlled,

A slow simmer, the sharpening of teeth.

---Excerpt taken from "Boudiccea" by Faith and the Muse.

Near the end of Act I of Handel's "Alcina", Chelsea entered Sulpicia's private box, her face tensed to the point of breaking.

"He wants to see you, Mistress" the guard whispered. Her voice was a mere echo above the stirring orchestra.

"Aro?" Sulpicia replied dryly, fanning open her program with nimble fingers. She was too intent on the opera to entertain guests--even her husband--at the moment. It wasn't every day that a baroque operawas performed so effortlessly. And it was during the first act in particular that Sulpicia found herself able to close her eyes and drift back to days of antiquated beauty and charm…days that she so sorely missed.

Whoever was darkening her door now had best have an explanation handy.

Chelsea seemed to know this and she hesitated. "No, Mistress. It is not Master Aro. Carlisle Cullen is here. He…he is most insistent."

Sulpicia kept her eyes on the stage, watching the performers staggered about the set like little porcelain dolls. Morgana, the haughty sorceress appropriately coiffed in an towering 18th century wig, was gloating over her new lover. The dulcet, resonant tones of the triumphant soprano mingled with the irreverent heartbeats of the mortal audience below.

Tornami a vagheggiar,

te solo vuol' amar

quest' anima fedel

Long-lost memories returned to her slowly, accompanied by an uncomfortable tightening sensation in her chest. Sulpicia nodded imperceptibly.

"I will see him."

She waited until Chelsea had left before lowering her gaze, her ears no longer astutely attuned to the aria. So he had come to her at last.

Sulpicia wasn't the least bit surprised, in truth. Dear, tender Carlisle! He was ever the paternal figure…certainly not one to abandon one of his sheep, no matter how far the creature had strayed.

She savored his predictability with a smile. How very ironic that he should come to meet her in the opera house. Surely he knew that diplomacy was best matched with the intrigue of high art. And Sulpicia had always been such skillful at weaving fancies…at making men believe in the reality of the dream.

Unconsciously, she dusted off the trousers of her smart dress suit. The darkness of the theater provided a suitable mask to cover any imperfections, but still, she wondered just how sharp his memory was. Would he still think she was beautiful now?

Somehow, she doubted it.

Immortality had preserved her, but what age did not show upon the flesh, it branded upon the soul.

And she had aged greatly.

But ah, it was no matter. No matter when triumph belonged to her. Sulpicia cast an appreciative eye on the victorious Morgana.

If only I could sing for joy…

After an agonizing moment, Carlisle Cullen was admitted into her box, the red-paneled door shutting behind him with a quiet click. He stood there for a moment, a column of ivory amongst velvet opulence.

Sulpicia did not look at him. She couldn't trust herself to. Instead, she gestured to the empty chair by her right.

He sat.

"You are fortunate," she said, tilting her head slightly, exposing the bare flesh of her neck for his inspection. "This is Handel's finest fantasy opera, in my opinion. Morgana thinks she has won the love of the handsome knight Ricciardo. Little does she know that Ricciardo is actually Brandmante, a brave maiden come to rescue her own lover. It's a pleasant farce, isn't it?"

The music swelled and then settled into a lull, the harpsichord providing the necessary trill to accompany the soprano. On stage, Morgana embraced her Ricciardo joyously.

Carlisle cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Sulpicia waited for him to speak and, despite herself, she ached to hear his voice.

Già ti donai il mio cor

It had been too long. She had let the decades pass and done nothing, as Athenodora often reminded her. Wounds festered and became stale. But Sulpicia was all too willing to tear them open once more, to let the blood run fresh.

She flicked her tongue along her lips.

"If I remember correctly," Carlisle said slowly, sounding like a schoolboy trying to recall a passage once committed to memory. "Brandmante's lover Ruggiero has been put under a spell by Morgana's sister, Alcina."

A lopsided smile puckered Sulpicia's mouth. "Caro, mio bene, caro," she muttered.

The tenor of her voice must have startled him. She noticed his sinuous hands clench. A lock of gold hair dropped over his worried brow.

She granted herself a liberty and reached forward, tucking it behind his ear. "Have you heard? I've been married."

"To Aro, yes. Congratulations are in order."

"Thank you."

"Would it trouble you if I said I was surprised to hear such news?"

Sulpicia decided not to argue with him. The past, though tempting, was the past. She must learn to appreciate the present.

Or so Didyme said.

"Why have you come?" She meant to sound friendly, inviting. But Carlisle was ever on guard. She couldn't blame him, truly. If there was anything she could say for herself, it was that she deserved to be feared.

"You know very well…it's my son, Edward."

"That exceedingly sensitive creature. With his Shakespearian allegories."

Carlisle ran his tongue over his teeth, catching her gaze. "Alice told me that you meant to keep him…for yourself."

"I?"

"Is this to be your revenge then? If so, let me plead on behalf of Bella's innocence. She needs Edward."

Sulpicia savored this morsel for a moment. Ah…so all was not well with the Cullens. Enchanting. Never before had the promise of domestic chaos been so alluring.

Beyond the closed door, she could hear her guards stirring. The music did little to drown out the awkwardness.

She stood, stretched her legs and leaned over the railing of the box. Down below sat rows and rows of meat.

Humans.

In each of them she could detect pulsing veins, pattering hearts and blood, fresh for the taking.

But the opera wasn't over yet and she was feeling particularly lazy right now.

Memories drifted before her eyes, lethal like the ashes of Vesuvius.

"Do you remember when you used to call me Alcina, Stregoni Benefici?"

Carlisle lifted a brow. He was leaning back slightly in his chair, away from her. Familiar anger made Sulpicia clutch the railing tighter, her nails splintering the mahogany.

"Because you were fickle like her," he replied at length, pretending to watch the opera.

"And now I am bereft of my power?"

"Only if you choose to surrender it."

She scoffed. No, he hadn't changed…much to her disappointment.

Her patience was slipping.

"Have you come to me for help?" Sulpicia asked him plainly. "Do you wish me to subvert the law in your favor, to revoke the judgment my sisters and I passed for the well-being of a lovesick mortal?"

Carlisle seemed to weigh her words. He was silent for a moment, a petitioner quaking in front of a short-tempered monarch. There was violence in the air, pungent, odious violence.

Sulpicia turned her back on the opera and gazed at him.

She was pleased to note that even he had the decency to look ashamed. "What has become of Edward?" she questioned, her tone now a nasal quip. "I have never known you to preach self-destruction. Or is it that unhealthy diet of yours?" Sulpicia peered at him, hoping to evoke some of the old ardor she had once known Carlisle to possess.

But he was calm, controlled…and said nothing in response.

Oh how high and mighty he seemed now. She felt the need to get under his skin.

"Your son broke the law. Did you think I would not see him punished? Did you think I would risk the well-being of my empire for a pair of impulsive lovers? No, Edward must learn that life is not the game he's made it out to be."

Carlisle's ears pricked up at this and Sulpicia watched him internally dissect her words, searching for a hidden threat.

"Edward loves Bella," Carlisle said, his hands now open, palms resting on his knees.

"You are nearly as fatalistic as your son. Don't tempt me, Stregoni."

"Did I waste my time in coming here?" he asked.

His question stung her and she was surprised to see that after so many years of callous indifference, he still had the power to wound her.

How charming.

But his timing, as always, was perfect.

"This is a sadness," she replied, letting her smile widen until he could see each of her glittering teeth. "If only Edward had listened to instinct. Had Bella come to us as a vampire, we might have been more considerate."

It was a lie - a partial lie. And judging from Carlisle's tightened expression, he had detected her deceit.

The soprano finished her aria, rousing the audience from their enraptured stupor. As the curtain swept over the stage, they all rose as one to applaud. Sulpicia joined them.

The Translations for Handel's aria "Tornami a Vagheggiar" are as follows…

Tornami a vagheggiar, te solo vuol' amar, quest' anima fedel : Return to me to languish, only you it wants to love, this faithful heart.

Già ti donai il mio cor : Already I gave you my heart

Caro, mio bene, caro : My dear, my good one, my dear