A/N: I roleplay Jane on a post-BD RPG called Epoch~Twilight. She's kind of emo, but I like her that way. My Jane is from witch-hunt-era Massachusetts.

My footsteps echo on the cold, marble flooring. They are soft, gentle. The walls seem to close in on me as I wander through the halls. What am I to him now? They have her. She is all they need - entirely impervious to all of us. There is no way we can get what we want... there is no way I can get him what he wants. He is obsessive, possessive. Yet that does not make me want him any less - I want to remain his obsession for the rest of eternity, like I once was.

Before them, I was the pet. Well, we both were, my brother and myself. We were prized, we were cared for. Then he learned of the Cullens - a mindreader, a psychic. Both of them had power he desired. They became his obsession, and I was shoved aside. His eyes no longer glimmered as they once had as they gazed upon my figure. I had been his little archer - but arrows made of pain could only go so far.

It is late, I realize. The sun is setting. I can see the pinks and oranges of sunset through the thin curtains that barely cover the windows. I hold my cloak tight against my chest. I do not even know why I bring it with me - it is not as if I will freeze. Even if it were possible, it is early June. I will not be cold, not on the outside. I recall nights like this not too long ago, nights that I had once spent with him, looking up at the stars, just... just talking.

It is a memory I cherish. We were all alone - I had somehow managed to convince the others that I would be able to protect him should an uprising occur, and we walked. He told me about the circumstances leading to my change. He spoke of how a scout had heard of Alec and me through neighbors, how he had rushed to Salem to observe us. I told him how I had seen him once or twice, how his face had terrified me and thrilled me, and he smiled a sad smile at me. I wondered what he was thinking, but I knew I would never know.

The sun has gone down completely by the time I step out of our dwelling. The wind whips my hair around and forces my eyes closed out of habit. I know it will not dry them, but it is still an uncomfortable feeling to have the cruel wind find its way into my eyes. Tears do not come. I should know - countless times I should have cried and failed to. Countless times I should have buried myself in misery and was unable to because of the knowledge that I will never be alone.

How vividly I remember his face the first time he realized that all my thoughts were about him. He touched my hand as he does so casually, and we paused in our stroll as he grasped my hand as he never had before. Both our heads spun with my thoughts. I almost pitied him for seeing what he had - my fantasies, my fears, my hopes. He froze, letting go of my hand so slowly I didn't realize he'd done it. I stood immobile as he turned and walked away, back to his chambers and Sulpicia. I knew it would never be us, I knew. For a moment, I thought I understood his expression on the first night we spent together - perhaps it was pity. He pitied me, for wanting someone so far out of my league, so unattainable.

The Piaza dei Priori has never looked so solemn as it does tonight. I presume it is just my own view of it - on other nights, I would have seen the clouds spattered across the sky as mysterious, the wind as beautiful. Tonight, however, it is terrifying - the clouds are an omen of rain, the wind threatens to rip the sky apart. I suddenly turn back towards our castle. I miss him, I decide. We have hardly spoken since that day.

I walk back to the castle, the wind at my back. My walk has not been productive, and I focus my gaze at the cobblestone street in order to avert my attention from the flood of memories that seem to attack me. In days before our first meeting, my eyes would have been blurred with tears. This is a feeling I am not used to. I've never felt so strongly in my days, save for anger. This is a feeling I do not understand. I can barely think of a word to describe it.

I open the door while looking at the floor. I see two feet on the carpeting. My gaze travels upwards until my crimson eyes meet the two I have so longed and feared to see.

"Master," I say, trying to be as detatched as possible.

"Jane," he replies, an odd warmth in his eyes, "I have been meaning to ask you something."

"Well?" I ask, unsure if I want to hear it. Does he want me to leave the guard? Is he afraid my affections will affect my ability to serve?

"Jane," he says again, looking into my eyes as if he could see the future in them, "do you love me?"

I hesitate. I realize slowly that I do know the answer, but I fear responding. I swallow the strange lump in my throat. "Yes."

He smiles suddenly, and his smile is not the sad one I have seen him use before. "Thank you," he says, and he turns, ready to walk away.

"Wait," I say quickly. He looks back at me. "I realize this question might be... inappropriate," I say, struggling to find words, "but... do you love me?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

He hesitates. He seems to search my eyes for a moment, then replies with a gentle smile, "Enough."