The Story of the Volturi, a twilight fanfic

The Story of the Volturi

This story belongs Sulpicia Volturi uploaded it on , there I have become attentive to it. I think this story has merit it that you can read it also in other countries in which German is not the mother tongue. Therefore, I translate this story, every chapter is read by the real author and is approved. She will answer questions and Reviews herself.

Chapters

Prologue

Athenodora and Sulpicia

Jane and Alec

Dydime ( and Markus) = extra chap

Heidi

Demetri

Renata

Afton

Prologue

Stories.

They were something, which was told, still over years. There were stories , you didn't forget, even over milleniums. Necessary if they were verbal or written. However, differently than normal stories, becomes I tell you about stories which report about people who were different as all the others. Other were full Life and warmth, but they had no life which every person wished. No peace, no love. But also for them there had been a time in which they were saved. You could argue about whether these rescues were well or not. Whether they were worth, to fight, to cry to hope even if hope had grown pale long ago or if you had not awaited the death.

But if I remember back in times before thousands of years, these so human memories grow pale and till this day I don't regret that I've made this decision. Because we rescued so many humans life. We embedded them in a world full of respect, friendship, courage and the view of peace. This world still had to carry something, but if you bore this name, nothing seemed worthless. You were someone special. We were found and gathered in dusty streets and dirty side lanes, were trained and beloved till this day. You were someone that you weren't before.

You were someone.

So many stories were collected. You heard them … whispering voices in the corridor, in the magnificent corridor, from columns supported which were decorated so wonderfully that it hurt in the heart. If you walked along these corridors, you felt so young and inexperienced. The quiet, almost dumb choir which penetrated by the walls, Portraits at the side, the torches on the walls which animated your heart. Quaking voices in the rooms. They all told stories. We were so far apart in thoughts, in other times but everybody was equal in heart. With some the heart didn't hit any more since hundreds of years, with others since thousands of years. You had to tell a lot each other if you were here and the stories never seemed to want to end. 3000 years ago our story began.

And these one I want to tell you . . .