Author's Note: For a long time, I've wanted to do a rewrite of Breaking Dawn. Now, I'm finally doing it. But as I've been writing it, I realize there are some things happening behind the scenes that I want to write more about. This is one of those things. Please review if you read!
Look for The Dawn of Eternity in my stories if you'd like to read the rewrite.
Disclaimer: I obviously own none of this. I'm borrowing from Stephenie Meyer in an effort to create what I thought should have ended the story.
Call no man happy till he is dead.
-Aeschylus
Crimson is the color of battle, and it's all that I can see. The resplendence of fluttering cloaks belonging to the guard around me clouds my sight. The sounds of war ricochet off of the trees lining our last stand.
At one time, I would have cared. I would have cared that my fellow Volturi were falling. I would have cared that wolves were running rampant through our ranks. I would have cared that the end is nigh.
The fire of love that lit up my life in a brilliance of light was extinguished the day Didyme was taken. I've existed long past her demise, but I have not lived. My fate was decided the day she died; a sentence to an eternity with no reason to remain.
The gifts of others have made my existence possible without my consent. Battle has been upon us many times, and each I pray for a reprieve from the misery. Every time, the plea is for naught. I've atoned for my sins, but being immortal is a deal with the devil. At first, the thought of a single soul for the chance to walk the Earth forever seems like a steal. But too soon, you realize that the world of the living is more of a prison than Heaven or Hell. You're bound by the constant burn singeing your throat; flames leaping up from the very pits of Hell as a constant reminder of what you are.
Death makes its presence known in an audible shattering of immortal flesh. Bodies torn asunder, their souls already reaped. A blur of a stark white pelt speeds by, and the wind disturbs the black velvet hanging limply against my translucent skin. Farther away this time, the yelp of a wolf signifies another fallen, this time the enemy.
Without realizing it, my scarlet gaze has locked onto an amber pair of eyes squinted against a mask of rage. Like a shadow ghosting over a field, the rage is temporarily diluted by something else, sympathy. The girl, a statuesque blond, lunges, but not for me.
"Why?" I send out to the Heavens above. "Why can't you end this for me?"
My voice is raspy with centuries of age. Too quickly, it's lost in the gruesome symphony of war. The blond had changed her mind, she knew my story. She knew that leaving me alive would harm me more than death. Death is a welcome friend, a means to an end.
The numbers of Volturi are thinning. We weren't expecting the Romanians to show up with such force, and now we've paid the price. Hope sears through my soul at this fact. With no Volturi, surely I'll be sentenced to death, as well.
Before I even have a chance to process the realization that the end will be sooner than I expected, death charges me in the form of a giant russet wolf. Palms turn up to follow my gaze to the Heavens. An angel waits for me, Didyme. I can see her; raven curls pooling around her svelte shoulders, arms outstretched waiting for my embrace.
The wolf is nearly here, a series of grisly snarls announcing what I've waited for. The last thought to cross my mind is of Didyme. They say before you die, you see your life flash before your eyes. For me, all I see is Didyme. She is my life, and now she is my death.
"Didyme…"
The profession of love in a single name parts my lips, and then I feel it; an explosion of pressure against my shoulder. The darkness clouds the edges of my sight first, and then I'm slowly sinking into the abyss.
And through it all, one thing remains with me until darkness is all I have; Didyme.