Author's Note: Although Aro/Sulpicia will always be my favorite pairing, I thought I'd try my hand at some angsty Jane/Aro. Please review if you have a free moment. I'd love to hear your opinion. Enjoy!

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

Nightmare

Jane screamed. She opened her mouth wide until her jaws ached with the effort and let the sound spill from her soul into the musty dankness of her tower room. It had been coming for some time, she realized, as the darkness of the centuries boiled and brewed within her, as she remembered what a monster she was.

Her eternal visage, sweetened with Botticelli innocence, brought her to the brink of insanity… only to snatch her back into the painful realism of the world.

In her mind, she heard the tiny voice of her fear, insistent, persuasive.

You are alone. Remember that Jane, alone.

And Jane screamed, releasing the shadows inside her so that they might haunt the night and not her heart.

The brisk knock on the door stopped her. Sinking back down into an uneasy silence, she forced a breath through her clenched teeth and balled her fingers into fists.

Someone had heard her.

Of course. She shouldn't be surprised. Volturi Castle was a cavernous place, prone to echoes. The walls alone could whisper of decadence and the ill deeds begotten in unwatched corridors.

Shame flooded her. Feeling weak-kneed, she sank to the floor beside her dresser and sat there limply. With vampire ears being what they were, it wouldn't be long before the entire coven was alerted to her anguish.

But oh, she hadn't meant them to hear…

The door opened.

"Jane, my dear one, are you quite all right?" It was Aro, his face a smiling crescent as the light from a candle drew silhouettes over the lower planes of his countenance.

She had disturbed him, that was clear. His ebony hair was completely undone, loosed and falling around his shoulders in charming disarray. The collar of his black shirt was open.

What could he have been doing? Jane wondered. Certainly not sleeping.

Then a thought occurred to her. She imagined his wife, Sulpicia, with her fingers nested in her husband's hair, her lips trailing careful kisses down his bare chest. And he would be smiling at his mate, smiling…

Jane found herself wincing, as she was prone to do whenever she thought of Sulpicia with him.

Aro's grin wavered as he set his candle down on top of her bookshelf.

"Darling, what is it?" He reached forward one elegant hand to touch her hair.

She flinched and pulled away. "I am sorry, Master."

"You're trembling, child."

Child! The word stung her. Gnawed at her sanity with all the eagerness of fire. Jane felt her practiced bravado crumbling. "I had a nightmare," she managed to mumble.

Aro's scarlet eyes narrowed with concern and curiosity. He uttered a breathless laugh, balancing one hand on his hip.

Jane understood his bemusement. Although habits from human life often carried over into immortality, the need for sleep was not one of them. And those who could not sleep could certainly not dream.

"It was a waking nightmare," she tried to explain, a sharp lump lodging in her throat and shredding her vocal cords until they threatened to bleed sobs. "A fleeting vision of the surreal. A…a memory." And despite her careful stoicism, she found herself shaking anew.

Now Aro's concern was less of a fancy and more of a grim realization. Jane saw it in the way his soft lips folded into a frown. He leaned closer and in a rush, she caught his scent fully. It was pure, not dead, not decaying and she smelled him in the softness of the autumn evening, spiced with fallen leaves and fertile soil.

Once more, he reached for her and this time, Jane let him touch her chin. Gently, he lifted her head so that their eyes met. Her body relaxed under his tolerant touch.

Readily, she opened her mind to him and gave him a glimpse of her nightmare. It had chased her, this dream, up and down the varied landscape of her mind. And now in the bold light of the candle, a shadow of it lingered, taunting her.

"You dreamt of the fire," Aro said softly, the candle flickering as his breath teased the small flame. "You dreamt of the night the villagers took you and your brother to the forest to watch you die. To watch you burn."

Jane clutched her right hand over her wrist, remembering the agony of the hemp ropes lashed about her. But that was not all..

Aro dropped his hand to her throat, fingering her jaw.

He saw then that she hated herself. What she had become. What he had made her.

His hand moved away and his eyes were hard.

"Jane," he began, "I am sorry."

His words, so very simple, brought on a torrent of emotion. Jane was its victim, its plaything and she was tossed about on a wave of unforgiving regret.

You are alone, Jane. Always alone, reason reminded her.

But this time, she fought cool logic.

This night, this moment, was theirs. And in that space, that precious brief space, she believed he was hers.

She wanted to tell him so, to have him sweep her into his arms and revel with her in forbidden joys. But Jane knew she was powerless, a wordless fool.

Aro must have sensed her desperation, for he leaned forward, gathering her in his wiry arms in an embrace she prayed would never end.

She let herself go, every thought, every wish, every sacred dream that had supported her soul over the centuries. And he would then, know that she forever and always loved only him.

It would be a relief for him to understand, to feel her as she was meant to be felt. Jane decided then and there to never shy from him again.

And she let him have every one of her thoughts. Her desires.

Suddenly, his arms slackened. "Jane?" He pulled away, an unanswerable question causing his face to tighten.

She kissed him, her lips finding their rightful place on his and lingering sweetly. The candle wept ivory wax and for an instant, the light flared. The darkness about them ebbed…

…until Aro pushed her away.

"Jane?" He was on his feet in a flash, all fluid grace and control.

"Master." Jane reached for him, hoping he would take her hands.

Aro's mouth opened slightly and he ran a hand through his hair. "That was… inappropriate of you."

"Please." She was begging him, on her knees.

"This is unfortunate," he replied. She had never seen him so undone before. Lost, really.

He thinks I have betrayed him, she thought wildly. And perhaps I have.

Aro reached for the candle and she noticed his hand was trembling.

"You are confused," he told her sharply. "Rest now and we will discuss this in the morning."

The morning, she mused, when the sun can bleach away your uncertainty.

But not mine.

She knew then that he would leave her, because, oh, because he had never been hers.

Only in a dream. In a nightmare.

He was gone, taking the light with him. The darkness fell back upon her like a pall.

And Jane screamed.