AN:I know i should be working on my other fanfics. I AM!! rly! for I, the Divine i have one loong one in progress( like half doneish?) and the other one i have a chapter in progress. so there shall be updates! untile then-enjoy
No, it wasn't fair.
She watched him that first night. She held him that first night. No words. Just her fingers caressing his dark hair as he suffered silently in his own grief. His own guilt. Let himself drown in it as her fingers smooth away every worry, every trace of that guilt so he could be ready to face the vampire world.
But did she get every strand, every harbored childhood memory? No, one could not.
Did he even know it? As they were alone, for no one spoke her name, he did. Did he even know that he spoke to nonchalantly about her? Could he really? She sat, and she would smile sweetly, silently wondering, patently listening to his voice. Her name brought no surprise anymore. No pain. Maybe it was that this was his way of 'copping' with what he had done. Athenodora forgot it. Forgot her friend. Marcus grieved in the memories. Drowned in them. She didn't know how Caius left her memory. Maybe harbored it in a lost corner, as she did. The wife of the murderer. But she loved him. Loved how he left her name hanging in the air.
"Didyme would. . ." "If Didyme had been. . ." "Oh, Didyme, she. . ." that is how it was. In a simple conversation. Once in a great while. A good while. A good cause. But he said it like she was there. Like she was simply in the other room, her room, with Marcus. She would bounce through the halls come day break. Was that how it was?
She watched him, her love, with caring eyes. Is this how you contend?
Sulpicia couldn't stand the name, truly. She wished she could be like Athenodora; just forget the beingness. She knew she had no right to drown in a memory. She wished she could act as her Aro did about the matter. But she couldn't. She loved him, but she couldn't forget her.
But she could forget her ashes burned under his hands. Quite easily.
Unspeakably, the memory wasn't dead, like the ashy flowers still in the halls. It just wasn't dead. And it was the murderer who kept it alive.
