AN: Now we're starting to understand Carlisle a little better. Crazy huh? This next chapter should solidify the last one's big reveal a bit more, so if any of you are confused, I hope this clears things up. Also, several of you mentioned the other Cullens and the Denalis-how they manage the thirst will be mentioned later, but first there are some important things to take care of first.
More memories on the way! Though this time from a different perspective... I love writing the minds of different characters. I hope I'm capturing them well enough-I try not to be to OOC, but I'm no Stephanie, so forgive me for any inconsistencies. :)
Chapter Nine: Aro's Experiment
I must have overlooked something—there has got to be another explanation for the inconsistencies I feel in Carlisle's memories. I thought desperately. I frantically scrambled for a sensible alternative explanation in hopes of restoring my naïve, crumbling paradigm about Carlisle's management of his vampire-thirst. Maybe he's right, maybe it just takes some getting used to, and the occasional "off-ness" and fleeting moments of tingling pain that seem to slip through something is just his own personal unease about being a vampire. Maybe I'm reading too much into this… I tried to reassure myself unsuccessfully.
No, my theory still makes more sense, I hesitantly admitted to myself. When he was leaping around in joy I felt like he was exerting himself—exertion shouldn't happen to a well-fed vampire, at least… I don't think it should. They're not supposed to get tired. But maybe…
As I continued desperately battling with myself over the possibilities, suddenly I felt something icy twitch infinitesimally against my palm, back in the "throne room" in the Volterra castle. It was Titania's tiny hand, taking in my recent thoughts before transferring them to her "father". And suddenly Aro solemnly voiced his own thoughts on the matter, breaking the unsettling silence which hung thick in the stale underground air.
"Yes, dearest Isabella, I have also arrived at the same conclusion," I heard Aro say, somehow managing to sound profoundly sorrowful and yet firm in his assertions. "Through my observations of this, and many other events, I have deduced that this is the only possible explanation. However, if there are still any doubts, I hope that these next few experiences will alleviate them entirely."
Wait, next few experiences? I'm going to see more memories? I thought disbelievingly. I struggled to articulate the words on my foreign tongue as my consciousness lingered in Carlisle's distant memories.
"Oh yes, my lovely Isabella," Aro responded before my question could even be voiced. His words caressed my skin with a soft, feathery lullaby, and I imagined his his face was graced with a gentle, congenial smile. "There is far more I must show you."
I was completely stunned by his reply—can he use his gift of mind-reading through his daughters? Are all of my life's memories exposed to him now? I suddenly panicked. I was absolutely terrified by the idea that my innermost thoughts and lascivious desires for him were now bare before his inquisitive eyes, and I felt my distant mental barrier slowly slipping from my tenacious hold, threatening to rush back into place at full force, and knock Lucretia and Titania both back against the unforgiving floor again in the harsh shockwave of its return.
"Calm yourself, my dear," Aro soothed warningly, and I was surprised as his gently chiding reminder immediately gave me the necessary boost to regain my indomitable grip on my shield and propel it even further across the room—I didn't want to disappoint him. "Do not worry, I am not reading all your thoughts," he clarified quietly, and I exhaled in extreme relief at the confirmation that my all-important privacy was not in any additional, unforeseen jeopardy. "Titania can only see what is passing through your head at the moment,"he offered as his final explanation.
I relaxed somewhat as Titania's tiny hand slowly drew away from mine, relieved to know that she had essentially only shared my brief reaction to these memories with Aro, and not my entire embarrassing lifespan with him.
"I am hopeful that these experiences will solidify the truth for you, Isabella," Aro said suddenly, and although his countenance was presently invisible to me, I swore I could feel the cool stale air ripple slightly around me as his lips twisted into an even wider smile. I was uncertain whether to be utterly delighted or terribly frightened by this, for with Aro, it seemed one could never be absolutely certain whether his widest smiles were the safe, ludicrously happy kind, or the I'm-going-to-eat-you kind.
Before I could heft open my eyes and ascertain this crucial information, however, Aro's smooth, buttery voice sliced into my mind once again and all my previous worries were suddenly forgotten.
"It would be such a terrible waste for you to misunderstand, especially with your upcoming transformation…" he intoned mysteriously. His ominous tone gave no direct indication of his meaning, which thoroughly perplexed me, until I suddenly wanted to smack myself for my extreme idiocy—it was obvious. Aro didn't want me to "misunderstand" and attempt to live on a diet of animal blood when I was finally made into a vampire. He wanted to make absolutely sure that when I got my heart's truest desire that I would choose as he did, to consume human blood, and perhaps even accept his unnerving perspective on "human sacrifice".
Faintly, through the haze of Carlisle's sunbathing in the forests of 17th century London, I processed the sensation of my own body gulping.
Aro wanted to make me into a murderer.
Bella Swan abruptly finished her terrified swallowing and suddenly was awash with the dizzying sensation of panic. She didn't want that—she definitely did not want to kill her fellow humans. Killing people was one of the highest wrongs in her eyes, only occasionally surpassed the most brutal cases of rape and dismemberment. Killing was what evil people did, not good, kind-hearted, average people like her. But Aro desired that grisly outcome for her, and so she, knowing full well that Aro always got his way, sooner or later, was horribly distraught.
Wait… when had "Bella" become "she" and not "me"? whoever, "I" was questioned, perturbed greatly by the sudden change. Who am I? I wondered, alight with shock as the lush greens and bright lights of the forest surrounding me immediately began to melt away and spiral viciously before my vision into a thick, inky darkness. Where am I going? Why is everything so dark?
I was lost and terrified by the utter confusion which enveloped me. And then before I knew it, I was thrust violently into another memory—this one not nearly as old, but the surroundings and sensations just as bizarre as Carlisle's.
…
The first thing I was aware of as the elaborate scenery around me came into sharp, vampiric focus were the wood-paneled walls of a decently sized master bedroom. The walls were painted a bright, spotless white and covered in intricate carvings and expensive gold-plated filigrees.
Turning my head quickly to observe the rest of the room, my acute vision caught sight of a large closet. Its beautiful white doors were open wide to showcase a vast plethora of ruffled silks, downy velvets, and ornate brocades all in varying shades of black, red, grey and gold. Thanks to my supernaturally aided vision, I could see the individual luxurious fibers reflecting slightly in the warm candlelight.
There was also a white-painted wooden desk sitting against the far wall. It was littered with untidy arrangements of scrolls, books, parchment, carefully sealed inkpots and a few scattered feathered pens amid the mess. And a large four-poster bed beside it was covered in an assortment of decorative pillows, and it's sensuous satin sheets which made it painfully obvious the piece of furniture was not particularly intended for sleeping upon.
Having no desire to dwell on what sort of things "I" must use that bed for, I spun rapidly to face the other side of the room. I was greeted by the dazzling sight of a pearl-framed, full-length mirror, the spotless surface of which reflected my likeness in perfect detail.
I paused in my surveying of my unfamiliar surroundings, and took a gradual step towards my reflection, slowly taking in every tiny aspect of my appearance, from the brilliant sheen of the silver buttons on my coat, to the tiny, individual pores of my alabaster skin. Flexing my fingers, which were pale, thin, masculine, and very strong, I suddenly stared down at my feet with the intent of assessing the acceptability of my entire ensemble, and my gaze slowly drifted up from the pointy, heeled and buckled shoes which were traditional for men in this era, to the long white stockings wrapping around my powerful legs, and up to my tailored knee-length black trousers.
From there my eyes continued to rise, climbing up a well-toned stomach and chest, shrouded from my view by a blood-red, frilly button-up shirt, and skimmed along handsome broad shoulders, which were cased in an elaborate 18th century, black brocade tailcoat. A pleased smile tugged at my thin lips as I recognized the familiar silver Volturi pendant, seemingly unchanged despite the passage of centuries, dangling over my flat chest. But the happy expression quickly twisted into a deep frown as my eyes rose to the crown of my head.
Jet black hair was pulled back sharply from my the scalp, revealing a pronounced widow's peak, and its silky length lied immaculately straight as it pooled elegantly over my shoulders. This normally would have pleased me, if it were not for the fact that I knew the loose locks would be irksome in the hours to I reached across the mirror for a delicate, flowery, wide-toothed comb, and a silky black ribbon to remedy the situation, two inquisitive, burgundy eyes met my gaze—their dark color reminding me that I was late for my usual meal—and I immediately realized, who I was in this memory.
I was Aro of the Volturi.
And I was in the process of grooming myself in preparation for the upcoming hunt.
As Bella, I was initially startled by the prospect of experiencing the dauntless vampire's life in such an intimate way, especially given my potent attraction to the lethally dangerous man. But I was thoroughly relieved to find that his own erratic thoughts effectively drowned out most of mine, so I was not hopelessly distracted by the insane gorgeousness of the reflection I currently surveyed in the mirror. Certainly, as Aro, I recognized that I was a good looking fellow, but I was not sexually attracted to myself—which offered a welcome reprieve from my silly flustered fantasies.
I had also worried that perhaps in this form I would again be wracked with the same untamable, unbearable thirst that I had endured in Carlisle's memories, especially with the darkening color of Aro's eyes. Having witnessed Caius' fearsome reaction to his eyes being much the same shade, as Bella, I panicked. But I was surprised to discover that, although it was cloying in its persistence, the faint scratching in my throat was entirely manageable—for now.
Once again, as it was with Carlisle in the beginning of his memories, the most upsetting thing about being Aro right now was not experiencing life in his physical body, but rather the fact that I now reasoned exactly like him.
His chaotic, frenzied state of mind was dizzying to experience. He, or rather I, never focused on one thing for very long, but instead my thoughts flitted rapidly from the memories of countless others whose minds I had read the entirety of in the past, to my own vivid recollections of important events, and finally back to my heady anticipation for what was about to occur. The rush of foreign, crystal-clear images, emotions, and sensations was maddening and relentless, and at once I, Bella, immediately understood the source of Aro's unpredictable mood swings and his slight air of mental instability—of course you would go nuts if you had so many thousands of lifetimes of memories swimming around in your head!
As the thoughts continued to swarm, many of them extremely painful, traumatic and disorienting, I immediately gained a greater appreciation for the man in whose memories I was—for he was keeping it together quite well, given the frightening and ridiculous circumstances. I, Bella, would have totally lost it after five months of this—and yet he had lived with this insane condition for literally thousands of years, with only a few bipolar-like moments to show for it.
I marveled at his incredible tenacity, and was stricken again with profound feelings of inadequacy and I began to wonder why Aro thought I was anything special at all. Clearly, with my inability to endure such intense hardships, (like the pain of thirst and some of the awful things Aro had seen) I was not cut out to be a vampire.
But even so, this disappointing knowledge did nothing to lessen my desire to become one. Instead, it only fueled my fire—perhaps, I considered, by living through both of these powerful, stubborn vampires, I could gain some measure of their unbelievable strength and be worthy of Aro's praising regard.
As my thoughts were summarily flushed out, by those of the ancient, telepathic vampire, my last realization as Bella, before I was sucked back into the darkness, was that, despite their obvious diverging choices in lifestyle, both Carlisle and Aro—or rather Carlisle and I—shared many striking similarities. We both had a strong sense of protective duty which not only extended to our own preferred company, but also included the welfare of the entire planet. We also both possessed an unwavering adherence to our diverse opinions even in the face of harsh opposition. And we had a gentle fatherly quality about us which indicated that we would treasure those in our respective covens almost as though they were our own biological children.
Of course, by virtue of being separate individuals, we also had our differences.
One such difference was that, instead of all my actions being guided by a persistent, piercing conscience and strong Christian beliefs, I, Aro, operated based on a slightly looser set of ethics, and perceived the world around me from a complicated multiplicity of belief systems. My moral compass was also much more subjective—the particular situation and intent mattered to me a great deal more than absolute actions alone, and I surmised that almost any deed, no matter how objectively vile could be justified given the right combination of extenuating circumstances.
I was stunned as I realized that with this line of reasoning, merely having the innate instinct to imbibe human blood seemed to qualify as sufficient rationalization for my habitual slaughter. For surely, I asserted logically, if whatever higher forces had created my kind did not desire us to kill humans, they would have provided us with, at the very least, marginally attractive alternatives. And the positively revolting possibility of drinking animal blood instead, as my recently admitted guest, Carlisle had suggested, most certainly did not meet this requirement.
Nonetheless, as Heidi was woefully late in returning with our usual food, I had agreed to test his intriguing diet out of sheer curiosity. Despite the fact that I had already seen all his failures and successes with the tongue-grating substance, I wanted to know if the slight differences in our physiologies would cause animal blood to impact my immortal digestive system differently than his. And the only way to know this for certain was to try his bizarre diet for myself.
Although, from his memories, I expected that I would find the taste to be utterly disagreeable, I wondered if perhaps I might eventually, "acclimate" to his strange diet, as he had and whether that was possible while I still continued to drink human blood—or whether the two substances were entirely incompatible with each other. No matter what the outcome of today's experiment, I was relatively confident that I would not abandon my consumption of humans entirely—for the taste of it was simply exquisite, and I utterly loathed the idea of giving up the delectable ambrosia forever. Even if Carlisle's ways were satisfactorily agreeable, I would not convert to a diet solely consisting of the blood of beasts.
However I was sure the strange man I had begun to consider a good friend during his short stay thus far, would appreciate even a compromise of sorts. For even a partial adaptation on my part to his peculiar methods would mean less human deaths. And that would hearten him greatly—as the demise of mortals was something the poor, troubled vampire was strangely unable to stomach.
I thought it peculiar that he was still tormented by that debilitating guilt even now, as he had existed as a vampire for nearly four decades now. In my experience, most immortals by then had determined a way to either reconcile their human beliefs with their undead reality, or simply abandoned their mortal convictions altogether. For him to persist in this stage of moral uncertainty for so long was wholly disheartening to watch. And I wished desperately from the bottom of my unbeating heart that I could help him sort through his feelings to determine which outcome was suitable for him.
I knew firsthand that the process of reevaluating one's deeply held convictions was vastly uncomfortable. And while many of my guard had taken the second route and had violently discarded their holy books and their gods, in the wake of their transformation, I saw no compelling reason that Carlisle had to make the same decision. I did not believe faith was fundamentally incompatible with vampirism. It certainly wasn't in my case.
All that was required of him to be released from his unnatural unease surrounding the subject of consuming humans, was to make a single logical step—to accept that as a new creature, his creator likely expected different things of him than had been expected of him before. Once his mind accepted this simple idea, he would finally be at peace with himself and his occasional, perfectly natural desire for human blood.
Of course, he was so firmly adverse to the idea. His stubbornness was more unyielding than any other force of nature I had ever encountered, and so I doubted that any reasoning, no matter how sound, would sway him from his determination to resist the delicious blood of mortals.
But it was not my objective to change his mind on the matter today. For the moment he seemed content to live in his unnecessary, sacrificial self-denial. And I was fascinated by the excellent opportunity he provided to potentially expand my menu options. For while it was true that I did not regret consuming humans—believing it was what we were naturally designed to consume—I supposed that having alternatives could be useful, especially on days like this, where obtaining food discreetly from among the human populations proved more difficult than anticipated.
Perhaps, even, if I could discover no ill-effects after some time from occasionally dining in this atypical manner, I would persuade the rest of my guard to attempt it. Living on the blood of beasts would certainly necessitate a move of our headquarters as there wasn't enough wildlife in Italy to sustain all of us, but it would certainly reduce the likelihood of drawing too much attention through copious disappearances and murders.
Yes… the possibilities were captivating indeed.
When I finished tying my hair back with the silky black ribbon, and concluded the rest of my obsessive primping—which was entirely unnecessary, as I was about to get horribly mussed whilst hunting anyway—I strode purposefully out of my quarters. My low heels were silent against the thick, lush carpet, and my newly secured tail of hair, swished slightly as I walked.
As I passed into the cool stone hallway beyond, I was delighted to find Carlisle waiting for me outside the door, ready to stoop into a deep groveling bow. At the last minute he suddenly recalled that I despised being worshiped and instead offered a small, timid wave.
My brow furrowed in concern as my hawk-like vision lighted upon Carlisle's skin, which seemed to be the slightest tint greener than mine. It was such an infinitesimal difference in hue that it would be utterly impossible for humans, or even less perceptive vampires to notice, but a marked difference to me and my practiced eyes nonetheless. It didn't look healthy, and upsettingly he had possessed the color ever since our first encounter several days ago.
His eyes today also startled me. Although they'd started out a rich butterscotch color, they were now a deep, midnight black, and there were pronounced dark purple bruises surrounding them like the rings of a raccoon. These signs made it clear to me that Carlisle had allowed his thirst to linger unsatisfied until his body exhibited the alarming symptoms of starvation.
Why he had let himself go this long, rather than simply feed at the first feelings of significant discomfort, as I did, I simply could not understand
After he realized that I drank human blood, we had awkwardly avoided the topic for a few days. Carlisle had spent most of that time holed up in our vast libraries, captivating me with his exceptional intelligence and relentless pursuit of knowledge. But when the subject came up again, I had all-but-begged him to partake of the humans we kept in case of emergency. He had politely refused, telling me that he was quite full, but I didn't believe him in the slightest—not when the evidence of his starvation was staring me in the face.
Thinking I was doing him a favor, I had fetched a quivering mortal, carried her into the wing where Carlisle was studying and slashed her wrist open with a small ivory-handled knife. I was thirsty enough myself that the blood spilling down her fingers proved difficult to resist, and I had to distance myself a few feet to stop myself from lapping it up. But Carlisle, whose thirst was much more severe, astounded me by not only firmly resisting the desire to drink, but also by bandaging the injury and sending the girl away totally unharmed.
His restraint was unfathomable—unearthly, even—and although it was terribly frightening that any vampire could be so unaffected by the substance which frenzied the minds of the rest of us, it was one of the things that had inspired me to attempt, at least for today, to live as he did.
I wanted to understand how his god-like endurance was possible—and if it was something I could attain through his bizarre methods.
As I warmly approached my new friend, with my arms spread enthusiastically wide, I quickly pulled him into a tight, fond embrace. This initially surprised the younger vampire now enclosed in the crushing grip my arms, but nonetheless he eventually responded by returning the amicable gesture, if somewhat less zealously. When I pulled back from him, I dipped my head slightly and gave him a swift, chaste kiss on the cheek, his memories of the last few hours reading in the library dancing vibrantly before my eyes, ears, and over my whole body at the contact of our skin. I was momentarily displaced in time, before the connection was abruptly severed, and I was myself again, staring off into space and struggling to absorb all the enthralling information Carlisle had gleaned from the dusty tomes.
While I was still reeling from the influx, Carlisle shyly returned the gesture, which sent even more sensations and discoveries fluttering my way. I felt the gritty texture of ancient parchment beneath his cool fingers, the gruesomely detailed medical images depicted in the pages, and the whirring of his mind as he considered methods to increase his already profound resistance to human blood. The sensations disappeared as suddenly as they had come, though, as Carlisle drew back from the smooth surface of my cheek.
His doe-like eyes looked me over curiously. "This is the ensemble you had decided to hunt in, Aro?" the blonde vampire asked incredulously. I looked over his simple cotton white shirt, thick leather boots and coarse working trousers: clothes he deemed acceptable for the task. They were a far cry from the ruffled silk and brocade I was wearing and suddenly I was overflowing with mirth, so much so that I bubbled over with rich, high laughter—laughing at myself for my utterly incurable vanity, and laughing at Carlisle for taking notice of it.
"Oh, but of course," I responded in jest. A wide, cheek-splitting smile overtook my features. "Surely you understand that a gentleman must look his best while carousing in the forest"
"I would not describe it as 'carousing'…" Carlisle defended, though from the barest crinkling around his eyes he seemed to laboring very hard to restrain a chuckle.
"There will be drink and merriment, will there not?" was my amicable retort. I gave him a mock-conspiratorial look over my shoulder as if to suggest that we are about to engage in something deliciously clandestine, something wildly indulgent and lawless like a secret outdoor symposium.
"…I suppose…" He conceded hesitantly. He turned his head away from mine in what appeared to be shame to gaze pointedly at the toes of his scuffed black boots, and the smooth stone tiles beneath them.
Something troubles him about this, I realized, and at once I was utterly befuddled. Has it not been his sole object to convince me to do this all week? Why the sudden cold feet?
"Come now, dear Carlisle, I am oh so curious as to how this will turn out," I said consolingly while gesturing invitingly towards the studious blonde vampire. I hoped to convey my feelings of excitement and thus allay whatever fears he suddenly contracted since I last touched him. "Do tell why this troubles you," I urged him, deep concern etching my regal countenance as I set a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Was this activity not your suggestion, my friend?"
Carlisle's obsidian eyes suddenly snapped up, and I was once again horrified by how there was absolutely no discernable distinction between his pupils and his irises. "I am honored that you are choosing to engage in this experiment with me…" he rushed to clarify, so that I would not mistake his recent behavior as manifestation that he did not desire my company in this thrilling venture. "I only worry that you will be disappointed, sir," he explained. A profound worry and sadness washed over his sallow complexion as he said this. "My first taste was, as you certainly know… unsatisfactory."
But of course. He worries that if my first experience is as horrid as his was, that I shall totally abandon the prospect and perhaps even scorn him for it. I thought. I understand the risks, though he should know that a single unpleasant, non-thirst-quenching taste is hardly enough to deter me.
"Ah, I suppose that is to be expected," I sighed. Then I shook my head. "It matters not. I will be hunting beasts tonight!" I exclaimed ecstatically. I clapped my hands together near my face to indicate my absolute wonderment at the curious concept and my boundless excitement to test this peculiar new thing for myself. "Is not that fantastic?!
Though initially somewhat taken aback by my response, Carlisle's face suddenly lit up—and my heart soared. It was so very rare to see the younger vampire truly happy when we discussed anything involving feeding. Although we had "agreed to disagree" on this particular topic several days ago when he had first arrived to request use of our libraries, it was no secret that my complete lack of guilt towards devouring humankind perturbed Carlisle greatly. And even though I still did not fully understand it, I could tell that this unorthodox diet of his, and especially its implications that humans were left unharmed meant a great deal to Carlisle.
That I was willing to even try it, despite my original disgust at the idea, had cast a bright, warm glow over his usually sullen pallor.
"Yes. It is," he agreed, positively beaming.
"Then let us not delay any longer!" I suggested with delighted impatience, tossing a dramatic hand in the air with a quick twirl to punctuate the idea. "Lead me to the feast!"
Without any further hesitation, Carlisle turned and sprinted down the long medieval hall. A competitive smirk pulled at the corner of my lips, before I crouched and chased wildly after him—I would not be outrun by my severely famished friend. Despite the obnoxious clacking of my impractical footwear, I managed to catch up to Carlisle extremely quickly, and with a playfully derisive grin, I pushed past him to spring out of the sewer grate first. Carlisle merely rolled his eyes at my silliness as we landed in the nighttime-streets, and we took off in unison toward the wilderness, eager for the hunt.
…
Pale, yellow moonlight shone brightly over the grassy Tuscan countryside that night, and there wasn't a single sound except for the soft rustling of leaves and the cool whistle of the evening wind. As the chilly breeze whipped through the air, I lied on my stomach behind a crop of bushes beside my dear friend, Carlisle. He sat on his heels in a deep crouch a few feet to my right, waiting patiently with me to catch the scent of our intended meal.
I watched intently as his dark eyes switched anxiously over the misty horizon looking for prey, and wanting to do my part, I continually sniffed the crisp autumn air for any sign of even a remotely appetizing scent. Knowing that this forest was teeming with wildlife, I had expected to smell something, but my keen nose caught nothing except the earthly smells of fresh dry leaves, dewy green grass, and cool evening air. My search was somewhat hopeless, since I had not spent enough time amidst animals since my transformation to recognize their scent, but I greatly disliked the idea of being totally passive in this venture. So I kept sniffing, trusting that Carlisle, from his years of experience knew what he was doing.
After thirty agonizing minutes of waiting, my head suddenly snapped up from the damp grass. I could now sense that there was a warm body slowly approaching us—a rather large one, it seemed. Automatically I inhaled, hoping to gather the tasty aroma into my nostrils, but its scent was pastoral, muddy, and bland, and held absolutely no appeal to my palate. Was this what we were after? I wondered, silently hoping for something slightly more appealing to come along.
"Aro," Carlisle suddenly whispered to me in tones so low that only vampires could hear. He turned his head on his neck to face mine, and pointing a single white finger in the direction of a large fallow deer as it broke through a clearing in the distance. "Try that one," he encouraged softly. His deep black eyes swimming with excitement as he spoke, and his whole frame jittering with the restraint it took not to tear after the beast himself.
Hesitantly, I averted my gaze from his, and stared in complete confusion at the gentle creature as it bent its head gradually to nibble at the wet grass beneath its feet. Despite my thirst, I felt no desire to consume this beast. Nothing stirred within me at all. I was utterly unmoved by the presence of this kindly herbivore, and yet Carlisle was visibly shaking from the effort to allow me the first taste tonight.
It was unsettling.
"You wish me to taste a deer?" I whispered back disbelievingly. "Was not that ineffective the first time?"
Carlisle tilted his head acquiescingly, acknowledging the correctness of my statement. I watched intently as another flicker of bloodlust flashed over his features before he spoke to justify his choice. "I am afraid deer are the only game large enough to sustain me here in Italy. Hares and porcupines simply will not do of course," he explained with a humored smile, and I made a disgusted face as I imagined the awkwardness of trying to wrap my dexterous hands and iron-strong teeth around the tiny, fluffy or prickly creatures, only to be rewarded with a tiny amount of blood for my humiliating efforts.
"Very well," I responded. I was glad for the presence of a vampire more seasoned in this unorthodox diet than I—for certainly I would make a compete fool of myself, chasing after every tiny rodent I could find in order to gain my fill. "Perhaps you should go first, allow me to watch so that I may imitate your actions?" I suggested politely as I rose to my feet and quickly dusted the blades of grass and leaves off of my black, brocade tailcoat.
For the briefest fraction of a second Carlisle parted his soft lips to protest, but then instantly snapped them shut and offered an abrupt, silent nod. He seemed to accept my explanation immediately in his eagerness, and yet I could tell that he was profoundly ashamed that his hunger was more demanding at the moment than mine. I was perplexed that his thirst inspired such deep guilt to saturate his being, especially since he was dining on animals tonight, and he has never had any scruples about killing them for food.
But I was not allotted any more time to ponder this, for as soon as he had completed his nod, he darted out of the bushes with lightning speed towards the unsuspecting mammal in the valley below. I beamed ecstatically as I watched him action, thrilled to finally see the civilized man hunt and experience the rare privilege of witnessing that savage side him which he so desperately tried to hide from everyone, even himself.
As he raced along the hilly ground after the creature, his long powerful strides carrying him great distances, I marveled at his single-minded focus on the beast as it spotted him, and futilely bolted in an attempt to escape. He chased the creature over the wet grass for a while, the dewy mist he kicked up spraying brilliant eight-color rainbows into the air, before he suddenly sprung from a deep crouch. With his arms outstretched, Carlisle sailed mesmerizingly through the air, rapidly closing the distance between him and the frightened animal. He then grappled the animal's furry torso in a bone-crushing grip, and pinned the poor creature to the ground fiercely with his bare hands. After subduing his prey, he buried his head deep in the animal's neck without hesitation.
I watched in anxious fascination as he savagely drank from the beast, which twitched violently in pain as Carlisle's toxic venom entered its bloodstream. I was pleased that my friend had not entirely lost touch with his feral side after all—for I worried that a complete repression of the wildness in him, which was inherent to all vampires, would eventually cause him to rage out of control from the pressure of holding it back. And while his ravenous biting and slurping was perhaps not the best way to embrace this particular aspect of him, I was gratified that even with his profound hatred of anything so unbridled and destructive, he would at least concede to his instincts in the heat of the moment. It gave me hope that there was something natural, something relatable about him after all.
My contentment was shattered, however when the direction of the slight evening breeze suddenly shifted, and I was assaulted with the putrid odor of animal blood clashing with the air. It was a caustic, rotten smell, somewhat reminiscent of moldy gutter-water, sour milk, and rancid lemons. A sudden, violent queasiness seized me in response to the abhorrent scent. And although I try to simply shake off my extreme, unexplained disgust, I was eventually forced to wrinkle my nose to alleviate the stench, and wait impatiently for Carlisle to finish.
When he finally finished with his nauseating meal, I suppressed the urge to heave a sigh of relief as he apathetically casted the beast aside. After the body was deposited in the bushes, Carlisle reached swiftly into his trouser pocket, and daintily wiped the blood beading on his lips and chin with a lacy white handkerchief.
The scene was so jarring—his sudden concession to etiquette such a stark contrast with his earlier barbarism—that I forgot my worries about the nasty scent and his unnerving lack of "natural response" to his meal and bursted into uncontrollable laughter.
The image of Carlisle's self-conscious gesture was perfectly preserved in my memories and high, manic cackles escaped my pale lips as I played the scene over and over again in my mind. The gesture would have been much more fitting at a French dinner party then in the lawless forests of Tuscany—and my chest shook heartily at the contrast. It was made even funnier by the fact that such was quite characteristic of the strange vampire. Carlisle had frequently amused me during his stay thus far with his unwavering insistence on following human etiquette, even in places where it seemed foolish to apply—such as now.
Certainly I understood that one's face needed to be cleaned after feeding. But I usually performed the task with my tongue—completely unconcerned with how animalistic it might appear—not a delicate scrap of cloth!
"Aro," Carlisle said with mild annoyance. An embarrassed look crossed his downcast face, which seemed to suggest his cheeks would have been painted with a deep rouge blush, had he been human. "Your laughter is scaring away your meal."
"Oh but this is simply too much to bear," I defended, still roaring with laughter. "Your mannerisms… they are so human despite your vampiric actions. The combinations is…" I trailed off for dramatic effect, and Carlisle raised his eyebrows at the theatrics, "…simply hilarious!" I finished, staring a whole new round of wild, high-pitched laughter.
Carlisle offered a small smile. "I am glad you find me entertaining, Aro."
But after only a few seconds, his expression suddenly became deadly serious. "Let us get you something to drink, shall we?" he suggested. His words were effortlessly polite, but his tone betrayed his commanding impatience, which shocked me, as the generous man was usually unhurried in every situation and I saw no particular reason to rush. We had the entire night to hunt.
Troubled, I ceased my laughter immediately and agreed with a slow nod to remain silent until I fed, watching with worry as Carlisle slunk slowly back behind the bushes were I stood, and absolutely refused to look me in the eye. I was about to enquire in a small whisper about his uncanny shift in demeanor, but the opportunity to do so vanished, as another deer came before us. This one was a large buck, rather than a medium-sized doe, and it began to graze on the dewy grasses, oblivious to the presence of two deadly predators watching its every move.
I twisted my head rapidly towards Carlisle, to ascertain if this was acceptable game to pursue. But as my long ebony locks swirled around me and settled perfectly over the ornate lapels of my tailcoat, and my curious eyes searched out his familiar face, I was greeted with the sight of the back of his head. Unwilling to confront him in his perplexingly volatile emotional state, I suddenly decided that I, Aro of the Volturi did not need his approval to select my prey. I could make that decision on my own—thank you very much.
Careful to be as stealthy as possible, I mimicked Carlisle's movements as I sprinted into the wide clearing, lunging at the appropriate time in my hot pursuit of the desperately fleeing creature, and pinning it easily to the grassy floor. A loud snap echoed through the countryside as I smashed several of the animal's bones against the unforgiving ground and the beast wriggled in agony. As it bucked uselessly against my incredible strength I hesitated, utterly repulsed by the foul, stomach-churning smell it emitted, enhanced ten-fold by its increased proximity. Did I really want to eat something that merely the scent of it made me want to vomit? I considered, troubled by the intensity of my distaste for something I had not yet even tried.
Determined to at least try it, before I decried it entirely, I lurched forward, sinking my teeth deep into the deer's furry neck. Slowly, I began to lap at the liquid which poured out of the wound, hoping beyond hope that the taste I would soon discover would not be nearly as disagreeable as the smell. However, I was profoundly disappointed when the hot blood which spilled into my mouth was not only worse than the smell, but was ever fouler than I had experienced in Carlisle's mind. It was truly a ghastly flavor!
Unable to bear it any longer, I immediately tore my mouth away from the beast, doubled over against my will and violently spewed it out—a fountain of dark red spurting from my lips into the lush grass, and all over my clothes. I ignored the the dark stain spreading over my expensive shirt and jacket, the thrashing creature beneath me and the liquid gushing wastefully from its neck. The taste in my mouth was too awful for me to care about wasting it, and I choked on the last remaining drops stuck in my throat.
Lighting off my prey, I abandoned it bleeding to death in the valley to search out of the nearest source of water.
I needed to wash every last drop of horrible substance out of my throat—now.
…
I was bent over a small, trickling stream, and my fancy garments and once-immaculate hair were totally soaked with the clear, fresh water when Carlisle eventually caught up to me. He surveyed my dripping, gasping form on the saturated banks with an unreadable expression.
By repeatedly throwing myself into the stream, swallowing a mouthful of water, and gargling it harshly in my mouth before spitting it back out, I had managed to finally erase the last vestiges of the blood from my throat. But the horrid taste was still painfully vibrant in my mind, and although I knew Carlisle would vigorously disapprove, I desperately wanted to drink human blood right now to utterly delete it from my memories.
They way he was looking at me was slowly killing this desire though—his eyes were shining like he was about to cry. And although that action was physically impossible for vampires, it stunned me that my reaction had elicited such strong feelings in him.
"…It was not to your liking…" Carlisle's voice was tight, pained, and grief-stricken, as though my rejection of his revolting diet was a personal injury. That I had somehow betrayed him by spitting out his humble offering, despite the fact that I had not consciously chosen to do so, but rather my gag-reflex had kicked in and done the spewing for me.
As I stared into his bright golden eyes, which were shining with deep hurt, I was at a complete loss for what to say. He looked positively miserable, and I wanted nothing more than to drag him into a fierce, warm embrace and console him with soothing words. But I had no kind words to offer. Nothing that was true, anyway, and it was strictly against my code of ethics to lie unnecessarily.
I turned over every possible, truthful statement I could give to him in my mind, but none of them quite worked. There were no words to appropriately express my sorrow that this did not work out, without deceiving him into perceiving that I had rejected his ways deliberately, or lying that I possessed any desire to attempt to drink animal blood again. And as I continued to search for the right, placating phrase, I took the opportunity to regard the changes Carlisle's recent meal had wrought on him.
It was disturbing to realize, as my eyes roved over his face, that his skin still had the sickly, slightly greenish hue from before and the dark purple splotches underneath his eyes had not lightened in the slightest. There was a light dusting of lavender circling around my eyes (a tribute to that fact that I never slept) but it was barely a shade darker than my alabaster skin. The circles under Carlisle's eyes, however, were a disturbing, deep grape color, which I had only seen before once, when Caius and I had locked a criminal vampire in our dungeons and starved him to death to see if such a thing was possible for our kind.
Could it be… that despite his recent feeding, Carlisle was still thirsty? I wondered, awestruck at the horrifying possibility. Perhaps I am simply missing something, I tried to reassure myself.
Carlisle shifted nervously under my deep scrutiny, and I noticed as he fidgeted that he still had that lethargic air about him—the subtle lack of grace and speed he had exhibited when I had easily passed him in our jovial race out of the castle to get here. Although it was clear from the rigid line of his shoulders that he had regained some of his strength, I got the impression that the nutrients he had obtained from his hunting tonight were only barely enough to keep him at half, or perhaps even a quarter of his potential strength.
However, what most obviously indicated his continued thirst in my mind was his continued twitching, which seemed to come from an internal struggle as he wrestled with something inside him. The agitated way his gold eyes flickered at every possible indication of movement, at every rustle of leaves and snapping twig which echoed in the night, reminded me of the way Caius behaved when his thirst remained unsatisfied for too long—the snowy-haired vampire would get antsy and would turn sharply at the slightest provocation.
And if Carlisle, being such a gentle-hearted creature, was bearing any resemblance, no matter how slight, to the most animalistic member of the Volturi, this diet was definitely not working as it should.
Desperately needing to know what was really going on, and also hoping to soothe my friend, I drew my hand up to touch his face, cupping his chin softly, and through my gift, I was suddenly assaulted with the memories of his recent feast. In my absence, it seemed he had taken the liberty to consume another deer, two being his habitual number, but as his thoughts of both meals filtered through the connection I ignored the details of both hunts, and focused instead on the aftermath. His body hadn't given him the "pleasure response" that normally accompanied my meals on human blood, but I did feel his nigh-immediate cessation of pain after the nauseating blood had filled his stomach.
Confused by the quelling of his fiery thirst that I felt in his memories, and the disconnect between the sensation of almost complete relief and the symptoms of ravaging starvation which still marred his features, I was about to pull away and question why this was so. But then his memories caught up to the present, and I began to experience was he was experiencing, right now, along with him.
I gasped as I was suddenly seized with a sharp, incomprehensible pain. To say his throat was on fire, or felt as though it had been horribly scratched by thorns was wholly inadequate to describe the sensation. His (and since I was in his memories it also felt like my) throat seemed to have been split open in several places, and hot cattle prods were raking mercilessly against the raw, jagged edges. I felt his nearly insurmountable desire to claw at the burning in his neck, and I very nearly released him in order to claw wildly at my own, the pain was so intense.
As I retained our contact, despite the torture of doing so, images of Carlisle standing triumphantly amidst miles and miles of blood-soaked human bodies invaded my mind—his body's "helpful" fantasies, I realized. But the scene was so vivid and startling that even I—who felt no guilt in taking human life—recoiled in horror at the prospect of so much wasteful slaughter.
But just as abruptly as the gruesome pictures and scorching torture had seized me, I felt something within Carlisle shift infinitesimally, and suddenly the images and sensations were totally different. The decades worth of unabsolved thirst had vanished almost completely, reduced to a dull hum, and the cruel fantasies were painted over with despairing images of Carlisle roasting in some bottomless fiery pit somewhere, which I presumed to be his rather colorful conception of Hell. After the unexpected shift, Carlisle still looked visibly pained, but I understood that his reasons for being so were entirely different—a profound fear of hellfire and a mild tingle in his throat made him sullen now, rather than guilt over brutal fantasies and blazing thirst stronger than anything I had ever felt.
I marveled at what I had experienced and scoured his recent thoughts to scrounge back up the wild thirst and disturbing images which had just assaulted me moments before. But strangely, as I wracked his mind, I was unable to find them. They were no longer there—nor in any other part of his lifetime of thoughts, from the earliest moments of mortal lucidity, to the most recent moments in this forest with me. They were completely erased—no, replaced—as though they had never happened.
I continued to hold his face, and was further horrified to discover that this was not simply a one-time event, but rather an on-going process, of deleting his present experiences as soon as they slipped into the past, and replacing them with more pleasant memories. The agony of unsatisfied thirst would overtake him in the present, but as soon as possible, they were written over by virtue of his gift with sensations and thoughts which were, despite the terror that they inspired in me, I supposed, easier for the troubled vampire to bear.
And he had been doing this for practically his entire immortal existence.
No wonder his thirst had grown so immeasurably severe.
I initially wondered why, if we was going to use his abilities to change his own memories, why he did not simply replace his thirst with contentment, until I recalled from his mind that he was incapable of changing the emotional sentiment behind an event he altered. And so in order to explain away the constant guilt, longing, and discomfort, he had to invent something equally disturbing to him to logically fill in the gaps. And to this devout, faithful soul, the only conceivable thing which even compared to the distress caused by his thirst, was the horrifying vision of eternal damnation.
Suddenly his subconscious choice of imagined hellfire made sense, for both his conception of the place and the thirst he was tormented with were vividly painful and fiery. But it also struck me as horribly ironic. Carlisle was terrified of Hell, and yet, unbeknownst to him he was already living in it.
Oh how badly I wanted to release him from his anguish.
Carlisle suddenly swallowed audibly, drawing me quickly out of his thoughts.
"Aro…" he said nervously, starting to get extremely uncomfortable with my prolonged touching of his face. He was worried that the elongation of my innocent contact was meant to indicate that I harbored inappropriately amorous feelings for him.
I almost laughed at the thought—while Carlisle certainly was a handsome fellow, I had already pledged my absolute, eternal fidelity to another, and would never cross over the line which separated a deep friendship from a sexual relationship with the man. Of course, because of our different upbringings, my conception of what physical contact was acceptable between friends, and what was reserved solely for my spouse was rather different than his—and I often made Carlisle uncomfortable with amicable embraces and quick pecks, which were innocently platonic in my mind, but gave a very different impression to him. I had made it very clear in the beginning of our stay that I was not intending to tease him, or pursuing an affair with him, but rather I saw no reason for my marriage to interfere with non-sexual physicality between us. I was a touchy-feely kind of person, and Carlisle was one of the few who never initially rejected my touch—not matter how strange or intrusive it was to him—and so I wanted to take advantage of that as much as I could.
Now was no different. Carlisle was uncomfortable with my prolonged proximity, and looked almost ready to begin squirming in my complacent grasp, when I suddenly released my wet hand from his face and drew back.
"No… I am afraid that I did not appreciate the taste," I responded finally, making no effort to hide my true, bitterly loathing attitude towards the substance I had just consumed. "How can you drink that?"
Carlisle looked down, sadness evident in his features.
"Perhaps after living on human blood for so long, you have grown accustomed to it. Animal blood is all I have ever known," Carlisle offered weakly, as though even his own understanding of the physiological effects of his strange diet were very nebulous, despite having lived this way for several years now. Upon hearing his tenuous explanation, I decided that if Carlisle rejected my attempts at persuasion and persisted in his unhealthy ways that I would study and document all the adverse side effects of his condition in extreme detail, so that he would finally be unable to deny the truth that in his compassion he was starving. I desperately hoped that he would listen to me tonight and abandon this silly charade he was putting on.
But my insatiable curiosity in regards to how he had lived this long in this manner had me hopelessly torn.
I had surmised from this experience that there must be trace nutrients in animal blood which were barely keeping him alive, but he was as far as could be from satisfied. That much was was evident from his lack of a proper reaction to his meal and from the maddening pain he was suppressing with his mind.
I also supposed that the old adage that "one will eat anything when they're starving" applied here as well—which would explain why the deer blood had appealed to him, and not to me. I was only beginning to feel the irritating tingling of hunger, not famished to the point of drinking dirt. And if that was so, that meant that Carlisle was living perpetually on the brink of death—his vivid delusions the only reason for his outward appearance of sanity—his ravenousness so intense that he would eat literally anything to sustain himself, no matter how horrid.
I suddenly felt the need to rectify this situation, for although I had not known him for long, Carlisle was my friend.
And friends do not let friends starve themselves.