Marcus/Esme
He lives in a world of tightly-shut windows, of closed doors with no locks, and yet no one would dare lift one finger to intrude on his solitude. His once-fine clothing hangs in dusty folds around his giant frame, and his skeletal feet shudder quietly into slippers before he ventures outside to walk alone.
She lives in a world of cold sunlight and long, heavy days punctuated with grateful exhaustion at their end. She is so young, but her life is already a burden. Her belly, once swollen with child, is now achingly empty. The cradle her husband built (the only thing he ever did for her) is also empty. Her sheets are freezing at night, for she cannot sleep. She wanders the land around her home like a lost ghost.
They live too far away from any neighbors to offer help, which she would probably refuse if offered, but they are also too far for anyone to hear when the screams come at night. Building one atop the other, it rises in an awful cacophony of terror until the man she once loved finally finds the end of a sienna-colored glass bottle and drowns himself away to sleep.
That is when she decides. That is when she goes walking.
And that is when Marcus finds her.
He was not even supposed to be in America. Drifting through the desolate space that is her home in Ohio, he looks even more a ghost than she does. Darker, certainly, and more frightening, but the anguish that lingers in her eyes is the twin of his heartbreak. He has always been the compassionate one, despite his strength as a fighter. Always seeking out the best in others. So when he sees her figure standing at the edge of the cliff, her mind already tumbling headfirst down the sharp rocks, it is only moments before he finds himself at her side.
She screams, and he whispers.
"Don't."
She screams again. Her body is curling up protectively and away from his grasp, like a tiny autumn leaf crumpling up into itself before a winter storm. She can only assume he will hurt her. How could she know otherwise? She's never known a gentle touch. He reaches out with his gift while trying to calm her, and imaginary ribbons of varying thickness and colors wind themselves into his mind. Mother… distant and never the same since the miscarriage… Father… ran off with the grocer's daughter… no brothers or sisters… Dr. Cullen…
Marcus halts in his thoughts, startled, just as the poor, sweet human decides he means her no harm and sobs brokenly into his chest.
Carlisle?
"You…" He winces at the sound of his own voice. A rusty accordion straining to life. An aged door grating on ancient hinges yet failing to open completely, to let its occupant finally come through and speak. He tries again.
"You know… the doctor? Carlisle?"
Her eyes lift to his, muddy with tears. She looks so very sweet, so lost. The much-feared vampire cannot help but bend down and kiss her freckled forehead. She closes her eyes, little drops falling on her cheeks, and nods.
"Yes," she whimpers. "He… helped me. When I was but a girl. I waited for him to come back. He said he would. Why didn't he come back? I waited…"
Oh, little one, he thinks, holding her close as she weeps again. Leading her backwards away from the beckoning cliff, so subtly that she didn't even notice. It feels like they are floating. Two ghosts, floating together over the grey and brown landscape. His hands feel like ice through her thin sweater, and his face is beautiful. Beautiful like the doctor she waited for but never came.
He will come back for you. Carlisle never goes back on his word.
She looks up at him wonderingly.
"What… is your name?" his voice is deep and strained.
"Esme."
For Marcus, this is the distraction he needed. Just enough warmth and light to bleed through the weary depths of his heart and provide enough energy to return home. And to her? He is hope. Hope and gentleness and so many other forgotten things. She will go with him, for now. For now, she will live to press on one more day.
"I am in love with the things
that I see in his face."
(Jekyll & Hyde, "Sympathy, Tenderness")
Preview of coming short story...
Alice/Aro
"Look at me."
She pretends not to understand him, remaining as motionless as possible, her face turned sharply away. The chains holding her wrists and ankles are coated on the inside with a vile mixture of venom and ash from the fire, biting painfully at her marble flesh each time she moves. But she still won't give in.
He will have none of it.
"I know you understand me, my sweet," he purrs, honey practically spilling off his silken tongue. Masking a thinly-veiled threat. "Don't be so… foolish."