September 29th,
'Go to hell,' I said? I'd send myself if I could. Anything's better than this den of murderers. Or is slaughterhouse a better word?
"No, Aster," I whisper to myself. "Don't. It's not a joke." Then tell me what to joke about, for heaven's sake?! I'm drowning here, and all I can do is scribble madly in a book and talk to myself.
September 30th,
I had an invitation today. Free admission, front-row seats. That is all I will say for now, until my hands stop shaking. My hair is stained, my clothes are bloody, and I can hear nothing but screams. I can't write anymore.
October 3rd,
Thank God. They've left me alone thus far. It took Heidi an hour to help me get the blood off, and even then she had to switch with Renata, unable to bear the smell. I was probably like a big candy snack to them.
"There," they said softly, smoothing my hair. "You're alright. Just have a long sleep and you'll feel better."
That's what I thought, too. But I was only too happy to wake up, five hours later, sweating with faded nightmares. If Aro asks me again, I'll kill myself. I can't bear it. I will not watch it again, reliving that first horrible day. I no longer wonder why the ancients don't get their robes all bloody. They weren't sitting up close, like I was, huddling on the steps that stayed clean only for the first two seconds.
October 5th,
Renata came to see me today. I knew she had bad news even before she opened her mouth.
"Feeling alright?" she asked timidly.
"Ok. How about you?"
She grinned, although it quickly disappeared. "I'm fine." I remember how nervous she looked; her hands kept clutching at her cloak, as if desperate to be doing something. She paused by my bed, looking down at the morning tray. "Does Heidi remove this?" she asked randomly.
"Yes. Regularly."
Renata sighed, then faced me. "I like you, Aster. You know that, don't you?"
"Of course."
"So you know that whatever happens, I was not a part of it?"
I frowned. "What are you talking about?"
She lifted her hand. "Just don't blame me, alright?" She took another deep breath. "Remember when my master asked you to visit him the other day?"
I nodded.
"Well, that wasn't just an invitation. He wants you there…watching…every week from now on."
I gasped. "What?"
She dropped her gaze. "Sometimes more than that. Our feeding varies."
"What's the purpose of that?" I laughed harshly. "Does he think that by watching them kill I'll change my mind?"
"Aster…"
I stood up. "How do you kill your victims, Renata?"
Her eyes widened. "Aster!"
"Come on, tell me! I want to know."
"That has nothing to do with—"
"Yes it does. Do you slice them up? Torture them? Do you bite them carelessly, letting the blood run while they suffer, and come back after the next victim?" She was backing away from me. "Do you see it?!" I shouted. "Do you see the terror in their eyes? Or do you lose empathy along with mortality?"
I stood there, shaking, the anger running white-hot through me. But it wasn't for her. She looked so small, huddling by the bedpost, trying to utter calm words to me.
"I'm sorry, Renata," I whispered. "I've just been through hell, that's all."
She rustled forward, touching my cheek. "No," she said. "You're right about us. We are monsters, I suppose. But it's the only way we can live. It's our lot in life. No, Aster. I do not torture my victims. You'd be surprised how many of us don't. It is only in that room the worst occurs, and…" She paused, her lips trembling. "…and that is why he wants you there. To see... everything."
"Everything," I repeated mechanically.
"Do you want me to stay for awhile?" she asked. "An hour, perhaps?"
I patted her shoulder, mumbling something incoherent. It's ok, I told her. I'll get through it. I'm a big girl, I said, smiling. Don't worry about it.
She left, only a little reassured, because I was looking pale. "I'll come back," she called out softly.
I held myself in until she left, then rushed to the grate in the corner of the room. Clutching the rusty bars, I retched into it violently. The smell was terrible, but the mental images were worse.
They're breaking me down.
October 7th,
Something's going on. Heidi barely talks to me anymore, and Renata hasn't visited, as she promised. I'm entirely alone.
I guess I never understood the meaning of "solitary confinement," but you can be sure I do now. When I was little, my dad used to tell me the story of Edmond Dantés, from Alexandre Dumas' great novel. I asked for it almost every night. The tale was long and complex, so every night my imagination had new wonders to discover. Sometimes, after he turned out the light, I would have nightmares of myself rolling about in a dungeon, sick with hunger and loneliness and thirst. These frightened me, but I didn't care. I wanted to hear more. What happened to Edmond? Did he exact revenge on his enemies? Did he ever see his love again?
These memories are very sweet, so I go back to them as often as I can. My mom used to have a "memory book," where she wrote down bits of her life as she remembered it. Childhood, first day of school, and so on. I always wanted to do the same, but I never had the time. Now I do, and all I want to do is rip up these pages.
Wait a minute… No, never mind. I thought I heard a knock. I never know whether to hide or leap for joy when someone comes, because they all knock the same. Aro's knock is just as polite as Renata's. I did happen to see them together once, when I got my sordid invitation. She was standing by the door, waiting for her master, as he brushed the last drop of blood from his lips. Then he turned towards her, and a smile I'd never seen before lit his face. He put his arm 'round her little shoulders, and they walked off together, murmuring softly in Italian. I remember feeling a catch in my throat. I'd seen that look before. Many times. Only his eyes were blue, and his hands were warm, not cold like a grave.
