October 23rd,

No sign of Aro, but I can't say as much for his brother. Two days ago, he forced me back in his ghastly torturing chamber. The cuffs have almost grown to feel like home. They're stained with my blood… they smell of my agony… I kept begging him to blindfold me, but it was like talking to a wall. He just smiled, humming to himself, and reached again for the flame.

My burns are fresh. I can hardly move for the pain. When my screams began to fade, he stopped, jotting something down quickly on paper. "Release her," he said to his guards. "But don't forget the rope."

I remember Santiago holding me, his stone face expressionless, as Felix came towards me. I screamed as he touched me. The rope was hot, dipped in the remaining wax, but not enough to burn away. I couldn't say the same for my flesh. It blistered up angrily, outraged at such barbaric treatment. Only when my wrists and ankles were secured did they carry me back. They left me on the floor, helpless to extricate myself. My flesh was burning.

"Renata!" I remember screaming. My voice was half-gone. "Renata!"

She came, quicker than I'd dreamed possible. Her lips touched my face, and her hands shredded my bonds. When she saw my torn, blistered flesh, a soft moan escaped her.

"Aster," she pleaded. "Try to sit up, dear."

I did so, with her help. I leant against the wall, my breathing ragged. She was kneeling beside me, her hands wet with spilled water. "Here," she said, bringing something to my lips. I drank, but the real pain was elsewhere. I cried out as the liquid touched the fresh wounds.

"There, there," she soothed. "It will be alright."

"You'll get in trouble," I whispered. "Caius will find out."

"He's done enough today," she said. "I care not for his anger." Her fingers were tender, running over my skin.

"How long?" I asked. "How long will this go on?"

"Drink," she said, lifting the cup again.

"Don't ignore me, Renata."

"You need water, Aster. You're dehydrated."

"I don't give a crap."

She sighed. "Has Heidi been bringing you food? She should have."

"You're still ignoring me."

"I don't know, Aster!" she cried. "You keep thinking I run the Volturi, but I don't!"

"But…" I winced, the pain flaring up. "You're his guard."

"Immaterial. I protect Aro. I do not direct his mind."

I leaned my head back. "Oh, God…"

She stroked my arms, her fingers cold. "Come," she said gently. "Pull yourself together, love. I'm not going anywhere. You'll get better, Aster. You'll heal, and go on living—"

"I don't want to live!" I screamed. She dropped her hands, staring at me. There was a long pause. I wiped my eyes, my fingers mottled and burnt. "I don't want to live," I repeated.

I heard her moving away, towards the door. I stumbled to my feet, grabbing her arm before she left. "Wait!"

"I can't help you, Aster," she said miserably.

"I'm not asking for help. I'm asking for mercy." I clenched her arm tighter. "Kill me."

She tore away. "No!"

"Do it!" I pleaded. "For me, Renata. As a friend."

Her lips trembled. "Why are you asking me this? That isn't mercy."

"I'm dying, Renata!" I sobbed. "I'm dying in here! Why can't you help me?!"

She opened her mouth, torn, but then her body stiffened. The door opened softly, and someone stood behind her.

"Come along, Renata," Aro whispered. "This is no place for you."

I reached out to her, but she was already gone. Aro caught my hand, instead, lifting it to his lips.

"Let go of me, swine!" I hissed. I moved away quickly, retreating to the farthest corner of my room.

He followed me. "Aster… Aster…" His voice was so silky, so beautiful, that if I hadn't known better, I would have sworn it was my father's. The comparison made me cry again, drawing up my knees tightly. He knelt beside me, ignoring my disgust.

"There is someone here to see you," he said softly. "Shall I admit them?"

"Get away from me."

"I'll take that for assent," he chuckled, rising. "Marcus?" he called out.

I turned my head despite myself. Marcus wanted to see me? I saw him standing in the doorway, regarding me silently. At his brother's voice, he bent, fitting his body into the crammed space. Aro passed him, and I heard a low murmur of Italian as they spoke.

"Farewell, Aster," he said to me. He patted his brother's shoulder, then disappeared.

Marcus watched him leave, then turned around. Nothing was said for awhile. Then, with a deep sigh, he glided across the room towards the only space where the ceiling was high enough to admit him. There was a rustling sound as he adjusted his robes, then it was quiet again.

"You suffer," he said suddenly. His voice was soft, thick with emotion. "I don't expect an answer," he went on. "You have gone through much pain, for which I am sorry."

"Thank you," I whispered. I meant it.

He sighed, shifting his position. Then he spoke again. "What was it today?" he asked.

"Fire."

"Ah." Marcus shook his head. "Few of us are brave enough to play with it. I myself have no liking for it." He paused. "May I see?" he said, very gently.

I looked up at him. There was nothing but compassion in his eyes. I tried to move. "My legs—" I began to say. "I can't…"

He knelt, quicker than my eyes could see. Taking my hand, he examined the burns, trailing up my arms. He made a strange noise in his throat, like a cough. "Do they hurt badly?" he asked.

I shrugged. "It's fine."

He smiled, his face softening. Then his fingers began to rub the scars, cold and soothing as snow. I felt myself relax, even daring to close my eyes. He didn't say anything, but worked his way up my skin, until he reached the grotesque marks on my throat.

I cringed. A tear left my eyes, staining his finger.

A sigh blew across my face. He left my throat, massaging the searing burns from my jaw to my forehead. When he reached my legs, fragile and raw with pain, I felt myself falling apart. Just as Aro's voice reminded me of my father, so did his brother's touch. I was a little girl again, and my mind wandered…

"Don't!" my mother screamed. "Don't touch that, Aster!"

But she was too late. I leaped back from the stove, clutching my tiny, scorched hand. She and my father swarmed around me; propping me on the sofa, massaging my hand, wiping away the sticky tears…

"Mommy said 'don't,'" I remember my father saying. "Why didn't you listen, sweetie?"

"I don't know!" I wailed. My bawling soon subsided though, replaced by a cherry lollipop. I sucked at it, letting my mother treat the burn, while Daddy made funny noises to make me laugh…

"Aster?"

I opened my eyes. Marcus was brushing away my tears. "Why are you crying?"

"I miss them," I whispered.

"Your parents?"

"How did you know?"

"I can feel it," he said simply. "I can feel your love for them."

I remembered what Aro had said—something about supernatural powers. "Really? You feel it?"

He nodded.

Hot tears started to my eyes. I brushed at them, ashamed. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I don't usually cry… not before now, anyway."

"Tears are the expression of the soul," he told me. "The only criminals are those who condemn them. Do as you wish, Aster."

Sympathy doesn't help tears. They welled up faster than ever. I couldn't stop them. Marcus touched my cheek, gathering the drops in his hand. A strange feeling reared up inside me. I will never forget the strength of it. It thickened my throat, causing quick, soft moans to escape my lips.

Marcus shifted slightly. "You're thinking of your father?" he asked.

"Yes."

His dark eyes flickered. "Perhaps… if you imagined him vividly… perhaps it would help?"

"I am," I sobbed. "It doesn't. Trust me."

He nodded. Don't ask me how it happened. One moment I was sitting there, crying, and the next I was pressed against his robes, feeling his cold hands brush my cheek.

"Imagine it now," he said.

I obeyed him, falling asleep in my father's arms. I woke late this morning, lying in bed, with Renata's poultices wrapped tenderly around each burn.

This entry has given me no little pain, but I will say this: I felt happy last night—happy and loved—and that is something I've not felt in a long, long time.