Warning: High profanity, and sexual content in this chapter.
The wind howled through the aged stones of the castle, a haunting sound that echoed the friction simmering between Deanna and Caius. Their sanctuary—once a haven filled with laughter and love—had morphed into an arena of shadows and unspoken accusations. The dimly lit chamber, illuminated by flickering candles, felt more like a prison than a home as the weight of centuries bore down upon their heavy hearts.
It was the autumn of 1632, a time when the air was thick with the promise of storms. Deanna stood, her posture taut, arms crossed defensively against the chill that crept into her bones. Her oceanic eyes sparkled with defiance as she glared at Caius, whose jaw clenched in frustration. He paced the length of the room, his silver-streaked hair catching the light, each movement betraying an inner turmoil that mirrored hers.
"You don't understand, Caius! You never have!" Deanna's voice pierced the silence, her words laced with a mix of fury and despair. "You're so blinded by your own need for control that you can't see how your choices affect us!"
Caius stopped mid-stride, his eyes flashing with indignation. "And you think running away from our problems is the solution? I cannot let you—"
"Let me?" Deanna interrupted, her face flushed with emotion. "You think you can dictate what I should feel? What I should do? Is that love?"
The atmosphere crackled with tension, an electric current that thrummed between them. Just then, Athenodora entered the room, her serene countenance disrupted by the palpable dissent. She sensed immediately the storm brewing, a cyclone of unchecked emotions circling.
"What's happening?" Athenodora inquired softly, her voice aimed to quell the brewing tempest.
"Stay out of this, Athenodora," Caius snapped, irritation radiating off him like heat from a fire.
Deanna's stare hardened. "Don't you dare dismiss her. She deserves to know the truth. This isn't just about us anymore."
But as Athenodora stepped closer, seeking to mediate, an unforeseen flurry of emotions surged within Caius. Enraged and overwhelmed, his frustration erupted. His hand shot out, unintentionally colliding with Athenodora, who staggered back, shock and disbelief coloring her expression.
The world slowed as time suspended itself; the sound of Athenodora's gasp echoed distantly in Deanna's ears. In that moment, everything shattered—their love, their bonds, and the fragile peace the three of them had shared.
"Athenodora!" Deanna cried, rushing to her side, her heart racing. She knelt, cradling Athenodora's face, searching for the trust that had always shimmered in her friend's eyes.
"Deanna, it's alright—" Athenodora stammered, though the tremor in her voice suggested otherwise.
"No!" Caius stepped forward, panic flooding his harsh exterior. "I didn't mean to—"
But the words came too late. Deanna's heart felt as if it were being crushed beneath the weight of betrayal. "You didn't mean to?" She spat, fury igniting anew.
Athenodora, ever the glue that held their trio together, attempted to mediate. "Please, both of you—" she implored, but the rift had deepened.
In a whirlwind of emotions, Deanna turned, her decision firm. "I need time; I need space." Her voice trembled but carried the weight of resolve. She turned to Athenodora, despair shadowing her features. "Come with me."
With a silent, shared understanding, the two women ascended the spiral staircase that led to the tower—an ancient refuge where time stood still. As the heavy wooden door closed behind them, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoed through the stone walls—a finality that left Caius in a hollow silence.
The scene swirled, the colors mixing and churning together like paint on a canvas. They twisted and morphed until they set on a setting, one much earlier than the last. Dean recognized herself standing in mix-matched skirts made of patchwork and a brown corset that was ripped and fading in color.
She stood, arms crossed over her chest, in front a furious old man whose grievances echoed off the walls of the nearby buildings.
"Wretched girl!" he spat, his voice threaded with the craggy tones of age. "Your potion has left me feeling worse than I was before! I could hardly stand up after your so-called healing!"
Deanna crossed her arms, pretending to be unfazed by his indignation. The old man, Hargan, had been her latest victim, entrusting her with his last few coins for a concoction she had boldly claimed would restore his youth. The glint of silver always danced enticingly in her mind, and it had been so easy to concoct a potion that merely masked the effects of aging while draining his pockets in the process.
"I'll be sure to pray for your miserable soul, old man," she retorted, her voice a sultry mix of sweetness and spite. "But if you think for a second I'm going to refund your gold just because you can't handle the reality of your decrepitude, you've got another thing coming!"
Hargan's gnarled fingers trembled with rage, and he leaned closer, his breath sharp with the stench of bitterness. "You conniving witch! You've robbed me of my gold, and now you have the audacity to claim it was for my own good? Guards!" He bellowed, his voice cutting through the market's din like a jagged blade.
Deanna's heart raced. The clanking of armor echoed ominously down the street as the guards—a hulking bunch with glinting swords and no sense of humor—appeared at the scene. She could almost hear the money slipping through her fingers.
"Oh, don't be such a delicate flower, Hargan," she sneered, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I've just given you more life than you deserve. It's not my fault your body can't keep up with"—she paused, smirking—"the vitality of youth."
Rage painted Hargan's face crimson as he pointed an accusing finger at her. "This charlatan has robbed me! Seize her!"
The guards closed in, their expressions grave and impenetrable. "Fuck off!" she spat. "You really think you can just come over here and drag me away? I've had enough of this bullshit!"
Deanna lunged for a nearby chair, gripping it like a weapon as she swung it towards the closest guard. It connected with a solid thud, and he staggered, letting out a grunt of surprise. While his partner was momentarily distracted, she made a break for it, but the second guard was quick, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back.
"You're just making this worse for yourself," he growled, tightening his grip as she writhed in protest.
"I'll rip your head off, you clumsy oaf!" she screeched, kicking and elbowing as she tried to free herself. But the guards were stronger, and as they overpowered her, her resistance waned.
With a swift motion, they restrained her, dragging her towards the exit. The old man cackled in triumph as they forcibly pulled her through the tavern door.
"Fucking hell!" she cursed, struggling against their grip. "You'll regret this, you dullards! I swear to the heavens, I'll have your heads!"
"Prepare for execution!" one of the guards called, raising his sword high—a chilling signal that sent a fresh wave of dread crashing into Deanna.
She forcefully craned her head backward, the back of her skull connecting with the guards nose. A sickening crack rang in her ears as his cartilage shattered. Without a second thought, she pivoted her body, bringing her knee up sharply into the gut of the other guard holding her. The man grunted, air escaping his lungs as he doubled over, loosening his grip.
"Fool!" she growled, pushing off him and making a break for the other booths surrounding the market square. As she dashed down the street, the sound of metal clanging behind her echoed in the confined alleys. The guards had regained their composure, their shouts trailing her like a monstrous beast in pursuit. Deanna sprinted, her feet pounding against cobblestones slick with rain from the previous night's storm. She had to find a way to escape—her life depended on it.
The oppressive weight of panic settled upon her like a fog. She rounded a corner, scanning her surroundings, searching for an escape. What she needed was a plan, and quick.
Up ahead, she spotted an old well, its stones worn smooth and dark with age. It was a long shot, but she approached it, skidding to a halt. She knew it had once been covered, but time had worn away the barricade, leaving it open. Without time for second thoughts, she leapt towards the well's edge, gripping the sides as if she were a mountaineer conquering a peak.
She took in a deep breath, ready to plunge into the water deep below the city, when strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her back. She screamed and kicked, but another set of hands forced her to the ground, and it took two of the largest guards in the city to hold her down as she fought. Kicking, screaming, and biting.
"Screw taking her to the gallows," one fat man huffed. "Let's just take care of her now!"
"Sounds good to me," says his partner as he unsheathed his sword. The fat man held her steady, a foot on her spine and a hand yanking back her hair painfully to expose her neck.
"Fuck you," she hissed. "I'll be back, I swear it."
"Yeah, we'll see about that, baby."
She closed her eyes as the blade glinted in the light when he raised it above his head.
"Wait," said a new, cold voice. "Unhand her."
Deanna's eyes popped open, and she craned her neck to see who had interrupted her execution. All she could make out was that they were tall, and wearing a dark cloak, pulled low over their head. A shiny medallion was dangling from around their neck. It was one of those rich looneys who lived in that big eyesore of a castle.
"Sir, she's got it coming to her," argues the man who was holding her down.
"That may be," says her rescuer. "But my brothers and I have our own bounty out for this one."
"Who are you to claim our prisoner?" Sneered the guy with the sword. The man with the cloak sighed heavily.
"Fine, how much do you want for her?"
The two guards looked between each other smugly. "Ten-thousand."
The man-who Dean had already figured out was Caius- scoffed. "I'll give you five."
Dean turned to look at him, looking affronted. She'd been thrilled when she recognized this memory as the one he had told her about in the glade. But was she really only worth five thousand gold to him?
"Thirteen," countered the guard. Caius hissed, taking a step forward and causing the men to stagger back, afraid. Deanna struggled, managing to push them away from her and rolling, intending to run.
"You'll take five or I'll take out your throats!"
"S-s-sorry! Five is good!" Stuttered one of the men, who shoved her to Caius' feet. Caius fished out a velvet sack and threw it at them. It fell to the floor and coins spilled out in a mess that the two despicable men fell to their knees to collect.
Deanna looked up into the ruby eyes of the man who had just bought her. Caius smirked.
"Hello, slave."
Again the colors swirled, transitioning the scene into one she didn't recognize. It was night time, and Dean blushed when she realized what was happening in the bed her incorporeal form stood at. She saw herself, bare backed, waist covered by black silken sheets. She was bouncing up and down, her head thrown back in ecstasy, mouth hanging open in bliss. Caius' hands were on her hips, bruises already forming where his fingers dug in. They were both moaning, Caius was practically purring.
"Aro! New memory!" Dean shouted out desperately. Why was he hanging out here? Was he some sort of pervert? As if in answer, the scene changed to another, equally erotic scene. This time, Dean was fully naked and pressed up against the wall with Caius buried inside her, his mouth clamped down on the pulse point on her neck. He must not have been using his teeth, because she was definitely not in agony. "Aro!" She hissed, this time feeling annoyed more than embarrassed.
She was hurtled back into the present, her eyes snapping open with a gasp. Her head spun for a moment, a piercing pain stabbing behind her eye as she reorientated herself. Cassiel pulled his hand from her head and Dean sat up, glaring at Aro.
"What was that?" She snapped. Aro was grinning at her, very amused with himself. "Is this what happens when you delve into someone else's memories?" she accused, her eyes narrowing at Aro, whose expression was one of schadenfreude. The impish gleam in his eyes taunted her, revealing a dark amusement at her discomfort.
"What a fascinating glimpse into your psyche, Dean," he said, his voice lilting, a mix of mockery and intrigue. "To answer your question, I think it's obvious. It was you, bonding with my brother."
Dean exhaled sharply, still bristling from the shock of voyeurism. Memories—those ephemeral strands of experiences woven into the fabric of a person's identity—were not supposed to be displayed like a gallery for one to stumble through willy-nilly. Yet, here she was, played for a fool in the castle of her own unconscious desires.
She glanced at Cassiel, who stood a few paces away, his brows furrowed in concern. Unlike Aro, Cassiel wasn't reveling in her distress. Instead, he looked torn between wanting to comfort her and preserve her dignity. "You okay?" he asked gently, giving her the space she needed but remaining vigilant.
"Just peachy," she retorted, pushing away a sense of vulnerability that threatened to sap her strength. "Perfectly fine watching my own intimate moments like a spectator." Her voice was laced with sarcasm, a coping mechanism she had perfected over the years.
"There's no need to be defensive," Aro said, stepping closer, his face a mask of feigned innocence. "What we saw was simply a manifestation of passion and trust. Would you deny that it exists within you?"
The echoes of her memory danced like flames at the back of her mind, igniting a confusion that left her reeling. Passion? Trust? The tumult of emotion played tricks, knotting her stomach into a tight coil. How did she feel about Caius? It was a question she had yet to address, much less answer.
"Why would you even care about this?" Dean pressed, her voice steadier now, fueled by irritation. "You can't possibly be fascinated by my love life."
Aro smirked, leaning against the wall casually. "On the contrary, I find it utterly captivating. In a way, we all are our own prisoners, aren't we? We prevent ourselves from exploring the full range of our emotions. It's only in the depths of another's memories that we can begin to understand our own."
"Great, well, I don't feel any different other than now I'm angry. Did you find the blockage?"
"Unfortunately not," Aro shook his head in disappointment. "It was fun trying, though."
Dean rolled her eyes, trying not to be disheartened. "Great," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "What's next then? A therapy session with you two?"
"Consider it an opportunity for self-discovery," Aro chimed in, unfazed. He often had a way of unnerving her, weaving between light humor and unsettling truths that kept her off-balance. "You were worried about how others perceive you—or perhaps how you perceive yourself with Caius?"
Dean remained silent in the pause. She couldn't deny that the man stirred something within her that was both thrilling and terrifying. As the memories began to surface again, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, urging herself to concentrate.
"Alright, then," she finally said, her demeanor shifting from defensive to resolute. "If I'm going to sort through this mess, I need to ask—why did you show me those memories, Aro?"
"Because truth is rarely revealed without a bit of chaos," Aro answered softly, a rare seriousness underlying his playful tone. "And often, you don't realize what you're running from until it stands in front of you, demanding to be understood. I thought that those memories would have made the most sense to hide the block in, as they are far back in the recesses of your mind and uncomfortable for you to watch."
As she breathed deeply, contemplating both his words and the sensations elicited by the memories, she felt an urgency bud within. Uncomfortable was an understatement. The spot between her thighs were tingling like they never had before, and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks when she realized that Aro could probably smell her arousal. It was a call to not only understand the passions she struggled with but to confront her reflections with honesty. The journey through her own desires was a path of complexity, woven with the threads of her identity, unfolding beautifully yet messily.
Unfortunately, being in a castle full of vampires who could see, hear, and smell everything did not bode well for the privacy she wished for to figure it out. And clearly, present company was no stranger to poking his nose where it didn't belong just to amuse himself. She smirked, a thought flittering across her face as she thought she could give him a taste of his own medicine.
"You know it's really rude to intrude on people like that, Aro. What if I were to do that to you and Sulpicia? You wouldn't find it so funny then, would you?"
"On the contrary, Dean. If you wish to join us, simply say so."
His response was quick and coupled with a wide grin as she nearly fell off her chair, having not expected that answer. He hadn't even missed a beat. She spluttered. "I haven't-we haven't-?" She couldn't even get the question out, and Aro cackled loudly, and most infuriatingly...he didn't answer her.
Cassiel cleared his throat, having grown tired of watching the two of them. "We shouldn't press our luck. I'm tired and would like to leave."
Aro's cackles died to low chuckles as he nodded. "Of course, I'm sure Dean would like some time on her own as well. Come back tomorrow and we will pick up where we left off."
Dean huffed, giving Cassiel a strained smile, her face still feeling like it was on fire. "Thank you for your help. Will you be okay at your hotel? I'm sure we could get a room ready for you here."
"Uh, no thank you. I'll be fine. I'll be back in the morning."
"Alright," she smiled, awkwardly sticking out her hand. "Until tomorrow, father."
Cassiel shook her hand slowly, nodding, and then he turned to walk away.
"Well, Dean, I'm off to go fill in Sulpicia, do stop by if you wish," Aro hinted with another snicker that nearly sent Dean over the edge. He sped off, leaving her to wallow in her own embarrassment.