The towering halls of the Volturi castle had always been a place of stillness, its air heavy with centuries of knowledge, power, and authority. But for six-year-old Isabella, it was a place alive with stories. Each corridor whispered secrets, each object a treasure waiting to be discovered. Her mind, vibrant and curious, never tired of peeling back the mysteries that surrounded her.
She sat cross-legged on a plush rug in the library, a book from the Chronicles of Narnia spread open before her. The sunlight filtering through the ornate windows created patterns on the polished floor, making it appear as if the characters from the book were dancing in the light.
Luna, her sleek black cat, stretched lazily at her side, occasionally batting at a stray tassel on the rug. Isabella absentmindedly ran her hand through the cat's soft fur as her other hand turned a page. The rhythmic rise and fall of Luna's purring was a constant comfort, blending with the soft rustling of pages to create a symphony of stillness.
As her hand rested briefly against Luna's back, she smiled to herself, her thoughts drifting. She still remembered the day she first held the tiny kitten, her surprise and delight so overwhelming it made her cheeks ache from smiling so much.
It had been the morning after her sixth birthday when Demetri entered the hall with the smallest bundle Isabella had ever seen. She had been nibbling on a piece of toast, swinging her feet beneath the grand dining table, when she saw him walking toward her with a sly but amused look on his face.
"Demetri!" she had called out, her voice full of warmth. "What are you hiding?"
Demetri raised an eyebrow as if considering denying her, but everyone in the castle knew resistance to Isabella's charm was futile. Slowly, he pulled open his jacket, revealing a squirming kitten with wide green eyes.
"Happy belated birthday, little one," Demetri said smoothly, holding out the kitten as though it were a priceless artifact.
Isabella had gasped so loudly that even Caius, sitting nearby and reading a letter, looked up in alarm. "For me?" she whispered in disbelief, reaching out to take the soft, tiny creature into her hands.
The kitten mewed softly, looking up at her with trusting eyes. Isabella couldn't stop herself from cooing, her small hands gently cradling its fragile frame. "Oh, she's so little! Thank you, thank you, Demetri!" She leaned forward, kissing his cool cheek, making him chuckle quietly.
"She'll need a name," Sulpicia had chimed in from the doorway, her voice warm with approval. Aro stood beside her, his expression soft, his mind already guessing.
That night, after hours spent watching the kitten explore every corner of her room, Isabella had curled up with her new companion tucked beside her. She thought long and hard about a name. "Luna," she finally whispered as the moonlight spilled through her window, casting silver highlights against the kitten's fur. "You'll be Luna because you remind me of the moon—so quiet and pretty, and always watching over me."
When she had told her father the name the next day, Aro's expression turned playful. "Ah, just as I thought. Luna suits her perfectly, my little oracle."
Back in the library, Isabella's smile deepened as Luna stretched out beside her, content and sleepy. The castle, though always filled with activity, felt different with Luna at her side. The kitten had grown quickly over the months, her once-tiny body now sleek and elegant. Yet, Luna's calm presence had remained the same, grounding Isabella in a way no one else truly could.
It was peaceful here—her favorite kind of afternoon.
On this particular day, her world had become even more vivid. Recently, Isabella had discovered another facet of her abilities. Her shield, something she'd always thought of as a quiet instinct, revealed itself more clearly. The protective bubble came to her when she felt deeply afraid or worried, enclosing her in a sensation of warmth and safety. It fascinated her, though she often wondered if it did anything beyond making her feel calm.
Still, what lingered most heavily in her thoughts wasn't her gift, but the strange, fragmented memories she carried. When she closed her eyes at night, she often heard a gentle, distant voice, a melody unlike her mama Sulpicia's clear, serene tones. It murmured words of love and comfort, but it wasn't her mother as she knew her. And she had noticed—the castle guards, even her papa Aro and mama Sulpicia, spoke of her in a way that hinted at a past before the castle.
Recently, she had grown bold enough to ask questions. Why didn't her mama carry her? Where had she come from? The answers, offered gently by her papa and mama, did not upset her but instead added a depth to her understanding. She learned of her biological mother, the woman who had brought her into the world, whose life had tragically been tied to Isabella's birth.
"She was brave," Papa had said softly, holding her close. "And she would have loved you as much as we do."
For Isabella, it didn't change who her family was. Her papa's tender guidance, her mama's unshakeable grace, the playful loyalty of the guards—they were her world. Still, her young mind couldn't help but wonder what those faded memories truly meant.
Her musings were interrupted when her wandering eyes spotted an envelope half-tucked between volumes on a lower shelf. Curiosity burned brighter than her focus on Narnia, and she reached out, pulling it free. Carefully, she slid the contents onto the rug.
Photographs.
The parchment-thin images made her heart skip with excitement. Isabella adored pictures. Her mental gift often showed her "pictures" of people's emotions and thoughts—like slides in a hidden projector of her mind—but these were tangible. These photographs had faces and moments frozen in time.
She ran her small fingers gently over the glossy surfaces, one by one. Most were strangers: women with stern expressions, men in elaborate coats. Many were likely Volturi leaders from times long past. She paused on one image of Felix, looking awkwardly grim at some official ceremony, and couldn't suppress her giggle. Luna twitched her tail, seemingly unbothered by her sudden amusement.
Then, she came across a picture that made her pause.
The man in it stood tall, a commanding figure with sharp features, red eyes that practically glowed against the softness of his pale skin, and bronze hair tousled like he had just walked in from a storm. Though he wasn't smiling, something about him felt familiar—like the feeling of a forgotten tune returning to her.
"Who is this?" Isabella murmured aloud.
Luna gave no answer. The library, despite the sunbeams and her whispered question, remained still.
Gathering her find, she padded softly down the hall until she reached her father's study. Aro was there, bent over a thick tome as his pale fingers traced the pages delicately. He glanced up as soon as she entered, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile.
"Ah, my precious one," he said, his musical voice filling the room. "What have you found?"
"Pictures!" Isabella exclaimed, holding them out for him to see. Her excitement dimmed slightly as she carefully placed the image of the bronze-haired man atop the stack. "Papa, who is this one?"
Aro's expression shifted, something subtle and guarded flitting across his features before he settled into his usual calm. He reached for the photograph, holding it as though it were a relic.
"Ah," he murmured. "That, my sweet Isabella, is Edward."
"Edward," she repeated softly, committing the name to memory. "He looks… nice."
Aro gave a soft laugh, though his eyes darkened ever so slightly. "Nice? Well, that is a matter of opinion." He placed the photograph down carefully, looking into her wide, inquisitive eyes. "Edward is someone I knew many years ago, before you were born. He is quite… unique."
"Like me?" Isabella asked innocently, tilting her head.
Aro paused, leaning forward to brush a strand of hair from her face. "In some ways, yes," he said quietly. "But you, my precious one, are far kinder. Far better."
The gravity in his tone made Isabella frown slightly, though she didn't push further. She felt the weight of her father's thoughts even if she couldn't see them. Something about the picture carried a story—one she wasn't ready to hear just yet.
That night, after she tucked the pictures back into their envelope and placed them gently on a higher shelf, she lay in her bed with Luna curled at her feet. Thoughts of the bronze-haired man lingered in her dreams, mixing with images of voices she remembered and a life she had never lived.
Bella in here just turned 6 and finally knows about Edward.