blood over blood -- Aro POV

[Kat J.]

There are few things that I covet beyond blood and power, and yet in the cruelest twist of fate and fallacy blood becomes the very thing I seek to diminish. Empires built steadily in the name of my coven, the blind worship and ambitious palms filled with nothing but the bitter taste of my hunger slowly quenched lead to, my thrill and contemplation, choices decided entirely in the name of furthering my, or more decidedly, our, success. The term master, a title I have gained through my decisions and bloodshed, the weight of my hand similar to a gavel surrounding my court, has lead to responsibilities that weigh me down as strongly as I desire them. The sick proclamation of ownership breeds heartbreak, and though I have managed to remain unscarred through so many years I find myself in a place of, however pesky, priorities.

Blood over blood, the decision of what is right and what is desirable in all of the most tempting definitions. My hands, while stained, have always worked wonders on what is not truly personal to me. Business aside, I have found myself an agent of my own word, my ambition always being the forefront of my mind as I sit atop both my literal and introspective throne, but there is perhaps more to conceive, such as, what I must do to keep it so.

There is a question that arises when one of my own find themselves… dissatisfied. It is something I cannot ignore, cannot allow to fester and metastasize. I am a victim of my own allegiance, my own thirst, and familiar are the greek gods, the price to pay for such covet. As to continue to grow, you must devour, consume, relish to the brink of gluttony, and then savor what you have reaped.

Marcus has begun to arise as an issue, a problem, as he is no longer content in the Volturi, his allegiance shifting to matters of, how to say, the heart. My own sister, Didyme, while a champion of adoration in her own regards, has participated greatly in the retaliation, the desire of separation from my ranks in favor of those related to, not said without concern of repetition, the heart. A union provided with my blessing, a smile and eyes warmed with false enlightenment, the ever-modest expression of someone who values relation over rule, open arms to clasped hands, thoughts that began to brew the most satisfying yet unholy. I grew yet another decision to mull over, thoughts to occupy me throughout my eternity.

I do not turn to Caius, while another leader in title, I already know the words to pass his lips and while I find a level of respect in his regards, he has the most abrasive and bloodthirsty of all solutions among the rulers. He would desire her head, and while it is the same conclusion I myself find best suited to my needs, I know that from his mouth it will make me the most unhappy, perhaps angry. If I am going to lend a hand in the murder of my sister, it is something I must do myself, without help drawn either in line of morals or physical assault. For perhaps the first time in my increasingly long life, it is entirely personal to me. If she is to die, it must be by my hand, but I cannot do so impulsively, not without proper preparation.

However, I fear that even in death, my sister’s hold on Marcus will not loosen, the discontentedness forever implemented in his bones. Something I find they fail to understand is that both of them, Marcus and Didyme respectively, belong to me. They owe me something that it seems they are anxious to escape, not only in a sense of livelihood but in life itself; I have not failed to provide them something great, something which they desire to abandon. For the sake of both an iron fist and personal desire, I feel the ache in my veins, not from grief but necessity.

I have given her the blessing of the air she continues to breathe despite no longer needing to, with my blood, and later venom coursing in her veins, and through just as much hardship, I can take it back into my own hands.

Will I not suffer remorse? Even as a breathing piece of the heartless monsters I have created, I am not free of guilt, from feeling no matter the depth at which it is hidden in deceit, but what must be done is greater than just myself, but instead the entire coven I sought to create.