𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

II | "Go in good faith that your life has been spared."

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PRESENT DAY, TWO THOUSAND AND EIGHT

"DEAR MAMAN, FORGIVE ME FOR I HAVE FORSAKEN YOUR NAME once again... J'ai du mal à résister aux plans de mon père. Ma retenue est faible." (I struggle to withstand father's schemes. My restraint is weak). Margeaux sighed as she prayed to her deceased mother. The creak of her kneeling podium before her picture echoed around the otherwise empty room.

She did this whenever she felt she had failed her mother. And she went often.

Her guilt was the only thing keeping her going the straight and narrow. If she fell, she got back up. But it was hard. When the world was so corrupt outside and just within those doors, it was corrupt still. It was a wind swept wave after wave in a hurricane. Never ending, coming at her from all sides and she struggled to stay above water.

The dark side of her psyche relished in the pleads of the vampiric faction. They came in for all types of judicial review. From their crimes against their own people to throwing other people under the bus. She sat in most hearings and listened with a hypocritical, bitter edge.

After all, Margeaux was rebellion incarnate. The product of breaking the vampiric law, fraternizing with humans. Revealing vampiric secrets.

Which didn't help at all with her martyr complex.

It made her belief about her entire existence pessimistic. She wasn't meant to be possible. Born. Alive and yet, undead.

She saw it in the eyes of every Volturi guard as she walked by. Heard it in whispers as she sat in the library. It was apparent, she was an unwanted enigma. A threat to the vampire ego. To be living, breathing and still possess the strength and immortality of vampirism was indeed volatile to the supernatural entity entirely. It was why she found reasons to vacate Volterra as often as possible.

It was a shame, being unwanted in your own home. Suppose that's why she made sure to look after herself forever and always. She didn't blame them for their phobia and pride, but she was also getting damn well tired of it.

Today, she was having a hard time holding onto reality. She was volcanic this late morning. Bubbling with rage and melancholy the same. It always disgruntled her that she could control anything and anyone yet, she couldn't get ahold of her own explosions. Another tick on the never ending self-hatred list she possessed.

She shuddered and rolled her shoulders as she bowed her head low. Raven hair in a low, discrete bun, not but one stray hair in sight. It flickered and waved in the breeze of the open window to her left. And she grew more aware of it by the second.

Nevertheless, she forced herself to remain focused. Her lips muttering the French prayer over and over till she felt utterly cleansed. A moment she allowed herself full weakness and vulnerability. The sentiment caused a tear to slip and paint the wood grain of her podium.

It seeped into the holes of the wood planks, swallowing it whole like it never existed. Such a sight made her reel for some unknown reason. It was the final straw that broke the camels back. Her fingernails stabbed into the wood, causing indents to form in the perfect shape of her hands.

Only the sudden sound of a door opening behind her, stopped the melt down from ensuing. "I'm praying," She spat, grinding her teeth in annoyance.

Everyone knew not to bother her while in counsel. It was one of two rules she had in this god forsaken place.

No one disturb her while she was in her room.

No one come in during her repenting.

Yet, sometimes these certain rules were broken without much regard to her sanity or wellbeing. She preferred not to remember the last time it happened, yet the memory persisted still.

"Apologies, miss. But Aro wishes to see you. He says it's an urgent matter."

Blinking her opal blue eyes open, her eyebrows furrowed ever-so-slightly. The profile of her ethereal face facing the door. "Tell me the context of this... matter."

"A vampire is wishing to be offed, miss."

Her emotions peaked and flattened all in random spurts. An interest growing in her that she partially hated. Humming under her breath, she kissed her fingers and pressed them to the spot her tear sunk. Standing to her feet gracefully, her expression changed to indifference at the sight of the guard.

"Well, we can't keep him waiting." The guard nodded, opening the door wide for her to exit first. She took it without saying anything. Her black cloak ghosting against the stone floors as she stalked the corridors. Pearls draped against her olive collar bone.

It wasn't often a vampire asked to end their immortality by hand of the Volturi. Whoever this was, would be a sight to see.

...

A hush fell over the throne room as the grand ornate side doors opened to the illustrious Margeaux. Her black cloak was tied round her neck, temptingly tight. Only a slim peak of her black velvet ankle length dress. The angular heels she wore announced her presence before the creak of the ancient doors.

Three grand thrones stood high above a podium, looking down on her like gods to their creation. Haute and mighty, their arrogant attitudes could be felt where she stood.

Her spot during every hearing was a chair all by its lonesome. It was made of cast iron, forged by human men who cried out every time they burnt their hands during it's early stages in the fire. Endless amounts of blood, sweat and tears went into its furnishing – literally. She commanded them not to eat or sleep until the throne was finished. And when it was finally presented to her, every man -- one by one -- was slain upon it, their blood running down the center, creating a puddle below it.

The stain still sat there today, rusted and menacing on the cobblestone for her violence against men. It said more than the three kings' thrones ever did. It was a mockery of the ones before her and a testament to her lack of benevolence. When addressed, she wasn't there to give pity, but an execution. At least, this is what she believed.

Jane often stood at her right hand during hearings. She had been apart of the Volturi Guard far before she were born, but Margeaux took favor to her wise counsel.

Their relationship was complicated as Marge was aware Jane hated her, yet tolerated her too. They held similar gifts, which provided for their shallow bond-slash-rivalry.

However, Jane couldn't see past Margeaux's existence being against vampiric law. They rarely saw eye to eye, combatant, competitive and vindictive. Marge didn't trust her, but she trusted Jane to be in aliment with the law. Which is why her advisory was necessary by her side.

"Ah, Margeaux. Lovely for you to join us." Her father's high pitched, adagio voice touched her ears in kind. She felt his eyes, almost more than Caius' as she took her seat with grace.

She didn't address Aro as father in the company of others. Her existence was one thing, but her relation to Aro was another. It was only known by select guards. Demetri, Felix, Chelsea, Jane, Alec, Caius and Marcus were all aware. Although, it didn't stop the title from being taboo in public settings.

Instead, she nodded mutely and leant against her fist with concealed intrigue. As soon as she was settled, Caius adjusted himself to sit upright. "Bring him in," He crooned, bloodthirsty.

Margeaux's droopy blue eyes curiously watched as the opposite doors opened to present the suicidal vampire. At the sight of a tall man with auburn hair, blackened eyes and a chiseled jawline, her expression grew dark.

He wasn't like the last time she'd saw him. No. Edward Masen, Cullen was emotionally beaten. His dark purple under eye circles were more prominent. The withdrawal in his black eyes was melancholic. The posture in which he held himself was exhausting and the true grit in his set jaw was pitiful.

Margeaux was reveling in it like a machoistic lion to a naïve, little lamb.

"Edward! Son of Carlisle." Aro cheered with glee. He stood to his full height and descended the stairs to the level ground like he were floating on clouds. His long raven black hair jostled slightly, a tell to his vampiric speed. By the time Aro reached Edward, his hands were already pleading for his grasp. "I've heard much about you and your gift... What is this I hear of wishing to die?"

"I ask that you bestow me the honor of... killing me," Edward pleaded in a hoarse plight.

Marge silently sneered at his words. He was buttering up Aro with his gallant words. The Mindreader might as well be kissing his feet.

"Oh, no. That won't do." Aro took Edward's hand in his own, and like always, he paused for a moment or two. Sucked in the memories of Edward like he were watching a cinematic film. When he returned, his face was grave. "I strongly advise you reconsider. Your efforts could otherwise be of use to the Volturi."

He wouldn't do it, the Cognitive Manipulator knew. She had known Edward for a while in during the nineteen thirties and if there was one thing he proved to her, is that he was a coward. He hardly stayed with anyone for long. Loyalty was not his strong suit and the Volturi pledged their undead lives to a cult following.

Edward would see commitment and dash the other direction. He did it with Carlisle, which led him to her. He did it with her, which led him to this moment now. No doubt, his disloyalty had reared it's ugly head once more before today. Otherwise, he wouldn't be grappling for her father's firm hand.

Like she predicted, Edward parted his dry lips in pain stricken disappointment. "I cannot."

This was when she finally stood to her feet, ready to be called to execute him. Edward glanced over Aro's shoulder and it was as if he just recognized she was in the room. Her mind was shielded from him, so her presence was invisible. However, seeing Margeaux's again made his eyes enlarge in shock. He was confused, that much she could tell, but all that interested her was revenge.

As Marge moved to enact his final wish, her father raised a silent hand to stop her short. The Hybrid's eyes flared with anger, her expression pulled taunt as she eyed her father like he'd lost his mind. She didn't challenge his authority; however, she was very well tempted to.

"I am sorry, friend, but we cannot give you what you seek, this day." His words rung out, clear and final.

Marge simply narrowed her eyes and sat back down. Her hands were itching to claw into his porcelain mask of devastation.

Margeaux was full of many unrequited emotions from her past. Most of which, were caused by herself just as much as others. However, her pain usually had no outlet, no direct source. Different wicks intertwined with a single, burning flame. Now, she was reminded of another betrayal and he was so willingly asking for death, yet she couldn't give it.

"Allez de bonne foi que votre vie a été épargnée," She breathed in monotone, sounding a lot like Marcus. (go in good faith that your life was spared).

Edward and Margeaux met eye to eye. Blackened dark with cerulean blue.

She knew they would meet again, and soon. The promise was in his eyes alone.

"Felix," Caius sneered a unspoken command, lifting a hand to shoo him away.

With it, the man she knew and treasured as one of her friends was escorted out by force. The stench of his hopelessness and heartbreak leaving with him.

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Written Unedited 27 November. 2021

How do you think Edward betrayed her? Is she capable of forgiveness? Let me know what you thought of this chapter. Comment, vote! Xx