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I know that our lovely fans are here to read the wise and old take of my coven master; of his wonderful (and powerful!) friends, but I have taken this time to inscribe here, on this document, my story, which is far less heroic than I'll make it out to be at the famous Volturi balls of which my old friends decide to drag me to every other decade. Nonetheless, the truth must be told straight from the horse's mouth. Before we start, I will warn you of my style of penmanship. I'm old, as much as I hate to admit it, and sometimes write as if I am mocking Shakespeare or whatever this generation of teenagers think of as old fool's writing.

To set the scene, I should remind you of my name. Vitalis de Athens. My age is already known to Aro's mouth that would put Regina George to shame when it comes to gossip. I told him once, and alas, the whole vampire world knows that I am around thirty two hundred years old. Though I am not ashamed of my age, mind you, I am simply upset when I am treated as an elderly man even when I retain the mind of a seventeen year old near-man. Ah, we've gone off track already! My name, Vitalis, means life. Father picked it out after I killed my mother in birth. Gruesome, and ironic. Just perfect for a man such as myself.

The nature of my upbringing is unknown to all but the telepath with little control over his insidious gift. Now, mind you, the world of the ancient Grecians is unlike that of today. Family is everything, and biology meant more than golden coins and the fearsome gods they worshipped. On the note of kin, it was custom to slap your children across the head whenever they did something unseemly. I became used to it by my fifth year. My brothers and sisters did as well. I had nine of those. And I was the oldest of ten children. Out of those siblings I am the only one to survive, the rest dying of old age, childbirth, or pestilence in the comfort of their homes around twenty or thirty years after my turning. I remember little of them, only that they bugged me endlessly in our youth.

On the decisions made by my parents on our whereabouts I cannot tell you anything other than we lived in the heart of Athens, in a rich subset. I believe my father was a powerful politician. That could've been misconstrued by his own narcissism, however, and should be taken with a grain of salt. Our fine dining table is still sharp in my mind after all these years. Every night father would make us sit down, heads held high, and eat whatever was served. Common meals for us were grapes and cheese, and wine. Because nobody knew that perhaps the children being ridiculous after mealtime was because they were drunk on the finest red wines that could be made on Grecian soil.

Forever has my passion for the law been present. Once upon a time I was to become a speechwriter who could make sway in legal damnings of clients. It would make good coin in that era, with the thieves and aristocrats begging for blood. Collective justice was common as well, but I would play no part in the burning of townhouses or hangings of officials in my human years. No, I quite liked the comfort of knowing I wouldn't participate in such brutalized proceedings. All I needed to do was write, and I'd been taught since the age of four how to do that with expertise. My father was one of the only literate people around, and I suppose that means he was of use to me after all.

Oh but I get ahead of myself. You don't want to hear about the wonders of my days of drinking and taking to whores who filled the local brothels. No, those tales have no value in today's society, and you would fall asleep before I got to the good bits of those endeavors. You see, I've always taken part in the pleasures of the flesh. In all rites, obviously. Sex, love, and exploring yourself was a required aspect of any young, attractive Grecian male. If I were to find a good mate for a wife, I had to be well-versed in all things carnal. And you see, by the age of seventeen I was a master of this arousingly beautiful craft. It was how my maker found me in the first place.

You'll find me droning on about my various affairs. Some will be important, so make sure to pay attention to the fine details of my life in Athens. Beyond the realm of my father's hard, pale hand, came splendid simplicity in which I relish like no other Grecian of my era. I was different simply because I understood just how simple life really is. Yes, taxes and love affairs may be complicated to some. But that is only because humanity makes it hard. Classy, well-defined court works, harems, and politics matter not in the wasteland that is the universe. Because in the end aren't we all going to die? When the sun gives out, won't vampires still perish? What is more simple than that? My affairs mean everything and nothing at the same time. I only tell them to contextualize my beginnings for you.

But I get ahead of myself. On the day I would like to start with I woke up with a splitting headache sponsored by late-night drinking with one of my little brothers that ended in me striking him across the face and telling him that if he were to ever call me an Athenian whore again I'd sell him to the male brothels scattered throughout the city. Yes, such yelling. I'd come to relish in the sound of my own voice as I displayed my dominance to him. He got on my nerves with just a glance. I suspected somehow, in another life perhaps, we were the worst of enemies rather than blood kin. Our father hated that I hated all of them. I waited that morning for his slap as well. My younger siblings are all snitches as far as I know.

The great tapestries on the wall shone with splendor as I detangle my long, curly blonde hair that I inherited from my late mother. After that adventure that pained my scalp (which may have been bleeding for all I know, they didn't have that great of brushes in my day. Not for my curl type, at least) I found myself wandering. Meandering. Frolicking. Could I have been prancing? Maybe. It doesn't matter. All that was meaningful was that I was alive, and that my life was not cut short by one of the bandits in the night so common in the surrounding areas.

My brow arched at the sight of one of my oldest friends, whom I wish I could remember the name of. He was one of the many boys who took lessons in the city, being taught the ways of Apollo and Zeus. He would pray before and after every meal. And while my family believed heavily in the old gods of Greece, I held no religion of my own. I was and still remain godless, although I would believe (not worship) if there were to be a single sign shown to be in my immortal life. And the same could be said to me back then.

Oh, but my friend hated this. It was a cause for arguments. But Vitalis, you cannot forsake our great city's religion for godlessness. What good will it do you? What will the gods think? To be fair I didn't care what they thought. Let Zeus strike me down in my seat, set fire to the ancient cities of Greece. Let him destroy Grecian strongholds of love. Let him breed with the fine women of the brothels. I had a life. Why get myself involved in his affairs, if he had them in the first place?

So now we met up for the first time that week. He had been on a mission that lasted almost a week. This nameless friend came to me before going back home to his family. Best be chastised by your best friend than smothered by your plump mother. Yes, it's much too hot for that now. Almost mid-summer, the temperatures were astounding this year. He commented on it when we went for lunch.

"Oh Vitalis, I have seen such wonders!" He boasted, chest puffing up in glee. "If only I could show you, let you see my memories of such plentiful offerings to the gods. How they delight even the weariest of travelers. I know you don't believe, but this stuff is pure art."

That made me stop for a second. Was he acting oddly to me now? Back then I brushed it off as enthusiasm, as religious arrogance. He was arrogant, as much as he wished to deny such a fact. I am too, but I do not claim to be anything other than what I am. Yes, yes, this arrogance befuddled me.

"What part of going-to-be-destroyed temples in the outer islands is so tantalizing to you?" A way to egg him on, I know. I only wished for information, for his perspective. In all honesty I was jealous of his divine devotion to his gods. How I wished for such a thing. To be so completely devoted I lost all sense of myself. It sounded like bliss. "You know I do not believe. You don't deny it."

He gave me the usual smile, his bright blue eyes glimmering in the summer sun. "But that isn't the point, is it, Vitalis?" Damn he caught me, I thought as he let out that perfect laugh. God, if I were to ever get married I wanted to marry a woman with a laugh like his. "You wouldn't think there's much of a point, but you still care about the practical beauties of the world. The lovely flowers that naturally bloom on the islands, whatever creatures you may be able to see or domesticate. They have many cats that roam all throughout. I love it all, and you would as well, my cynical friend. It is light, and gorgeous to the core of the dirt that lays around the streets as mules pull the people around. Galloping mares are shipped to the rich men with children and wives to please. You can buy so much. Swords, bows, knives... everything. Oh, and the temples, love, the temples. They are the eye of this pleasure. The great god Apollo sculpted to perfection, his golden hair painted pleasingly. The pots made by skilled artisans are layered as if they were clothing. I love it all. I love it all," he repeated.

I stared for a second, not ready for the onslaught. "That all sounds haunting," I said his name and chuckled. "What more could a man ask for?"

"Of course you would find it haunting. But that pleases you nevertheless, doesn't it? Always choosing cynicism and narcissisms over the pleasure that the world has to offer." Before I could argue, he raised his finger to stop me from speaking. "And don't bring up your escapades in the flesh. Carnal pleasures mean nothing for a man, no matter what our fathers would like us to think. A life with a woman doesn't either. We just have ourselves and the great Gaia around us, and that must be about the holiest thing I can think of."

Talks of holiness and the meaning of our existence exhausted me. We were to die as old men in our homes with bloated bellies and perhaps our wives at our sides if they hadn't died birthing us heirs. Heirs. Right. I detested the thought of children during this period of my life. What good could they bring me? Screaming, demanding babies who wanted all of your attention. They needed it, I know, but that doesn't change the fact that I am not equipped to take care of one. Milk mothers should be able to feed them, give my wife a chance to recover. Or give me a chance to look for a new wife if mine died. I wasn't to marry for love, and my friend knew that. We all knew that. We would marry for status, fame if you would. How high could you marry? How pretty is your wife? So superficial. Shallow. Hollow. And I utterly detested it yet never protested.

"You've never shown any interest in women, friend, have you?" I asked. I knew the answer, but I needed a way to get the spotlight off of that sticky topic that would haunt my nights. I didn't need to think about marriage. But at the age of seventeen I would be wed soon. At eighteen, likely. "Your heart must belong to someone by now. Or have you decided on celibacy and a good old screw you to everyone?"

That struck a nerve. But why, I can't even to this day figure out. "A damn hypocrite you are, Vitalis. You know as well as I that I am no virginal being." There was a pregnant pause before he continued, with his eyes glassy. I feel bad now. "Who I sleep with, who has my heart... I don't think you would care nor approve of it. None of it matters anyway. My father would never approve of my partner. It is not meant to be."

Well, what were they? A peasant woman? The daughter of a thief? One of some curse that make the people around our city superstitious? What could possibly be keeping my friend from his happiness that despite how hopelessly, stupidly in love with false gods he is deserves more than anyone else? I was too much of a coward to push it further. He would have his secrets and I... Well.... I didn't need to find that out right now. Surely I would have time.

Time is a fickle thing that I have an endless supply of.

But I didn't know that.

---

I had no chance of getting a hold of my friend after that day. He was to be apprenticed after that for the next year, and on that little island off the coast of our Grecian lands. I loved and hated it. I adored my friend, and saw him as the good, honest brother I never got to have. But I still had to let him go just as I've had to let go of every lover or friend I've ever made. It hurt. Fuck, it stung worse than a bee sting to the eye. My heart, as shallow as it was in those days, longed for his sense of community beyond our little debates and debacles. I loved him in a way I couldn't describe. Whenever I saw him my ever-beating heart wanted to hold him, to tell him that despite all the callous things I said about religion and life I loved him.

One can only realize these things when they're over. I took out my frustrations over my endless love for him in the only way I'd learned how to. The brothels of Athens worked well to feed into my insatiable desire for sex. I hated that part of my youth. I would go every night. God knows what I could have picked up there. I don't pretend that I was a good man during these times, but I was just about as pure as every other man in Greece. In Athens. And that means little in today's standards, I know, and if you wish to judge us all for it go ahead. I was depressed, and lonely, and quite wanting to die. But I didn't know that. I wasn't very perceptive. That only comes with age, and I didn't have much of that to work in my favor.

We called them whores, so that is what I will call them here. Prostitute sounds... weird. Like the English word for dick. Odd. Sounds terrible on the tongue. I would prefer to not use it ever again if not in a medical setting.

A good whore that was so skilled in her craft that she had multiple male clients as regulars worked me well that night. Her porcelain skin with ivory tints, the way her blonde hair was combed back into a sweet, carefree look. It all enticed me beyond belief. A good distraction for my lost friend and the lost friends of years past, all gone on or cutting me off in the harshest ways. I remember little of the nights we spent together, just how her words made me feel the slightest bit better. I knew she knew I was in pain, and that this was why I was seeing her nightly. We had a... thing going on between us, if you could call it that. In all senses of today's world one would call her a rebound. Yes, that word. Rebound for the friend I lost. I loved him the same way I loved her, and that caused a great confusion within me.

"You've come here yet again, dear." Oh, I loved when she called me that. She shimmied over to where I stood at her door. "You look like you need to let off a little steam." Gentle, always gentle in her words. She had to be, in order to please her clients. But it felt a tiny bit authentic when she spoke to me. "Come here, let me make you feel good, handsome man."

And she did. Make me feel good, that is. She was a damn good whore. How she made it into the trade, I do not know. But her beauty was beyond my understanding of it. If I didn't wish to offend anyone around me, I would compare her to Aphrodite. Yes, she was that beautiful. With her silky blonde hair and charming brown eyes. I wanted to hold her, to cherish her, to tell her that I didn't care what she was. But this was all in the heat of the moment. At the end of the night I would have to go home, to sneak through my window. My father would have my head if he knew about me sleeping with a whore. One on that side of town, at least. He would want to hire a rich whore, one with gaudy outfits meant to please spoiled kings. I didn't want that. I wanted her.

And only her, I would have for the next three months.

---

If there's one thing I hate more than anything, it's my younger brother. I've made this known to you, my readers. I think I loathe him the most for this next act he played upon me. He was fifteen, and scrawny. He had older men looking to fuck him on the streets, so he made sure to stay with our father, as much as my younger brother's presence pestered him. Even my brooding, old man of a father couldn't stand him. There's something about that little man-boy that makes you want to rip out his heart and stamp it on the ground. Or his eyes, his brain, maybe his liver. Anyways, nobody liked him. A snitch, a thief. I knew he was stealing gold from our father.

About three hours before I was supposed to meet with the whore, who never told me her name (and so I can't tell you that), he began to follow me around town as a little non-consensual game. He loved these things, obviously, and now that I look back at it I think my younger brother was a psychopath. Believe me when I say I don't take that claim lightly. I think he was born like this, and so he couldn't help it, but that doesn't take away from the fact that his actions have almost destroyed our family at times. He had no empathy for that, however, and so I cannot be pleased with him. I had none back for him, he who showed no love.

The night sky was not up yet and the sun was about to set. Glorious gradients of yellow, pink, and blue shone through up above my side of the world, and we reveled in it. I sighed as I took out one of the many notebooks I acquired from my father in my youth, when the only time he could get me to write was if he bought me one as a gift. I loved it. I loved to write. I was going to write to my whore, to ask her what her name was. She must have known I was an honest man who wouldn't leak her information. I was young, and naïve, and she has to have been a decade older than I. The gap didn't matter to me, or to anyone around us. I was taller, and that was the real magic in this case.

I gripped the edges of my garments as I started to write the letter. Little did I know, my brother was behind me, just out of sight, watching me. This wouldn't have been too bad for any other person but my brother. He had the best sight I've ever known someone to have. It rivals that of a vampire's eyes, and that is saying something. He honed this gift, prided himself on it, and so he watched with sinful delight as he read the words I was writing. I don't know his side of the story, and that doesn't actually matter in the grand scheme of things. He was vile to me then and his memory has forever been stained by his actions of that night.

It took me forever to write that letter, since I wanted my penmanship to be perfect. About an hour before I was to meet the woman, he just so happened to bump into me. I scolded him for running into me, told him off about anything I could just to hurt his pride and make him leave so I could get dinner at a local restaurant before journeying to see the whore. By now he was onto me. He knew what I was doing. And he asked me horrid questions. How do whores feel? Would you like to have a whore in your house? Do you think I should get a whore? Terrible things like that. I wanted to throw him off a roof. That would quell my anger good enough to enjoy myself that night.

"No, brother. No, no, and no. Go away and go screw with whoever you please. I don't want to hear about it." There was a small pleading in my voice, begging him to be quiet. I hated this. I hated him for bringing this up. And now? He was downright the worst brother I could've ever gotten in Athens. Even the thieves were better company than him. "If you don't leave me alone I'll tell our father about how you stole a gold coin. Now, shoo. I have places where fifteen year old children shouldn't be."

What a joke. "I think that you're only telling part of the truth, Vitalis," he said so cheerily. Like honey dipped in bugs. Ugly, fake. God, he sounded like a whore, with me being the client. What a terrible thought. Get that out of my head at once! "You know how our father hates it when you do that. You shouldn't lie to your little brother." He sniggered. "So tell me where you're going. I don't care if you tell him about the coin. He probably already knows. Maybe that's why he hit me with his stone cane yesterday. Do you want to be hit with it next?"

Yes, there it is. The manipulation, the oblivious threats. If I were one of our other brothers I may have fallen victim to it. But I was the oldest, and our father loathed his psychopathic son just as much as he hated this side of town we were on. What was another cane to the back? I've dealt and received worse blows in my life. Maybe if I told him that father may let me whip him this time he would shut up. But then again, he might've not felt pain the same way as run of the mill Grecians do.

"I hate the way you do this, brother. Get off your high horse and let me go. This will do you no good and will only get you in trouble. Listen to me once, for I won't say it again, leave," I said it firmly, absolutely. My authority swelled in my chest as I finally let out a deep sigh of loathing. "I have no time for this. I have places to be. I will see you tomorrow morning at supper. You will behave and listen to me because I am your older brother and I have seniority with my father. I am his firstborn, the son of his favorite and dead wife. I am the heir. You should become nothing without me, and you shall not surpass me."

There was a deathly glare in his eyes. At that moment I knew I had passed a line between us I didn't even know had been drawn. He raged, grabbing the papyrus from my hand and ripping it up. I growled at him. A genuine, primal growl, before all of my rage billowed up into my throat, down into my stomach, and out through a fist to his pale face. He screamed in pain. I laughed. A demented, terrifying cackle as a few onlookers gasped, but let themselves fall back into the swings of the crowd. They knew us. Brothers at each other's throats over something. It didn't matter. There was nothing preventing me from beating my younger brother into a bloody pulp. I didn't care if his gorgeous face was turned from stone sculpted by the gods into rubble. He didn't deserve it anyways. He deserved to be ugly. His insides should reflect the outside.

"You're a fucking asshole, you know that? I should fucking kill you. I would kill you if your mother wouldn't mourn for your death," I spat in his face as a single tear streamed down his bruised cheek. I slapped him. Hard. "You'll never fucking amount to anything because you can't fucking respect people's privacy. Get the fuck back home, and never follow me again."

Now it was his turn to laugh. His lip was starting to swell. There would be scars from the places my unkempt nails scraped against his cheek. Yet my younger brother got up from where he had fallen down. He scraped the dirt off of himself. And he said:

"You'll die for this. And she will too."

---

Confined to my room after that incident (to be fair, he was as well. My father couldn't risk upsetting his current wife, who bore all of his other children. As much as he favored me, he just couldn't deal with her whining about fairness and her baby boy being bruised and scarred), I spent the majority of my time with my head stuck in books. It was quite a few months away from my birthday, so these were rereads of the usual. I can't remember their names or what they were about. Just common reads from the time. Mostly non-fiction, as my father hated anything fantastical or even books about the gods. He found those to be in bad taste. Haughty, if you will.

During this time I just existed. Still reeling over the fact my best friend, one who I loved so fiercely and deeply, was gone and grieving the letter that was never to be gifted, I made little use of myself. One could call this my first depression, where I clung onto any aspect of sanity I had left. I still had to see my brother, and he would sneer at me and cry wolf often. Thank whatever spirits are out there that our father wasn't stupid. His mother, however, is as daft of woman as you could find. She's purely for status, for sure. My father could never love a woman who hated reading, writing, politics, and war as much as she did. That was all my father ever grew to love more than his children, after all.

"Vitalis," I heard from outside my room. I responded back, to let him know it was safe to come in. "We have things to discuss. I have received a letter addressed to you, my eldest son, that I would like to show you."

He had an almost joyous look on his face. It shocked me. My father was a somber man unless riled up by the chance of war or fighting. He once travelled to Rome just to see the men in suits of finer armor than they make here. He was in every regard, fierce, and I think I took after him in that regard. I still hated all of them, including him on some level. He would tether me to Athens and make it unable for me to travel anywhere or with anyone not related to some business. As a speechwriter for the many criminals I would have to stay here. Forever. And I hated that. Hated him for that. It was only his duty, but my feelings could not be abolished with this fact.

"A woman's father has made an offer for his daughter's hand in marriage. She's older than you, and so I was worried, but she has remained unmarried due to some health complications that have now cleared up. Her line is full of twin boys and girls, all healthy. And I would like for you to meet this woman. You may read the letter, I just wished to give the rundown of it." Ah yes, how he spoiled every letter I got. I didn't need to read it, but did out of formality and respect for my father.

"She is a woman of twenty-five?" My father nodded. I had no problem with this. Less likely that she would die in childbirth if her body grew to full size. Nobody in Athens wanted to recognize that the women on their fifth child or who married late didn't die as often, and when they did it was because they were poor and unable to support their pregnancy.

I was happy that this woman was able to overcome her complications. Gods know how many don't and die out on the streets in this century. Nevertheless, I had to smile through the horrid remembrance of the whore I'd been seeing. No, Vitalis, you shouldn't think of her. Your father would never let you marry someone who has whored or slept with another man. Stupid. It didn't matter to me if she'd slept with the entire Greek countryside. I wanted her. I sighed and placed the letter down on the desk, looking up as my father stared at me, waiting for some kind of response.

"This is a woman you would approve of me marrying?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes, my boy, I want you to marry this woman, to have her be your wife until either one of you dies. She is of good blood and standing and will bring you many children if her family lineage is anything to speak for. The wedding should happen soon. If she reaches another year, people may look down on her union with you. In the next six months you should be married with your first child on the way," My father answered in the same tone he always had. So high and mighty, the voice of a Grecian official. The armies must have done that to him in his youth, or the harsh reality of his grandfather's abuse.

Alas, I knew at the time that there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop what was going to happen. I would be married. My father didn't actually care about my opinion on the matter. He never did. The money to marry the girl was likely already being acquired from our many sources. In the end, it was the two who would be wed that are the last to know about their own union. It's not like the next generation gets a say in what is to come. Elders above all, that's what we were raised to believe. I hated it. I hated this.

But nothing lasts forever. Not my happiness with my whore, nor the sorrow from losing her. Just like everything else that had been taken from me, I was ready for sadness to leave me once I got settled down with this new woman. I'm numb to this and all else in my life. Just wait a little while longer and it won't hurt so bad. You just need a distraction. Just like the whore was a distraction, you can find something else to ease your heart, I told myself.

I thought of it with such unbelievable logic. Replace one distraction with another. Now that I look back at it, it should have been obvious that I was severely depressed and unmotivated to live my life, just like many of the ancients during that era. While Greece was booming in areas, personal life for the Greeks was often their undoing. Death, lack of mental health services, and filth are things people overlook about this period of time that I grew up in. It was tormenting to go from one person to the next, only to have them ripped away from me. And it became so common that I just... became passive about it. I flowed like a roaring river off a waterfall. I saw the edge of the cliff and jumped off. I thought of it as a logical destiny for myself.

"Will you let me meet my bride before the wedding?" I asked coldly, no more fake emotion playing games with my face.

"If that is what you wish, I will allow it." Yes, because everything I did had to go through my father, and it was he who controlled whatever way my life went. "Her father is very pleased about this proposal, and it will strengthen both of our families tremendously. You are doing right by your family. I will write out the letter today and arrange the date to which you may meet, supervised by your bride's stepmother."

I felt like a sailor; landlocked.

---

I won't recount the meeting of my bride, because that doesn't matter much in the long run. I met with her, and she was a gorgeous woman. I found her within my standards for women of this era, and her personality was gentle and kind. She had her own air of sweetness that could give you cavities if you weren't careful. I won't lie, she would have made me happy if what happened on our wedding day hadn't happened.

That night, because it did happen at night (for whatever reason her best friend couldn't be out during the day, some allergy to the sun, she claimed; cursed by a witch,) I made the preparations for our union. I was devoted to the idea of marrying her. This woman, my bride, bore the name Althaea. I was to be wed to Althaea, have us consummate our marriage while everyone slept right after our union, and show up the next day to celebrate without her best friend that would not be able to be in the sunlight.

White roses and lilies were decorated throughout the venue, which was stationed on a beach near Athens. I wore my best garments for the occasion. The best silks were worn by every member of my family who would be attending. Those who were attending included my brothers and sisters, some of whom had to be held down by their mother so as to keep the peace in the area. My stepmother still couldn't get over the fact that I dared put a finger on her perfect son. Father was completely proud of me, though, and I was sure from then on out, as long as Althaea and I produced children, I would be the golden child for the rest of my life. I was happy with that. Being cared about by your father means a lot to a Grecian.

As the metaphorical clock struck midnight I felt tension coil in my gut. When was this thing going to start? My bride was supposed to be here soon. I shook my head. I had to be patient. Althaea will be here soon. Lord knows how many damn things her mother had to put on her for the wedding day. My father might have given her jewels to adorn her, of which she can't refuse.

Gripping on the edges of my shirt, I watch as Althaea finally comes into view. A pale veil covers her pale flesh, with her hair done up with ornate gold and diamonds. I've never seen a woman so beautiful. I couldn't tear my eyes away from her form as she walked to her place.

But the moment where the official read out our names never came. After a while of waiting my father grumbled, standing up to go and check on the man supposed to officiate the wedding. The guests didn't seem to mind, chatting amongst themselves. Half of them had to have been at least tipsy. Typical, especially considering that most of us didn't drink water on a regular basis.

"Doesn't that old man know what his job is?" I hear my younger brother seethe as he barely contained himself in his seat. If it weren't for him having to carry our younger sister, he would have left the venue already. "Last time I checked, we should have this thing done and gone by sunrise. I'm tired. The kids are tired. Think of the children. They can barely keep themselves still."

Oh, how he loved to use his siblings to explain away his own whims and annoyances. He couldn't care less what our little one's needs were, he just wanted to go back to his room and figure out what he could do to ruin my life further. Who knows, he could have killed the officiant. I would have posed the question to our father if I hadn't been keeping my eye on the fucker all night.

The being behind the... stalling of my wedding is far more interesting than a psychopathic younger brother, though, and I should explain to you just how it went down. The devil's in the details

First it started as a low hum, as if something were watching me. The feeling crept up my spine until I was sure that I wasn't alone. Of course at a wedding you can't expect to be alone, but I mean, I felt intruded upon in some psychic way. Someone was reading into every motion of my body and interpreting it in whatever way they pleased. It made me cringe, and I almost ran from the serene fear that was running slowly, like venom, through my veins. My knuckles turned pure white as I surveyed the venue. Every person in their place. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for the blonde-haired woman in the back.

Unlike Althaea, she was flawless. And by flawless, I mean I couldn't see a single blemish on her entire body. She radiated some kind of passive sexual energy, and I hated it. It was as if I was turned off to the idea of her sexuality. I wanted to shield my eyes from it, even. When she cocked her head up I saw her in a way I'd never seen someone before. Her skin held a ghostly look, and behind her-

My friend. How was he here? Lord, he wasn't supposed to be here. Had my father invited him? How had he been able to find time to come to the wedding? My head spun as I felt my body engulfed in some kind of calm that made me cringe harder. Unnatural, unrelenting. He didn't look at me, not even once. His eyes were black as obsidian as he stared into the eyes of my older brother. Had that fucker done something to him? He said he would hurt the whore, not my best friend of whom I loved with my whole heart still.

"Vitalis, they found the-" My father began, but it was too late. It happened so quickly. I could barely breathe. They just moved so fast.

Spurts of blood ran over my clothes, staining the fine white silk a crimson color. I heard my father scream as he fell down, a ghostly woman, the woman from the back, ripping into the crook of his neck. My body froze to the stone floor, my eyes fixated on my father - my father who was dead and gone on the fucking ground.

If I were a person worthy of existence I may have cried, but I didn't. I stood there. Screams enveloped the background. I knew everyone was dead by the time the screams stopped. But I couldn't hear Althaea's screams. I think that's the only thing that saved my life. I couldn't have lived with myself if I heard her.

"Vitalis," the female monster said as she ran her hand down my cheek. "Do you remember me? My darling, we can finally be together. I have a way that we can be together."

I'd be a liar if I said I didn't. Who could forget that face? The one I'd once wanted to call mine. Before the wedding, before my stupid brother. My whore. My whore from the brothels in the downtrodden side of Athens. Gods, how I wanted to touch her face again, but I was scared that I would turn to stone or burn if I did. She was pure white, like a moon nymph. But her eyes were the color of my father's blood, almost to the exact shade. And I was terrified of her. She'd just killed my entire family, slaughtered countless others.

She'd turned into a monster.

I wanted to forget her. I wanted all of it to be a nightmare. But I wasn't a fool. I knew the smell of cooling blood.

"What are you going to do to me?" My voice was barely audible as she forced me to look her in the eye. "What are you going to do with her? If you kill her, I'll never forgive you. I'll never forgive you if you lay a hand on her."

She let out a deep, dark chuckle as she patted my cheek. "I knew that, my darling. You open your heart to so many. It was only obvious that you'd fall head over heels for this woman." The whore shoved me to the ground, though I don't know if she meant to. "She's going to become one of us, just to placate you. I know that it's the only way to get you to come with us."

Now might be an awkward time to admit that in the beginning I may not have been very truthful with you, dear readers. I do remember the name of my friend, but my memories of him seem to exclude his name before his turning into a monster such as I am now. I kept this from you not just for effect, but to save myself from the pain of remembering him by name, as he is a love I don't like to think about. Such innocence turned into a brutal killer. Worse than Kronos, worse than any primordial being of hate. I hate him, and I hate what I lost. So his name is a bitter memory, and from now on you will know it and I will wallow in shame over his fate.

"Athenodora, we don't have much time before the sun comes up," I heard Kastor say from down the venue. When I turned my head to face him, I saw him holding up Althaea as she let out quiet sobs. He looked down at her and kissed her forehead. "Shh... I promise that you'll be much stronger after this. There's no need to cry."

The next few minutes are blurry for me. I know that Althaea was turned first, I second. The pain cannot be described in words. Your worst injury cannot compare to the burn and tearing of your skin as it turns to marble under the venom of the vampire who bit you. You want to die, you plead with whatever god or gods you believe in. You scream and you cry. Then there's that sweet release of death that comes when it finally reaches your heart. And then you are dead, and so you black out like any mortal would when it's their time of dying.

But unlike a mortal, you wake up as a monster willing to inflict this pain upon others if it means you won't be alone for the rest of eternity.

---

So I'll end it off here. I know, I know, you want the details. But there's a hundred years in-between when I was made and when the Volturi Kings were born. Nothing much happened. We tolerated each other's presence. Althaea and I... we were secretive with our love. Athenodora still tried to woo me, and I had to give into her wishes every now and again for fear she and Kastor would throw my body parts into a burning fire.

Our whole relationship wouldn't have worked. Kastor was too possessive of me, and Althaea felt like she was put in the middle of the mess. Many times I had to talk her out of ending it all entirely. That first century was hell, and I don't want to speak about it any more than I have to.

Now it's my turn to hand over the computer to Alexandros so he can recount the story of his life. His tale is of Athens in its prime and those pesky Volturi Kings.

War, penance, and retribution. Just the usual in our undead world.

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Well, this is the start of the side series! I've changed some of the usual Volturi lore for this, so timelines may be wack. But in general it stays the same. This series currently is planned to have ten chapters, but that may change depending on how the book is received.

I know the end was a bit abrupt, but that's just how Vitalis rolls I guess.

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