Till Death (Volturi / Twilight Fanfiction)

39: Musings of a Slug

The winding halls are the castle were easier to navigate after a time. Taylor had been in and out so much, they seemed like a second, cold, and less desirable home. It was cold, and Taylor still saw double. Deep within the recesses of her mind she heard a voice, less pitying and yet not at all less mocking. And the doubles of her vision shifted to that of streets, old streets. Outside the castle walls.

Unjust is the hall in which innocents fall under the guise of satiating sin.

Cruel is the world in which innocents burn to appease the monster's within.

Years ago, when poor men's time was kept by the sun and harvest, he was a fisherman's son. All he was, was a boy who very much loved a girl. This girl, or woman rather, said pretty words out of pretty lips and cast a spell upon the boy. He skipped meals, neglected his duties. Every evening he would go to her with heart in hand and propose matrimony. And night after night he would be denied in favor of more carnal pleasure.

This did not upset the boy at first. For he was very young and did not understand how love should be. But as he aged, and she did not, he found himself doubting. Not only her humanity but her love for him. In the boy-turned-man's blindness, he found himself not caring if she lacked mortality. Because of this, he confronted her upon it in such a way as to soothe the woman. He would still love her despite the condition of her existence. It did not matter to him. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon and had his heart if she so wished it.

And she did.

In a more literal sense.

The boy-turned-man collapsed with a newly hollowed chest in a back alley. Forgotten by all save for his younger brother who had witnessed his decent into madness and death following. The younger brother, Tomás, witnessed evil for the first time in that dank alleyway. Watched it feast upon his brother's blood. A beautiful woman with hair the color of rich soil and blood about her irises. From then on he saw evil everywhere.

The boy grew shaking. Constantly looking over his shoulder, fearing for his life. As he slept he was haunted by visions of his brother's expression, so filled with love, eyes so empty. His spirit ripped from him from a feme Fatale. He saw the forgiveness in his brother's eyes, which hurt him the most. How even if his brother had lived to love the woman he would not have blamed her for her actions. He was too far gone. He was a fool, but the only fool Tomás had. Their father was distant and then he was dead and Tomás was alone in a world particularly cruel to the lonely and abandoned. He was alone, and after the death of his father, his visions were plagued by red irises and hair of freshly turned soil.

He took an oath of abstinence, from any and all sinful acts. From partaking in mixed fabrics to falling in lust. His drink was wine when supping and water when he thirsted otherwise. As he grew and searched he found there were many women with hair the color of turned earth. At first he thought they hid their true eyes with magic, so he would dispose of the evil just in case. Later in life under the protection of the inquisition, it was simple enough to trial the women for witchcraft. That was hardly ever needed though. No one would miss a peasant woman struck down in the night. Tomás stalked the darkness as once his brother's murderer did, but now in search of her whom was unused to being hunted with such murderous intent. Many an innocent woman died for this monster's misdeeds. It was sickening what this she-beast made him do as she hid from rightful judgement. It was horrifying how she still haunted his dreams with her blood coated hands holding his brother's heart. With no remorse in her red eyes.

It was many years before Tomás understood his mistake. After searching through the house of a man who claimed to slay monsters Tomás found a peculiar journal. It was hidden in a sheep's skin beneath the bed of this poor insane man. That man pleaded for the inquisition to leave him to his work. Begged for his life with little sanity behind panicked bulging eyes. He still needed to be treated of course but the reasoning was due to his blasphemous faith rather than his claim to hunting monsters. For as Tomás read his journal, as that man was dragged away through the mud, he recognized many similarities to the woman who had consumed his brother. Not a witch as he had assumed.