la belle dame sans merci | carlisle cullen

55

TW: Gore? Minerva being that bitch™️

Minerva wouldn't be able to pinpoint the middle of her life until it had come to a close. For that reason, she found it was probably healthy to pepper in a midlife crisis every decade or so. The problem with that was she couldn't tell if this was the beginning or the end of one.

She'd spent the vast majority of her life being a monster, a terror to the average Joe's reality. For a brief twenty year intermission, she'd centred herself and attempted retirement. Old habits, as it seemed, died hard. It was impossible to tell if her years as a pacifistic hermit could be reduced to a midlife crisis and it was ending in her return to her old ways or if this new-old Minerva was just a break. A cosmic slip up in her solemn oath that went against everything she was made for.

To keep herself sane, Minerva was choosing to believe the former. It wasn't like she was who she used to be. The circumstances were all wrong. Even the greatest of efforts wouldn't land her back in what she still called the dark ages. The anger wasn't quite right, she was too settled, too cerebral now.

Back then, she'd just been a kid. A hundred-some-odd year old kid but a kid nonetheless. She didn't have the same hedonist streak in her, anymore. It lingered, nudging her on but far from its former capacity.

Months ago, leaning back into this way of life had seemed like such a moral affront. Minerva hadn't considered how easy it would be once she got started. It was like riding a bike, she just had to start peddling and it all came back to her.

At least once a week, she found herself in one of the bigger cities around Washington, sometimes taking the longer trip to spread out her reign of terror. Tonight, she hadn't gone far. A quick trip into Port Angeles, so she'd be home in time to open the shop without having to speed the whole way home.

The drive there repeatedly made itself more complicated than it needed to be. It was on those journey's that her sentimental side that put some value on human life reminded her that it was still there, crossing its arms in disapproval just below the surface. In attempts at compromise, she sought out those she thought the world wouldn't miss: Brawlers in the back alleys, creeps on the corner, assholes on their way out already.

There was still a voice in the back of her head, relentless in it's reminder that there would be someone to miss the life she'd stomped out, no matter how expendable she had deemed it. It was as impossible to ignore as it was completely and utterly frustrating to realize that she'd lost her edge.

In her golden age, she didn't think twice about who was falling on her blade. The faces all looked the same, their mourners hadn't been a thought in her mind. It was all for the thrill, for the high that followed.

The high was still pretty good though. The high was what kept her driving, the promise that it would chase away all the doubt and remorse. The solstice was just around the corner and she could do with an extra couple lifelines under her belt when she faced her God. There was no going back now. She'd have to make up for lost time.

The sight of the city lights always made a buzzing start in her stomach. One way or Another by Blondie set the vibe as she drove through the city. Singing along was a little morbid but she couldn't help herself, doing her best Debbie Harry impression as she wound through the streets.

For a long time, she sat in the car, mourning the days of indiscriminate killing. Minerva thought about it too much now. Her god complex wasn't what it used to be. A century ago, she carried herself like she had just stepped off a pantheon. Now, she was emancipated from the religion of self worship.

She stepped from the confines of the Monte Carlo, sparking a cigarette as she stepped off to the side of the building. Her back pressed against the wall, lurking in the alleyway. Her eyes scanned along the sides, no cameras. Her cigarette was nearly gone when she heard the side door to the establishment swing open with a bang, her head swivelling as a man came flying ass over tea kettle down the few steps until he landed hard on the concrete.