Y/N is a witch on the run from Viktor and his Death Dealers... for conspicuous reasons. Along the way she makes a vital yet crucial decision that leads her to the Volturi. Aro Volturi had no intention falling in love with a mortal, let alone a witch...
Countless days had bled into each other, a relentless tide of grey washing over Aro. The vibrant world outside his window, a kaleidoscope of greens and blues, felt distant, muted. The vibrant laughter of children playing in the cable streets, the melodic chirping of birds, all seemed to mock his own silent, decaying world. He was slowly drowning in his own sickness, a relentless tide of coughs and fevers, his body a fragile vessel on the verge of shattering.
His mate, Y/N, was a beacon in this darkness. Her laughter, the way her hair shone in the sunlight, the gentle curve of her lips, all these things were a cruel reminder of what he was losing. He watched her from his window, a silent voyeur, his heart a lead weight in his chest. Every cough tore at him, a physical manifestation of the loneliness gnawing at his soul. The days stretched into weeks, the weeks into a month, each one a slow, agonizing descent.
He knew he couldn't continue like this, living in the shadows, watching her from afar. His pride, once an impenetrable wall, crumbled under the weight of his desperation. He needed her, not just as a mate, but as a lifeline. He needed her touch, her warmth, her voice.
One day, the coughing fit was particularly violent, leaving him gasping for air, his body racked with pain. He knew he couldn't hide anymore. He had to reach out, to break the silence that had become his prison.
As Y/N entered the Volturi walls from the gardens, her face lit up with concern. "Aro, are you alright?" she asked, her voice filled with worry. She was too scared to touch him, nor come in close to him. Yet, she still felt concern over him.
He was unable to speak, his chest heaving with each labored breath. He could only point to the window, a silent plea for help.
Y/N rushed to his side, her touch a balm on his cold skin. "Aro, you need to call Carlisle" she said, her voice firm yet gentle.
He shook his head weakly, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He couldn't bear to be examined, to be seen as weak, as broken. Carlisle already knew about his sickness, or course. But, Aro could not be seen as getting worse. Though, deep down he knew he was dying.
Y/N understood. She sat beside him, holding onto his hand, her warmth a comfort in his chilled world. Aro looked to her hand and was shocked by her gesture. Especially how he treated her. She spoke to him, not about his illness, but about the things he loved, the things that brought him joy. She spoke of the sunrises they used to watch together, the laughter they shared, the dreams they had built together. She even asked him about his piano forte. She could hear him playing while she was in her chamber.
As she spoke, a strange calm washed over him. The pain remained, but it was dulled, softened by her presence. He was still sick, his body still failing, but he was no longer alone. He had Y/N, and in her presence, he found a sliver of hope in the face of his own immortality.
However, Aro knew he couldn't continue this. He needed to leave her side. If anyone seen what was going on in the moment, they would be questioning him about her. Thus, placing her in danger. He looked to her hands and quickly let go. Embracing his own grip. "I must leave" Aro spoke, he moved his eyes away from hers. Changing his gaze to his own cold immortal hands. The hands that once held her fragile mortal palms.
her soft, warm, mortal hands
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"Aro" She spoke in a concern. But, he ignored the whispered call of his name. It pained him to hear his name falling of her soft lips. He only wanted to be with her. To answer to every call of her voice. But, he had to feel the pain of leaving. He had to leave her presence.
Aro was walking away from her. He found himself getting lost again in her touch. Even though he felt he still needed to rest from the sickness enveloping him. He had to leave before he lost total control. He continued his was within Volturi. His steps clumsy and painful with each step. His body slouched with each slowed step. His breaths ragged from carrying the weight of his own body. The darkened circles had grown darker each passing day. Each cough containing a crimson spatter and yet, he had to continue.
Aro then stopped.
Aro, his name a whisper against the cold stone of the corridor, stumbled to a halt. His body, once a beacon of strength and vitality, was now a crumbling edifice, its foundations weakened by an unseen enemy. A hacking cough wracked his frame again, a guttural sound that tore its way from his lungs, leaving a crimson stain on the sleeve of his silken robe.
The world around him swam, a kaleidoscope of blurry colors. His vision, once sharp and penetrating, was fading, replaced by a hazy fog that obscured the familiar surroundings. His hand, a trembling claw, clutched at his chest, where a searing pain, like molten fire, threatened to consume him.
The air, once a source of life, now tasted of copper and ash. Each breath felt like a struggle, a desperate fight against an unseen foe. His knees buckled beneath him, and he sank to the cold stone floor, his body a deflated sack of bone and muscle. His head throbbed, a dull ache that resonated through his skull.
He tried to call out, but only a strangled gasp escaped his lips. His vision flickered, fading to black, as the world around him dissolved into a swirling vortex of darkness. His last thought, a flicker of hope, was a silent plea. "...Y/N..."
The corridor, once bustling with life, now stood silent, a silent witness to the fall of a mighty warrior. Aro, the once formidable leader, lay crumpled on the floor, his lifeblood staining the stone, a tragic testament to the relentless march of time and the fragility of life.
