TAINTED BLOOD (Aro Volturi X Reader)

Sustanance

The damp stone floor pressed against Aro's back, a chilling reminder of the hours that had passed. His stomach growled, a primal, insistent demand for sustenance. He tried to move, to shift his weight, but his limbs felt leaden, unresponsive. The darkness that enveloped him was more than just the absence of light; it was a suffocating blanket, thick with the smell of mildew and something else, something acrid and metallic.

The hours had melted into an indistinguishable mass. Each leaking drop of water that fell onto the stoned floor seemed to stretch into an eternity. He was alone, completely cut off from the world he knew. His mind, starved for stimulation, began to weave its own reality.

First, it was the whispers. Faint at first, like the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. They grew louder, closer, forming words, sentences. They were voices he knew, loved ones, friends, family. They spoke of freedom, of escape, of a world beyond the cold stone walls.

They were no longer the shadows and the voices of prisoners that surrounded him.

Then, the shadows danced. They stretched and contorted, taking the forms of creatures he had never seen, mythical beasts with glowing eyes and razor-sharp claws. They spoke to him in tongues he couldn't understand, their voices a cacophony of growls and hisses.

His body felt strangely light. He drifted, suspended between the floor and the ceiling, his senses overwhelmed by the onslaught of hallucinations. He saw visions of his own demise, his flesh ripped apart, his bones scattered across the dungeon floor. He saw visions of his triumph, a glorious escape, a triumphant return to the world above.

His mind, desperate for solace, clung to the familiarity of the voices. He reached out, his hand grasping at the shadows, trying to touch the warmth of their presence.

"Aro" a voice called, clear and distinct. It was his mother, her voice filled with concern.

He focused on her, his thoughts desperately trying to cling to the reality of her voice. He saw her face, her eyes filled with love and worry.

"Aro" she spoke "You have to find strength within yourself."

Aro listened intently to her melodic voice. The same beautiful voice she used when singing to him through his childhood. Almost the same soft mortal voice of Y/N when she would sing.

In the ethereal realm where slumber and reality intertwined, Aro found himself suspended in a liminal state. His senses flickered like dying embers, his consciousness slipping into and out of the abyss.

Through the haze, a faint whisper pierced through the darkness, carrying his name like a distant echo. "Aro," it called, a gentle tug on the fabric of his being. A weight settled on his arm, pulling him towards an unknown destination.

As his senses sharpened, Aro became aware of a cold, damp surface beneath his body. The air was heavy with the scent of decay, and something long forgotten. Struggling to open his eyes, he found himself still lying on the ground. What felt like five minutes, in reality was seven hours.

A flickering torch within the dungeon cast eerie shadows on the walls. The sound of dripping water filled the air, creating a mournful symphony that echoed through the emptiness.

Aro's eyes were lidded as he tried to focus his sight. He then felt the pull again on his arm. The weight of someone's hand. Then he heard the voice next to him once again. "Aro" the voice a raspy whisper. Aro turned his head slightly to the side of him. He then saw who it was in the imprisonment next to him. It was Carlisle. He was on his knees reaching for Aro whom sat up against the bars. The only thing keeping them separated was the mere bars in-between the two.

Carlisle was a mess. His hair was sprawled in a mess and his face and clothes contained stains of dirt and blood. More than likely his own blood or those he tried fighting off. Once again Carlisle grabbed onto Aro's arm. Aro was weak and fatigued. He felt he could not stand. As if he could fall over from Carlisle's touch.