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...
Aro floated in an ethereal void—a twilight realm where unconsciousness mingled with the remnants of his past. The landscape of his mind stretched out like a vast, unending desert, where dunes of lost memories shifted in a relentless wind of bewilderment. Time had ceased to exist here, and all that remained was the infinite expanse of his thoughts tugging at the edges of his awareness.
His body drifted beneath the surface of what felt like an icy sea, the cold water wrapping around him like an embrace, yet it felt foreign, alien to the heat that coiled around him like an ethereal serpent. It was a warmth that stung, penetrating his skin to ignite a chaotic dance of sensations within him. Each pulse of that heat was a reminder—of what? Of life? Of loss? The edges of his consciousness shuddered with the answer, just out of reach.
Through the muffled cacophony echoing in his ears, a symphony of sound ebbed and flowed in waves. There were whispers, echoes of long-forgotten voices, fragments of laughter and tears that blended into melodies he couldn't quite place.
A celestial melody
He strained to hear the notes, to grasp the emotions that floated like shadows in the water before him, but the strain only muddied the clarity of his thoughts.
As he lay suspended in this surreal limbo, Aro became aware of a different kind of sensation—the weakened thrumming of his own heart, battling against his weakened state. With each beat, he felt the chill of his blood, a vibrant reminder of vitality, seeping out through the slits in his skin, mixing with the cold water like crimson paint on a waning canvas.
The red mixing with the tainted black that now dwelled in the water.
Flashes of memory flickered like fireflies. Beginning at his mortal birth up to the moment of the war—a fleeting image of laughter shared under a sun-drenched sky, the rush of wind against his face as he sprinted through the forests, the way his fingers glided across the piano keys, the echo of a voice he held dear.
His mate
Vibrating with dreams and promises. Suddenly, the warmth intensified, sweeping over him like a wave. It felt like the caress of his lover's hand, both tender and jarring, awakening long-dormant feelings.
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Her soft, warm, mortal hands
He was alive. He was in pain. His very essence cried out for clarity.
As if responding to his desperate need, the murky depths shifted, revealing glimmers of light. Shapes began to crystallize out of the darkness—the silhouettes of figures, generic and haunting, approached him through the watery barrier. Were they phantoms from his past? He reached out, fingers trailing through the icy depths, but they could barely register the submerged world around them as they intertwined with the pour of warmth that enveloped him.
"Help..." he choked, though the sound was lost to the void, swallowed whole by the sea of confusion swirling around him. Straining, he forced his mind to focus on the source of the heat. It was foreign, almost cosmic in nature, coursing like liquid fire through the shadows that draped over him. Could it be the essence of life itself?
Then, piercing through the tempered veil of his subconscious, a familiar voice broke through. "Aro!" It was a call laced with desperation, echoing over the murmured symphonies of the past.
Suddenly, the figures flickered closer, their shapes sharpening, revealing faces he recognized—a collage of life, each stitched together with chains of time. Among them was a woman with hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes shining like starlight, radiating warmth that overshadowed the cold. She reached into the depths toward him.
