Touch The Soul | P. LAHOTE

Matthew 5:4

'Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted'

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The Volturi preferred she write her report by hand, Marcus had always admired her penmanship and she thanked Sister Margaret for teaching her. She had been told by the younger vampires in her coven that a computer would be much better and far more efficient. Still, she couldn't understand no matter how they explained it. The vampire guessed some things would never change, one had muttered: 'I guess, just like a dog, you can't teach an old vampire new tricks'. Mary didn't care how it sounded, she knew it was just their way of teasing, she was sure they meant no harm and it was just how kids spoke to their elders in the late 20th century.

Mary could only tell them she loved writing her reports by hand. Something about the slight flicks of her wrist as she completed a sentence made her joyous. It was so distinctly human. As a vampire, she did little to create; her second life had made her a harbinger of destruction—a tool for the Devil. Mary shuddered at the thought. When Carlisle caught the movement, he paused his own reading to smile in her direction.

"Do you want to talk about it yet?" his tone nudged gently.

Mary's head whipped side-to-side inhumanly fast, "No, not yet" she mumbled like a fussy child.

Around Carlisle Mary felt like a girl again, her vampirism came second to that and it wasn't even close. Mary had met Carlisle as she began to emerge from the darkest era of her undead life. He had seen her in such a state, saturated in so much blood you would never know her hair was blonde, to begin with. He knew it was human but did not meet her with judgment, although she thought she deserved it. No, instead Carlisle looked further and saw the crippling pain haunting her eyes. Mary approached knowing he was a vampire but still unsure due to his abnormal, yellow eyes, it was as unnerving to her as her red eyes were to Quileutes. She had never seen her own from all those centuries ago, she'd wondered how closely they matched her hair.

She remembered their first encounter so clearly. He had stood before her, fighting back chuckles. Her face had (apparently) been such an amusing picture that he couldn't help but start corpse with laughter. Mary hadn't known what was missing until she saw Carlisle, such a beautiful man with a soul so golden, falling apart before her like she had told the most comical jest he had heard.

"So for how long do you intend to hide out in my home?" he huffed but she could tell he wasn't really annoyed. She could tell he was ecstatic about their reunion- just as she was, despite the circumstances.

"I thought why not grace you with my company, I heard from Aro you were leading an awfully boring life" Mary teased.

"Have you forgotten how our mutual friend is the most unreliable narrator?"

"Oh when it comes to you old friend-" Mary smirked, "Aro cannot help but honour your memory"

Carlisle's sudden laughter echoed in the room, "you make it sound like I died"

The female vampire shrugged before speeding over to the sofa in his office, lounging upon it as if in her own home, "we all mourned you in some way, we knew you would never come back after the fight. We both knew if you returned Aro would ensure history would not repeat itself- his resolve strengthened when Chelsea joined the Volturi"

"I have heard of Chelsea, I would say it's a shame we never met but..."

"Tis right to be wary of the woman, I surely am"

Carlisle smirked, it truly was like they'd never been apart. In one quick motion, Mary found him sitting at the end of the seat, dropping her feet onto his lap as he sunk into the cushions. This level of affection had been so common once upon a time but Mary knew it tasted different now. She could hear his soul (in a young man's love-struck voice) call the name 'Esme' with an adoration he once called her own. Still, her name had always belonged to Carlisle's inner child, an indication of her title as his first love, she recognised it so easily. On the other hand, Esme's name was called by a young man who had found the woman he could call the love of his life from the moment he saw her. It was a love that would even endure after death, perhaps damning them both.