foreign hands. sam uley ✓

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

❧

Aro said she wouldn't remember anything from her human life. Not anymore. It would be a foggy memory in the recesses of her mind. She was stronger now, her skin flawless, her eyes clear, and there was no way that she would remember the weakest part of her. The human part. It was dead, washed away by the venom that burned through her system when he bit her.

But she remembered every bit of her humanity.

There was her mother, who was weak and fragile, her skin as poor as the water they drank. She gave the family a heart, carried the blood into each of their veins with her own overbearing love, working and working until her nails bled and her legs gave way into nothing. Until she dug her own grave, and they buried her, down into the warm earth that welcomed her home.

There was her father, who drank enough for the entire village. He gave the family fractures, little cracks in the foundation that never truly healed. He wished to be in the White Castle, with the knights and king. He wished for a better life. To feast on the bones of meaty animals rather than scrounge up scraps of bread crumbs every night. He didn't want the life he led, one filled with a daughter who seemed to crave the freedom of the chase and a son who kept to himself-who smiled at bakers shyly and was not masculine, not the way his father wished him to be. He beat his desires into her every night, it seemed. Knuckles that bruised and hurt, a yell that rattled the shackles on the house and burnt everything to ashes.

There was her brother, who was small and frail but beamed as though the sun shone for him only. He gave the family support, a pillar of hope in times where everything seemed grave. His arms were weak but he carried pails of water for mother, and he hunted for them, brought them rations despite not having the supplies to do so. He was the spine, keeping them straight when it all seemed to crumble down.

There were the crooks, the bandits, and somewhere in between, her. She was in the shadow, right in the grey of being involved with them but too far away to be caught as they had been, knights in metal shackling them in barbed rope.

There was the sun that kissed her skin, and the moon that washed away her sins. There were men who gave her money at a price, there were women who envied her. There were children who loved her and animals who she cared for. There were princes and princesses and a world that she loved--loved and lost.

There was the night when Aro came. The night she died and became new. The night she burned in more ways than one, externally and internally, a flame that didn't cease until her throat was aching with a thirst that she couldn't seem to fulfill. The night Aro stared at her with crimson eyes--eyes of a murderer, a devil--and called her beautiful. Told her she was a prize greater than any.

The night she became someone she hated.

Her human life was filled with copying people's skills. She needed to, to be able to get through in life. Stealing had become something of a habit for her, a task made simple by the narrow-minded thieves who simply could not do their jobs right. Then, as she matured into a woman, the need for gold became so intense that her body became her job and the men her employers. And there she copied the women's tactics, the whores who also used their bodies for deeds unspoken; it was a necessity that kept food on the table for Elis and herself.

And when she became a vampire, she still copied. Copied and watched and stole the gifts of other people--other vampires. All because she could. Because she wanted to.

"Breathtaking," Aro had told her the first time she used the power of near invulnerability, so that not even the strongest vampire in the coven, Felix, could crack her skin. She had imprinted it from another vampire before ripping him to shreds; Aro hadn't needed him, only his powers. He was soft, his skin trembling and his eyes wavering, so he was deemed unworthy of a position in the Volturi.

"Wonderful," he had said when shadows wrapped themselves around her defensively. This time, she had taken the powers from a girl, a young vampire who had no recollection of how she came to be. Her skin cracked as her own gift was used to tear her to shreds right before Aro's delighted face.

"Amazing, my love," Aro complimented when she disappeared from his sight, her body shimmering into nothingness as she took the life of the vampire who wronged the Volturi.

And so, her immortal life began. A life filled with murdering humans for sustenance. A life where blood that made her sick before became the most delectable thing she had ever tasted in her entire existence. A life as a puppet for the man who destroyed her just so he could save her. A life as a vessel, the memories of her brother haunting her even as everything else faded into nonexistence, giving her an ache that no vampire should feel, especially as the days turned into years and years turned into centuries, and her brother became nothing but a wisp in the nest of her memory, tucked away in the corner but still present. Something she was aware of.

She imprinted on gifts, and she copied, and it felt like she was stealing from the pockets of men stronger than her. Needlessly dangerous, but a need all the same. She had to survive. Simple as that. And her gift helped her. With it, she was useful. Aro loved her.

So, she killed and cut and ruined the immortal lives of beings that didn't agree with the Volturi, and Aro kept her by his side.

And she survived for centuries, long enough to meet Edward Cullen and his mate, Bella.

Long enough for Aro to become infatuated with the human whose mind he could not read.

Long enough for Bella to become a vampire.

Long enough for the Cullens to bring an immortal child into this world.

Long enough for Aro to take her out of the castle for the first time so they could execute the family that had been haunting him for centuries now.

And so, when the snow fell, Sage wrapped her cloak around her, and blended into Aro's shadow, unseen as they made the journey to Forks, Washington.