Wastheheart - Blog Posts

Ever the optimist, Didyme's innate positivity had fought back against the call for darkness. Perhaps just as sorrow was a condition of humanity, self-preservation was a condition of the eternity her brother had gifted her with. Trying to burn herself in the sun and join her siblings had resulted in only a temporarily charred wrist. Though on the other side of her temptation she saw a clearer truth; she had lost herself. She remembered how precious life had been in humanity. How one more hug, one more meal, one more sunrise was a blessing and none of them were promised. And there she was with an endless abundance. Who was she to shun such things?

Still, when death seemed as much a promise as the joys of life she knows it harder to resist the temptation to meet it earlier. A small, thoughtful smile crosses the vampires delicate features. "You're right, I do not know you." But she knew humans. She had seen a plethora of them, countless lifetimes, of the way they could be. Some prettier than others. The yellow jewel of her necklace catches the light of the moon, illuminating her face as she moves closer. "But I am willing to bet you did not start this way. No one does." Not even her cold and controlling brother, even he had once been a child full of light and hope. As she moves, so does her power, invisible tendrils attempting to take hold of the woman's heart and fill it with a warmth she surely had not felt in some time. Reaching for the human's arm, Didyme's own heart aches as the others pain hits her even harder. In her tear stained gaze she sees but a broken child. When was the last time someone held her?

Overwhelmed, the ancient pulls the woman into her embrace, trying to envelop her with a certain protection from the harsh fate that awaited on the other side of the cliff. "It's going to be okay. Not every day will feel like this." It was only the two of them under the evening sky, but her words are still whispered. A gentle offering of comfort from whoever she needed it to be from. From wherever she had never felt it.

Sorrow wasn't apt enough a word for the depth of Esme's grief— her pain. Every breath felt like needles in her lungs, pricking tears from eyes just for her to then choke on them. They had to pull her fingers from around her son's body, pry her arms from around him so they could take him to the morgue. All while she screamed and begged for another hour.

The silence afterwards was incomparable to anything she'd experienced before. They had threatened restraints on her, but one of the nurses managed to convince the doctor otherwise; she was just a grieving mother, not a danger to anyone's safety—

Well, perhaps her own.

Her lungs burned as they did bringing her boy into this world. Over the past few days she had become accustomed to heaving lungs; labour of different kinds, one now to reward her the end of this tortuous existence.

Through her tears, Esme thinks that perhaps the figure and the words to be her mother. The innate kindness of them make her yearn for the familiarity of a mother's embrace, but as she blinks the tears away, Esme focuses instead on a stranger.

The breeze is non-existent on this humid, August night. The stars glisten like silver above and Esme can't help the way she finds peace in this landscape being her end.

"How could a stranger know if I'm myself or not?" Her words are spat. She is so close now. If her son can't be with her, she'll be with him. "They couldn't, so don't pretend you're any different."

ANSWERED ASK - DIDYME

@wastheheart asked: “i appreciate your concern, but let me take care of myself. okay?" (for whoever you think vibes!)

Humans were full of sorrow. It was a condition of their very existence - something they must experience so they could appreciate joy. Didyme had grown accustomed to sensing it whenever she chose to move among them, choosing the right occasions to use her gift on them unsuspectingly. Though they must experience it, they did not always have to. Some sorrow was able to be dispersed to be felt another day, to stop the weight from crushing them. Some sorrow was particularly potent - as potent as blood from an open wound - and she had learnt to sniff it out just as easily.

She had followed the woman to the outskirts of town, toward a steep incline. Her sorrow seeped from her, covered head to toe in an invisible loss that Didyme felt reach for something deep within her own memories. Her youngest siblings cut down by war. You could have prevented it, you bastard! Fingers twitch, still feeling as though they were pounding against Aro's chest as she wept. Why me? Why me?! I should have died with them! A deep, deep, sorrow even her usual optimistic outlook could not fight. It had wanted to pull her in to itself, drown the life from her. That was what this woman felt now, she knew it. The cliff was calling her like a siren song, making whatever lay at its depths seem more appealing than what she had experienced in this life. She had stayed carefully behind her until they reached an opening, taking the opportunity to ask if she required assistance.

"Forgive me, my child, but I do not think you are entirely yourself right now." She knows the words must seem odd leaving her mouth. The woman looked at least 4 years her senior despite Didyme having more than three millennia on her. But something tells Didyme the woman needed a guiding presence more than anything right then.

ANSWERED ASK - ROSALIE

@wastheheart asked “you’re allowed to need help sometimes.” (for rosalie)

Though not hiding her moods from the coven was perhaps a selfish attempt to get them to feel what she felt, it didn't mean Rosalie exactly knew what to do when help was offered directly. A frustration has taken hold of her - they should already know what was wrong, she shouldn't have to SPELL IT OUT. "I'm fine, Esme. Really." A lie she knows Esme, especially, can see right through. The other woman had a way of seeing beneath the layers the others sometimes looked past. It seemed sometimes that she almost felt them, too. A guilt prickling at Rose's throat for projecting such negativity onto someone who only ever wanted to help. Then, more frustration - how did she maintain such caring calm? The younger vampire had only felt herself become more bitter with age. A rose with many, many thorns. "I just don't think I'm the only one who will need help if things go south with Edward and the human."

Rosalie's guard almost softens at the other woman's acceptance. It seemed to be the effect she had on people. Though still wary, she acknowledges Esme's intentions seem pure. That the unspoken understanding between women still translated to vampirism. A gentle nod is all she seems to be able to offer in thanks for now.

"I need to do this." She had never felt so sure of anything in her life than she was about the decision to kill Royce. She'd woken up screaming in this life, her heightened senses seeming to heighten the mental anguish of her final moments along with them. Physically, she was healed from the wounds inflicted by Royce and his brutes. But the fear and powerlessness she had felt still permeated her mind. She didn't want to feel that anymore, she couldn't carry it with her forever. But she would carry it as long as Royce still lived, growing old with no consequence - how many more women could he do that to? How many had he already? She would carry out his sentence for them all. And it would be as long and painful as her death had felt. "There will be no justice otherwise. I want him to feel everything I felt. I....I want him to be begging me for his life before I take it and I will enjoy every moment."

Deciding she can trust the other vampire with her plan - it would be nice to have someone know where she was were anything to go wrong ( she still wasn't entirely sure what could and couldn't kill vampires ) - Rosalie crosses the room to the wardrobe that had been pre-filled for her with clothes the Cullens had figured a girl of her age wore, pulling the other items back to reveal her own addition. A beautiful, showy white wedding dress, veil and all. She'd intended to wear it to marry Royce. Now she intended to wear it to sign his marriage with DEATH. "What do you think? Too theatrical?"

As much as those of this coven might find her maternal instincts suffocating, Esme (at times) does too. She often wonders what would have happened if she didn't do what she did while hormones ranged both unbalanced and raw. If she had grieved and tried to heal before Carlisle changed her; often she can't tell if this is truthfully her nature of a consequence of Carlisle changing her when he did. Or are thoughts just remnants of Charles ready to criticise once more?

Esme somewhat winces with the passing thought, her brow furrowing slightly. Still, her lips twitch with the recognition of a joke and Esme shrugs slender shoulders. "Nearly twelve years."

It was ironic that she had previously fled her old life only to wake up to her new one contained in a house with two other men. The first few months of this life were beyond hard for such reasons; ones she knows are familiar to Rosalie, now.

It's why Esme is beyond furious with Carlisle. If he had just stopped to think—to ask—instead of acting 'compassionately', perhaps he would have been able to understand the implications of his actions.

Esme's eyes follow Rosalie across the room, settling on her face as she herself settles on the arm of a chair. Apart from slight widening of eyes, Esme responds as nonchalantly as Rosalie. "As much Carlisle has his ways, Rosalie, the only rules we really follow are those bestowed upon us by the Volturi." Esme busies herself by smoothing out the creases of her trousers. "And you will be welcome back. I will make sure of it."

Steely, curious eyes examine Esme as she speaks and moves further into the room. There was an air of something maternal in her attempts at connection, though Rosalie wouldn't really have known. Her own mother had only known how to show her affection through buying her pretty things. The best example of a mother she had to compare it to was how Vera had been with Henry, and how she had only seen that for such a short time.

Rosalie raises a brow at the other woman's comment about having things she could kill for, deciding to make joke of it. Deflection, perhaps, but something makes her want to put the other woman at ease, feeling there are things underneath her comment that cause a similar despair. "I can imagine, you've had to live with two men for....how long?" Though she doesn't want to get too familiar with these people, still uncertain of their intentions with her. She was no fool, she could put the pieces together that their son - the gloomy boy by the name of Edward who Rosalie felt tried too hard to be mysterious - was a bachelor and she was a pretty thing around his age. She wouldn't be pawned off to some strange man after everything she'd survived, no matter how handsome. Clearing her throat, the beauty perches herself on the arm of the nearest chair, returning to her steely reserve.

"Well, I've decided I am going to kill Royce." It's matter of fact, as if she's decided what she will have for breakfast. "And his friends. I do not care if it is against Carlisle's rules, or if I am no longer welcome here after the fact." Rosalie isn't quite sure why she is telling the other all this. There was something to be said about the presence of another woman. Something that told her she might understand why there would be no stopping her on this decision.

The bite is familiar. In fact, it reminds Esme of herself when she remembered the exact reasons for becoming what she is now. The moment of realisation that Carlisle had stolen death from her was met with anguish and fire. Her rage was white and all consuming; the fresh pain of remembering her grief was only enhanced by newborn senses. Carlisle had taken the brunt of it admirably, just as he is now.

"No, no I don't. But as a woman who opened her eyes into this life without another woman to come to, I felt incredibly alone." Her words silence, Esme standing just in front of a closed bedroom door. With their vampiric hearing and Edward's ability, closing the door will do little to offer privacy, but at least it's something. "And I wish to be able to help you not feel similarly."

There is almost regret in trying to reach out, but Esme knows she at least has to try. Edward is being needlessly difficult and Esme isn't exactly thrilled by Carlisle's decision to do... well, this.

"Carlisle... he doesn't kill to preserve his idea of humanity. It's... complicated. I don't because, well, I have never known any different," Esme explains, deciding not to sugarcoat anything under the impression Rosalie will prefer to deal in facts. "... I think, sometimes, yes. But I am a coward in that regard... I'd lose my nerve despite the things I could kill for."

ANSWERED ASK - ROSALIE

@wastheheart asked "you can find me when you need me. " (for rosalie?)

"Do you want me to need you?" Rosalie knows she shouldn't hold so much bite in her tone. The woman - she thinks Carlisle had introduced her as Esme - was likely only trying to help her adjust. But how did one adjust to finding out she'd been saved from a terrible death only to become...whatever THIS was?

Perhaps that isn't what she's angry at; it was true these strange creatures had saved her from death. But she had still endured a fate that felt worse than it beforehand. Now not even the peaceful embrace of darkness could one day save her from reliving those memories. The newborn supposed she did have one question that needed answering from the other woman "Why do you and Carlisle not kill humans? Don't you think sometimes they deserve it?"