#queenvolturi

                𝖂𝖊 𝖘𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖘 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖘 𝖉𝖔.   𝖂𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑𝖘 𝖉𝖔.

@queenvolturi​ asked: sul is first in line

almost first.   but second is fine, just the same. seeing her approach, something in her eyes tells him; & with a smile, golden as sunshine, he welcomes her into his arms. wordless embrace, tucking her between arms, holding her cold frame against him as cheek brushes hers. jaw moves, lines against hers for barely a moment, before lips find the curve of her cheek — a breath, sweeter than honey, exhaled as they land, petal-soft, on the corner of her mouth; tasting of light & love & all things holy.

he  shuts  his  eyes  tightly  to  drown  it  out,    any  way  he  can.      but  he  can  still  picture  her  sitting  there  on  his  windowsill ;      the  soft,    dead  eyes  of  his  dear  sister  and  her  sad,    sad  smile.      forever  imploring,    forever  insisting  that  he  had  made  a  grave  mistake.      she  could  have  still  loved  him.      and  then  she  withers  away  into  ashes,    her  lovely  head  haphazardly  tumbling  to  the  floor  to  speak  no  more.      but  the  depth  of  her love  is  more  haunting  than  any  macabre  illusion  he’s  witnessed,    and  the  renewed  sorrow  that  cuts  him  like  a  thousand  blades  is  what  triumphs  over  the  rest  of  his  emotions,    ringing  against  the  walls  of  his  hollowed,   aching  chest.      he  is  reduced  to  nothing.      defeated  in  the  wake  of  her  ghost.      but  even  his  pride  does  not  hold  any  value  now.      all  he  wants  is  for  it  to  end.     

he  vaguely  hears  tentative  footsteps,    followed  by  familiar  dulcet  tones.      a  far  off  echo  in  comparison  to  his  own  roaring  demons.      he  is  drowning  in  his  own  mind.       ❝    forgive   me  .  .  .   ❞      his  own  voice  sounds  strange  to  his  ears,    strangled  and  hoarse,    and  he  is  certain  the  entity  he  is  speaking  to  has  long  since  faded  away.       but  he  repeats  it  like  he’s  under  a  spell  he  cannot  shake,    with  a  grimace  that  speaks  of  an  old  pain.      sensing  someone  beside  him,    he  draws  a  hand  up  to  press  against  his  eyes,    almost  child - like  in  his  stunning  vulnerability,   as  tears  threaten  to  spill.         

ON MOST DAYS MARCUS COULD BE FOUND in the g a r d e n s. Soaking up the sun, trying to pretend his very soul was not frayed and falling apart due to his mate's passing. It had been c e n t u r i e s and yet her death still felt so recent; too fresh, almost as if his heart was still bleeding. He had failed her, he had promised to keep her safe and yet he had broken that very promise ━ a sin from which he would never find redemption. With a sigh, he tilted his head back, letting the rays of sun fully touch his face; pretending the gentle warmth he felt were his mate's caress.

He was r a r e l y interrupted, most had learned it was no use trying to get him to do much, only really brought out of his loneliness when Aro and Caius would need him in the throne room. Which is why he was quite surprised when he caught a familiar scent. ❛ Sulpicia... ❜ He called out to her, his s o f t monotone voice still capable of carrying that gentle vulnerability of his biological age. ❛ What a lovely surprise, unless Aro has sent you. In that case, do tell him it is my day off. ❜ Marucs stated, and like usual, Athenodora and Sulpicia were the only ones he a l l o w e d himself to be less burdened by his grief, managing to show the woman a small smile, his crimson eyes a little less dull as he looked up to her.