Isn't it lovely, all alone?
Heart made of glass, my mind of stone
Tear me to pieces, skin to bone
Hello, welcome home— Billie Eilish, Khalid
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As soon as Alessia grasped what she was seeing, she yearned to retreat, to simply vanish from the scene, to turn away and fix her gaze once more on the palace — anything to avoid being there. Yet, she found herself firmly rooted to the spot, the pain in her chest disappearing for a second only to be replaced by something considerably worse.
How had Aro and Caius allowed Helios to reach this point? Surely, they must have been aware of the danger, the decline in his well-being, the way he was clearly fading away, almost disappearing into his suffering. They must have realized that intervention was necessary. Why hadn't they protected him, even from himself? They had to— but they knew.
Alessia had overheard Caius and Aro. Caius expressed deep concern and uncertainty about how to help Helios. In contrast, Aro seemed overly confident that everything would resolve itself. But why was Aro so sure? Helios was clearly deteriorating before Alessia's very eyes; the situation demanded serious attention. Why weren't they taking action if Caius understood the severity of the situation?
The answer became clear a moment later: Caius was the one who truly grasped the situation, but he too had been unwell. Aro was left to manage both Marcus and Caius neglecting themselves, while also grappling with his own challenges and maintaining a composed exterior. Was Aro also struggling with similar issues? Perhaps he was just more adept at navigating everything?
But why were they behaving like this? What was causing Marcus to act this way? Why was Caius neglecting himself? Why couldn't they move forward? Were they also experiencing pain, perhaps even worse than what Alessia had endured? Marcus had claimed that vampires felt less physical pain, but could emotional pain be the culprit? Was Marcus truly grieving like Aro had said? Somehow, "grieving" seemed inadequate to describe the way Marcus was.
There were just so many things wrong with the image before her that it nearly made Alessia feel physically ill.
Marcus lay on his bed, his gaze fixed towards where ̶A̶l̶e̶s̶s̶i̶a̶'̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶d̶ the other bed stood, his eyes open but vacant. A cloudy, white film veiled his typically deep red irises, making them appear dull and almost lifeless. His face was devoid of expression, filled only with blankness.
Helios' countenance had become hauntingly gaunt, his cheeks sunken from an evident loss of weight. His lips were dry and cracked, and he trembled visibly beneath the layers of blankets that draped over him. The intensity of his tremors was palpable, causing the fabric to ripple and shift with each quiver. The once-tidy bed was now in disarray, and the end of the bedclothes bore a deep maroon stain — clearly, blood had soaked through.
Alessia was horrified by Marcus' drastically worn and frail appearance — more than she rationally should be. But how could she not when he had even forgone his usual kohl around his eyes, a sight Alessia had never witnessed before, not even during his escape from the Pantheon? In spite of his actions, she was overwhelmed by a profound sense of intense concern that nearly eclipsed all else.
She questioned the authenticity of her emotions. Was her concern genuine, or was it influenced by the bond they supposedly shared? Was it a blend of both? Why did she feel compelled to do everything in her power to help him? He had deceived her, even betrayed her. Even so, the sight of him in such a vulnerable state threatened to tear her apart, leaving Alessia grappling with her emotions in disarray.
Alessia shouldn't be feeling such profound unease merely from seeing him like this, as if the very fabric of the world was awry. She certainly didn't want to continue dealing with him, especially considering his lack of respect for her as a person, let alone an equal.
Nevertheless, as she gazed at Marcus, doubts crept in. Was Marcus truly just in the wrong? While she knew he had behaved horribly, his evident suffering suggested a deeper turmoil. Could he be feeling remorse? Could it really be because of Alessia's absence? She found it hard to believe anyone could miss her to such an extreme extent.
If her own father, who was supposed to love her unconditionally as his own flesh and blood, couldn't show her love, then she believed no one else was obligated to care for her either. She felt that after explicitly telling Aro, Caius, and Marcus that they didn't have to care for her, since she wouldn't care for them, they would surely forget she had ever existed.
Therefore, there had to be more to Marcus' state than simply grieving over her absence. There must be a rational explanation for his condition. Could he be ill, as she had first thought? Illnesses can cause people to behave dejectedly and lose weight... Yes, that must be it. Alessia concluded that she had nothing to do with Marcus' condition. Aro and Caius were mistaken in linking his state to her. Instead, they should seek the equivalent of a physician from Ancient Gree—
Aro entered the room, wasting no time as he immediately took a seat at Marcus' bedside. Alessia's breath hitched — unexpectedly, she could feel his emotions again.
Alessia had apparently lost the ability to consistently understand Aro's — and Caius', and Marcus' — emotions in her recent dreams, but now she was abruptly flooded with a torrent of feelings. Aro's composed facade meant nothing in the face of his evident internal turmoil. Alessia detected an undercurrent of denial mingled with guilt, hopefulness, and righteousness emanating from him. Beneath it all, there was an unsettling sense of maniacal anxiety, unlike anything Alessia had ever experienced. She struggled to find the words to describe it, but one thing was clear: Aro was far from fine, despite the tired tone and faint trace of fondness in his voice when he spoke next.
"Good morning, precious," Aro murmured, gently brushing his gloved hand across Marcus' cheek. "Caius is worried about you, and I must agree that this isn't healthy."
Marcus remained silent, seemingly oblivious to Aro's words.
"We should at least change your bedsheets," Aro continued softly, undeterred by Marcus' lack of response. "The blood will be more difficult to clean the longer it stays there. You should lie in the other bed; it's empty for now."
This elicited a reaction from Marcus, a fleeting emotion flickering across his face too quickly for her to identify. Aro seemed to have caught it, his eyes — and his emotions — filling with unbearable melancholy. He took a deep breath, slipped off his shoes, and positioned himself against the headboard. Tenderly, he wrapped his arms around Marcus, who surrendered to the embrace, clinging to Aro as if his life depended on it, resting his head on Aro's chest.
The bed was far too small for both of them, emitting a strange creaking noise as if it might break under their combined weight. Still, despite the cramped space, Marcus visibly relaxed in Aro's arms, the worst of his tremors subsiding and giving way to sporadic shivers. Alessia faintly pondered if Aro was stealing Marcus' emotions by purring, but what seized her attention most — what made her feel as if all air had left her lungs — was the clothing Marcus was clad in.
Now that Marcus had moved, the blankets slid away, exposing his attire in full view. The garment was clearly worn-out, adorned with loose threads and faded hues, draping loosely over his form; its sleeves were conspicuously too short, stopping midway down his forearms, one of them marred by a hole. Nonetheless, there was no mistaking it — it was the red sweater she had left with him.
As Alessia observed, Marcus shifted, pulling the turtleneck of the sweater up to cover his nose for a brief moment before letting it go, emitting a wounded sound.