The Scent of Red
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. Only in daydreams.
This was written for the "Volturi fanfic contest" with the prompt word "red".
Title: The Scent of Red
Genre: Drama, (Angst)
Short Summary: Jane has some defiant thoughts during a St. Marcus Day celebration.
The wind smells different today. I can't place it. It whips my hair around my face.
There's something else; another scent not quite blended into the patchwork of fragrances that are my city—something other than musty dirt roads, crumbling brick, ripe fruit, and human sweat.
Something is different today.
I keep walking though. I am not one to let a slight disruption in the status quo get in my way. In fact I prefer it. Rules and regulations were never my favorite.
I pull my black hood further down over my eyes, for if I am careless about things like this, I will surely pay for it later. I duck around a corner of an alley and peer out into the blinding sunlight, cautious to stay hidden in the pool of shadow at the alley mouth.
A sea of red awaits my eyes. Red scarves, red hats, red shirts, red gloves, red cheeks…red everything.
It was if the square was bleeding…blood seeping through the cracks of pale flesh dotted throughout the pools of blood red. Ripples spread along the pool as people constantly move and shove past each other. The constant, dull, distant roar of red waves crashing upon a stained beach hangs in the air above the heads of the crowd as they chatter and talk amongst themselves.
My senses are humming.
I feel venom start to pool beneath my tongue as I zero in on a lovely young girl, her tank top dipping below her collar bone, giving me a delicious view of her neck. I can lure her away easily enough. No one will notice her missing.
I shake my head beneath my cloak, clearing the red haze that has washed over my vision. I must wait until the family feeds. It is my job to go hunting tomorrow, regardless. I will get my turn. I must be patient. I must not disobey. It is not my place.
I cringe. Submission has never suited me. Not in the least.
I turn away from the inviting sight, but the scent of red still swirls about my face; caressing fingers tugging at my shoulder and cloak—inviting me to turn back around and go wild. The scent sneaks its way past my lips, coating my tongue with the musky scent.
I halt; my foot halfway turned to dart back and pluck some young innocent thing from the crowd and slake my thirst right now.
But I must remember that my thoughts are never my own…so I continue walking.
I will wait.
And savor the scent of red on my tongue until my time comes.
Oh, yes my time will come.
Because when it does, the world will cower beneath my eyes, and turn red before me.