Sulpicia spends her life locked in a tower, watching the people below go by slowly. Their lives are so fragile, their problems so insignificant to her. They are mere pawns in a chessboard – a chessboard of which she is queen.
Love is patient.
She waits for her Aro every day while reading the silver Bible on her window seat, the rays of the setting sun bathing her in the light from the stained glass. Sulpicia is waiting, always waiting.
Love is kind.
He killed Didyme. His own sister. And she could not help but think that he was not a monster, even though Marcus had died, too. Even though he kept him alive for power. Even though he would kill her – her! His own mate – for power. Sulpicia will always forgive him.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
Women constantly visit the Volturi. Gorgeous seductresses arrive from all over the world, searching for power – his power. And Aro looks at them, what man wouldn't? And when they're powerful, he has bedded them, Sulpicia watching from the shadows. And afterwards, when she's returned from her walk in the garden and he's washing them off of him, he always knows she'll come back. Always.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.
Aro used to be poor. So did Sulpicia. All her dreams of pretty dresses evaporated as soon as she met him, though. She wouldn't have minded spending eternity naked – as long as he was by her side. Naked, of course.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres.
Power is, in the end, the one thing Aro loves unconditionally, the one thing he cannot live without. Sulpicia knows this, and she includes herself in this category. It hurts her so bad, knowing he doesn't love her enough – enough to die, like she would. Like she still will.
They are such a messed-up couple. And such a beautiful one.
Love never fails.