Disclaimer: Don't own Twilight.
Author's Note: A short piece about Didyme and Aro - before that unfortunate little event.
Summary: He's a collector, a Chess Master. But once, when he was young, he was nothing more than just a big brother looking out for his little sister.
His Little Sister
He stands with his brothers, watching as she lights up the room.
She truly does: she dances, she sings, she talks and whoever stands around her, smile broadly, entranced by this little dark haired beauty, such a tragic little girl who had lost not only her elder brother a mere decade ago but also her parents and yet had not lost any of her light for it. The mortals find her marvellous.
The immortals, he and his brothers, share that thought about her.
She excuses herself and leaves for the balcony. He follows. He has discussed it for many days with his brothers, wearing them down until they had agreed. It hadn't been difficult; convincing Cauis had been a matter of appealing to his military side, pushing the idea that his little sister would have a power like his; convincing Marcus had been a matter of playing the vampire's complete and utter adoration for his little sister – an adoration he detests but will deal away with later.
In the end of course he got what he wanted: the chance to protect his little sister once more.
He said otherwise, saying it was for her possible power, not wanting to appear weak but he knew his brother's saw through that. Not that it mattered now.
He stands behind her, a mere foot away, watches her as she leans over the balcony. He reaches forward touching her back, her warm, soft mortal back.
She spins around, eyes wide but doesn't scream.
Instead she clutches the balcony rails, frozen in place. He smiles.
"Hello, sister," he says softly, "Hello, my little Didyme,"
"Aro …" is her weak response, recognitions flashes in her eyes. She does not move as he steps forward, as he kisses her on the forehead as he used to. But she does move when his teeth tear open her neck, as her blood is set on fire as venom courses through her.
She is withering on the bed.
Her screams fill the castle for seven days. He doesn't leave her side, he holds her as she screams, pleads for the end, and pleads for death. He sings for her, whispers tales into her ear, tries to calm her as she changes. His stomach grips, guilt flooding him. The change should not take this long and ye it is.
He fears he is killing her. Marcus tells him otherwise, visiting them every hour with wash clothes. He offers to watch her so he can hunt: his throat burns and his eyes are dark, but he refuses. He won't leave her.
Her eyes open on the eve of the eighth day.
They are no longer dark brown, but that of a newborn. She lies on the bed, stares at him, eyes questioning.
"My throat…" she murmurs, clutching it.
"You need to feed," he replies.
He nods, climbs of the bed, pulling her with him. She comes without protest. He takes her to the window, draws open a curtain. He points to a house near the castle and the wind blows. She catches the scent and is gone.
He follows not soon after.
He sees her standing there, a sad smile on her face.
He sees the strewn of bodies around her: a little girl still clutching her mother, a father still holding his blade, their blood running down her cheek staining her pretty little snow white dress. Her hair is in a mess red streaking it, making it cling together. Her eyes are wild, oh so wild, crimson, blood red. She is smiling at him.
It is detached smile, sad. She is smiling for he is here; she is smiling but crying inside. He can see that, he doesn't need to touch her now diamond hard skin to know how she is feeling – she is happy to see him, but horrified by what she has done and guilty, yes guilty he can see that all in her pretty little eyes, see it written on her face.
He steps towards her; she does not step back but flings herself into his arms, dry sobs filling the air as he cradles her.
"Hush, little sister," he says.
"I …" she starts to say but cannot finish. She doesn't need to for he sees her thoughts, his mouth twitching up with grim pride as the image of her playing with her food before she drained them dry but then his mouth sobers as he her thoughts scream, 'what am I?'
"Hush, all will be explained," is his reply as she allows him to hold her.
"I'm a monster," she whispers to him.
"No," he says firmly. He parts from her briefly and looks into her crimson eyes, "You are my little sister and will never be a monster"
But I will, he thinks to himself, if that is what it takes to protect you.
Because he would kill a thousand, would set the world alight to keep his little sister safe.