Heartbeat [Alec Volturi]

Portrait

"You are...quite talented, my dear."

Aro looked out of place in my room. Like computers in an old library or fire burning on the ocean. There wasn't any particular element of the room that caused this. It was more that I was used to seeing him in more regal or intellectual locations like his throne or at a chess table. Seeing him now, leaning over to examine my pencil drawings, almost required me to humanise him in a way I wasn't used to. It was the same readjustment I had to make when I found out he was in love with someone. It just did not seem to compute as compatible facts.

"You should see what I can do with some real paints."

He was no longer studying the details in my drawing. He had switched to studying the details in my facial expression as I admired my work.

Art was the only thing I truly felt comfortable bragging about. My excellence in the field had been proven over and over again whenever my forgeries were 'confirmed' to be originals. From Rembrandt to Vermeer, I was able to see each brushstroke and break it down into my own mental formula. My recall wasn't great, but when something was right in front of me I could make an identical copy of it as if by magic. From art to pain, mimicry was innate to my core being — that was my thing. Some people can sing, others are natural-born athletes. I guess we all make do.

I hadn't slept since Alec and the others left for their mission. I hadn't been bothered, except for a few meals delivered if I hadn't ventured to the kitchen. Which I didn't. Instead, I'd spent my time using up the paper in another notebook Jane had given me and placing the semi-finished products on the floor, leaning up against the wall of my window.

I'd started by copying down the messages written on the chalkboard wallpaper so that I could erase the wall for more space but still save the memories. From the curves of each letter to the signature of the owner, you would've thought it was copied down by the original author. I was used to living off very little, but while I had the space, I decided to log every detail I could. Because when things changed — and they always changed — I could look back and remember how it all started.

When I'd finished copying down each friendly yearbook style message, I had idly moved on to attempting recreations of the famous paintings. As I said, my recall was not the strongest and so half of these copies remained unfinished — The Starry Night had only scribbles in its sky and a few houses scattered along the bottom. I'd given the woman in Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1 features that reminded me of the Mother Abbess. I'd folded up and tossed the latter drawing over my shoulder, leaving it somewhere on the floor in the room. This was one memory I preferred not to memorialise.

"We shall see to it, then." He gave me his odd smile before moving right in front of me. I blinked quickly with the rush of air from the vampire speed and had little recovery time as Aro had already spoken again. "May I?"

I lazily handed over my hand before realising what I had done. I quickly raced through my mind, trying to remember what, if anything, I had been trying to hide from Aro. But apparently, I had nothing to worry about. Instead, Aro simply held my injured hand with both of his and examined it, removing the poorly wrapped t-shirt I'd forgotten I had put around it.

He didn't touch my skin - in fact, he seemed to be taking great care not to. Aro usually never misses a chance to read my thoughts. But now, it almost seemed as if he were avoiding them. I couldn't imagine a scenario at this moment where he preferred to be blind than to have every detail of information. The only possibility that popped into my head was that he was doing it for me, to keep my thoughts private, but again, I couldn't imagine why that might be the case.

I was about to ask him how he knew about my wrist when he answered my unspoken question.

"Alec informed us of your...emotional distress..." That was one way to put it.