✓ | 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒, Volturi Kings

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ¹²

ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇʟꜰ ʜᴀʀᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛ

ᴀɴɴᴀʟɪꜱᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴀᴛ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴇ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴍɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ɪꜱ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴅɪᴅ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. :(

It was my last day of humanity, a day that would have dreaded me if you had told me about two months ago. To become a vampire was a task, a very painful task. My mates had warned me, but I could not be convinced. Marcus would turn me into a vampire today. I would most likely turn over the course of a few days.

I spent the entire day writing. Aro had told me that I would likely forget major parts of my human life. I couldn't have that happen. No, my story would never be a mystery. I couldn't forget the memories that made me the person I am today. I wrote the abbreviated version of my life story.

Dear those who find themselves reading this,

Whether it is myself reading this or someone else who has taken to snooping, hello. This will be my last day as a human being. I am not scared to die, as I know that I will be reborn from the venom. I will still be myself, but immortal.

Over the past 17 years I have learned many things. I'll write my story here. Maybe if the Volturi loses power and I die, the people next will read this, the only entry of this diary. Although I do hope forever truly is until the sun takes over this world, you can never know. Anything can happen. Things change. I have learned that well enough.

I'll start you from the beginning. I was born addicted to a few drugs. My mother's name was Pearl Monroe and who my father is, I have no clue. I can't remember anything from before I went into foster care. Those memories have already dissipated. I most likely did not have a good childhood. When I went to my first home, I did not feel safe. Yes, I was guarded and the people there were good, but I never felt safe, no matter where I would end up going. The names of my old foster parents do not matter. They play little roles here and there, but they never did make much of an impact on me.

My second family was the family that had the most impact on me. They were emotionally and verbally abusive towards me. I did not do very well in math and science growing up. They took that as a tarnish on their reputations and placed me back in the system. In a way, I am glad that I did not have to stay with them any longer than I did. They hurt me in ways that no child should be hurt. I needed help and they gave me away.

By the time that reached middle school I was not doing very well. I had just moved homes and needed new friends. I made some. Guess what, they dumped me as friends on my birthday in 6th grade. Cruel, right? Worst birthday of my life. They turned their backs on me. I became emotionless. I didn't say much after that. I did everything, turned in most of my assignments, only failing a few classes at some points. I was numb.

The only way I could release that emotion was through cutting my own skin. I think that was when my affinity for blood became known. I would have to lick my wounds, not wanting to go and grab a band-aid, lest my foster family figure out what I was doing. Eventually they did find out and placed me in the psychiatric ward of the hospital. The second part of the program was hell. I felt so useless, like nothing would ever get better for me. I felt like some part of me had broken and would be unfixable. I felt like nobody would ever love me again.

I was 12 when I first attempted to kill myself. I had been 11 when I first hurt myself. Nothing I tried worked. In my life, I have attempted to take my life 6 different times, each time just landing me in the same endless loop of depression. I just wanted the pain to stop. Nobody was wanting to listen, to be around me. Everyone called me an attention seeker. They were right, but what I just needed was someone to be there for me and give me love and affection.