30. Demons Pt. 2

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At the curtain's call it's the last of all
When the lights fade out, all the sinners crawl
So they dug your grave and the masquerade
Will come calling out at the mess you've made

— Imagine Dragons

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Alessia paused, inhaling deeply as she momentarily shut her eyes, steadying herself, ignoring the sensation of her nose starting to tingle.

She was fine. Everything was under control. As long as she remained in the realm of dreams, she wouldn't have to talk with any of them. This could even be beneficial for her. Witnessing Aro, Caius, and Marcus thriving without her would provide the closure she needed to move on definitively.

Alessia opened her eyes again.

Aro occupied one of the chairs encircling the table, the count remaining at seven seats instead of the six she half-expected. His typically impeccable posture was somewhat diminished as he slouched over the table. Because she was positioned across from him, and didn't want to draw nearer, she was unable to view his entire ensemble. Nonetheless, she presumed he was clad in his customary attire, judging by the fabric draped over one shoulder and the absence of any stray hairs from his meticulously arranged bun. His fingers idly toyed with one of the pens she had given him, while a pink scrunchie adorned his wrist like a bracelet.

Alessia watched as he fiddled with the pen, noticing through the translucent plastic that the ink was nearing its end, soon to render it useless. Be that as it may, such details were inconsequential in the grand scheme. Both the pen and the scrunchies would inevitably run out, and she had no intention of replenishing them. Moreover, she harbored no inclination to allocate any more of her time to him or his mates than they rightfully deserved — which, in her estimation, amounted to nothing.

Thus, with a decisive pivot, Alessia made her way toward the door. If she was destined to dwell on the past in her dreams, she reasoned, she might as well make an effort to locate Agamemnon's house. Perhaps there, she could unearth some crucial information regarding the Troja—

Abruptly, Caius came barging up behind her, emitting an unmistakable growl. Although Alessia could have opted to simply ignore him and continue on her path, she halted in her tracks, focusing on his following words. Despite her relief at no longer sensing his emotions as she once did, she could discern the intensity of his anger from the subtle shift in his voice as he spoke.

"I don't know what to do with him anymore," Caius remarked, prompting Alessia to turn and regard him. She couldn't help but notice the visible bags under his eyes, and the pitch-black irises that reminded her of their second encounter. "Vampires don't get cold, and yet, Marcus is literally trembling, buried under five blankets and two layers of winter clothes. This is not normal."

Alessia felt a pang of worry creeping up inside her, a sensation she struggled to suppress with all her might. Marcus hadn't shown any concern for her; why should she care about his well-being? She had more than enough of her own problems to contend with.

Aro sighed deeply, pausing for a moment before lifting his gaze to speak. His eyes mirrored Caius', and his movements were deliberate and calculated. His voice, though oddly controlled, seemed to falter, as if he were attempting — and failing — to emulate the customary smoothness that Alessia had grown accustomed to.

"And we shouldn't be experiencing migraines, nor should we feel so exhausted that movement is a struggle, and yet here we are," Aro murmured, his sigh accentuating the weariness in his voice.

Alessia's attention sharpened at Aro's words, realizing with a jolt that she too was grappling with both migraines and profound exhaustion without any apparent cause. She resolved to listen intently to their conversation, hoping that it might shed light on her own afflictions.

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