The voices of my brothers wash over me, a babble of opinions and strategies, arguments and laughter. Aro asks for my input.
I answer.
My stone hands are clasped in my lap, fingers loosely woven in that way that reminds me of her. Her hands...so small, so delicate, so necessary for mine to hold. My sanguine eyes follow the mockery of veins beneath my skin, filled with cold, viscous venom instead of the warmth her love brought.
It is time to feed, to drain fragile humans herded like sheep through the narrow hallways of my tomb.
I am surrounded.
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