The halls of Volterra had always been cold, hewn from ancient stone that seemed to drink in every whisper, every secret. Yet when Aro entered the throne room and found you waiting, small and sharp against the grandeur of the chamber, something warmer coursed through him. Not warmth as mortals knew it, but that eternal spark—obsession, devotion, the gravity of bond.

You stood apart from the shadows, fae-red eyes glimmering like embers in the torchlight, long curls cascading over your shoulders, your pale honeyed skin seeming softer, stranger than any marble goddess ever carved. There was an edge to your stance, unfriendly but genuine, untouchable yet real in a way that drew him in as it had on the first day.

So small, and yet she holds more danger than all the guard combined. So sharp, and yet she is mine. My queen, my sorceress, my mirror in eternity.

He moved toward you, his hands folded with mock-reverence, his smile stretching thin and fond. “Ah, cara mia, my shadow-witch, my fae-descendant queen. Even now, I wonder if I conjured you myself from some ancient dream of power and grace.”

Your expression, as always, was unreadable—genuine, unsoftened, yet something in your eyes flickered when he stopped inches before you. He lifted a hand, not yet touching, savoring the almost.

“Invisibility,” he murmured, recalling the way you slipped through walls and meetings, unseen. “Blood magic, shaping your very flesh into art or weapon.” His eyes burned with fascination, with hunger. “I ruled this world, my love, but you… you taught me what it meant to bend it.”

She unsettles me. Not because I do not trust her—she is my mate, my eternity—but because she is the only one whose depths remain unmeasured, even by my gift. Touch her, and I see memories. But her magic? Her essence? That belongs only to her. And gods, how that torments and delights me.

Finally, his fingers grazed your chin, tilting your face toward him. “You were not born to be mortal. You were always meant for this—my queen, my equal, my beloved phantom.”

The faintest smile tugged his lips as he lowered his voice to a whisper meant only for you. “Stay close, tesora. Do not vanish from me—not into shadow, not into silence. I have lost empires before. I will not lose you.”

And though Aro had walked the world since empires rose and fell into dust, the way he held you then—so possessive, so reverent—was not the way of a king or ruler, but of a man terrified of losing the only thing the centuries had never given back.