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Title: Nobis Inferos

Series: Part II of the Latin series

Fandom: Twlight

Rating: R

Word Count: 996

Disclaimer: Twilight and anything belonging to it is Stephenie Meyer's, not mine.

Summary: We make our own hell. He is my devil as I am his.

Written for Livie79's birthday. AU, vamps, oneshot.



AN: This was written for Livie79's birthday. Again. I decided this year to give Liv the other side of what I gave her last year. This is the flip side of the Decim Anni coin.

And once again BookwormBaby2580 was my awesomest beta. I owe her so much!


We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell. – Oscar Wilde

2021

I do not fear the devil.

I have learned, in my one hundred and twenty-six years of existence that human beings are the monsters to be feared. And they don’t hide in the dark. They create their own darkness.

When I was a young girl, the world was all light and colors. Endless possibilities, waiting for me to explore them. As I grew into a woman I held these possibilities tightly in my heart and dreamed of a life with no “duty” and no “expectations”. Then I was given away, like so much chattel. The very people who had created me and who I thought I could trust above all others, gave me to the darkest devil. I had not believed such evil existed in the world until I was thrust into the very midst of it.

My life became one of fists and feet, of blood and bruises. Of intimate agonies and violations I had never believed possible. Blood, blood, blood on every inch of my body. Forsaken by my family and my church, all I heard of was “duty” and “expectations” while I bled and bruised and wept.

Finally, a flicker of life took root inside me and grew into hope and determination. I realized that those possibilities were still safe in my heart, yearning for release. I fled. I would find another life for myself, and keep the one I waited for safe and cherished. But no matter how I held on and fought and bargained with a Maker I was no longer sure existed, that tiny life and light within me was extinguished. And with him, perished all the hope, determination and possibility I had foolishly held on to.

I resigned myself—no, I looked forward—to dying as close to the small body of my tiny son, now entombed within the earth, as I could get. I lay atop his grave clutching his gravestone, and knew that my own Hell was nearly at an end. I knew nothing of the other, until I felt sharpness slicing into me and an inferno such as I could never have imagined take hold of my neck, spine, limbs, mind, heart and soul. Another devil had found me.

A devil or an angel? I could hardly perceive anything besides the flames creeping along my body, but there was something. Something made me reach out and grasp and squeeze gently. I moaned something I wasn’t even sure of. Was I begging for life or death? Light or darkness? Love or oblivion? I still don’t know. Whatever I was trying to convey, the devil leeching the life out of me understood. He understood me.

I burned for three days in a Hell of my devil’s creating. And a year passed, carried along with a new life. A life where there was still blood, blood, blood on every inch of my body, and in my mind and in my soul. But there was also light and colors and brand new possibilities. A year passed, and we returned to the place of my despair and of the reawakening of my hope. We came together, my devil and I, and he touched my soul. We created passion such as I had never known, and I saw his eyes burn as he watched his body slide into mine. I begged for him to touch me and as his hand slid between our bodies and we plunged together, I felt complete. And I knew I had to leave.

For I had become a devil too. I was selfish and I needed. The possibilities had grown too big to be held inside my heart any longer and they had to take flight. I left. And I left a part of myself behind. I travelled and learned and experienced as much as it was possible to travel and learn and experience in a hundred years. I longed to be complete once more, but I tortured my devil and I tortured myself. Every ten years I returned to him, so we could once again languish in the heaven (or was it hell?) of our own making. I broke my own heart a little, every time I walked away from him, but I also enjoyed, just a little, the pain I was inflicting on both of us. For I was his devil as much as he was mine.

And he let me leave, every time. His embraces never trapped me. He only ever gave me the space to leave.

But I am done. Tonight I return to the only real home my heart has ever known and I will not leave it again by choice. This is our decim anni and I am giving him all of me. I approach as quietly as I can but I know my attempts have been foolish when I hear his futile breathing increase, becoming short, sharp gasps. I don’t stop until my lips are inches from his, and he takes the final inch himself and breathes me in as if I am necessary to him. As he is necessary to me. I give in to him and give him all of me as he gives everything to me.

I see his eyes blaze once more as he watches his body enter mine, and the sweetest sound escapes his lips as our hips meet.

“Esme.”

All the light and color and possibility in the world as he utters my name. I am home.

I slip my hand between us, pushing my release and thus his, and as I clench around him, I feel him spill into me. He gives everything to me.

“Carlisle,” I sigh the only word that means anything. “I love you,” I say. You are my light, I mean. “Stay with me,” I say. You are my home, I mean.

And all the possibilities in the world multiply when he does.

Fin







Part I
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