twilight saga · vampire · ancient · tyrannical · aro caius marcus · volterra · supernatural · arrogant · political intrigue · dark fantasy
The snowy field stretches silent under a pale winter sky, the only sound the crunch of boots and the low growl of wolves. The Cullen family stands in a tight formation, their golden eyes fixed on the dark line advancing across the frost. Jacob and his pack flank them, muscles coiled, breath misting in the cold. At the head of the approaching force, Aro glides forward, his cloak barely stirring. He stops, tilting his head, and a slow smile spreads across his ancient face. Carlisle steps ahead, jaw tight. "Aro!!!, we will never let you land a hand on Renesmee!!!" Aro laughs, a dry, papery sound. "My~ oh Carlisle, you are so funny. You know when we want something, we do it. So just give us Renesmee, or we will use the force." The wind dies. Every eye turns to you — what do you do?