WHO:Bill and Ted Felix and Demetri. WHAT: One last attempt at reparations. WHEN: Before the end of the beginning. WHERE: The Castle Athenaeum. RATING: TBD. STATUS: Completed and closed. ST REQUEST: “A Song For Our Fathers”
One night. One was all that Demetri could have promised to Felix, though he knew full well that their kind was more than accustomed to waiting. Normally, he could have waited and paced for years had he known it might have been for the sake of Heidi and Felix. He would have done just about anything for the ones dearest to him. Had he not waited for more than eight centuries to see Theron? What was the severity in waiting one night? One day? One week? One night should not have been so oppressing to Demetri. So why had it been? Why had time turned so fickle during the twilight?
Although no light could permeate his chamber, Demetri knew well enough that daybreak and dusk had long since past. Felix had asked for one evening, but Demetri had given an entire day out of sympathy. He knew Felix was not devoid of any sentiment on the matter of their oncoming separation. If the man did not feel his own self-inflicted pain, then he was no more a friend to him than he was to a human. However, Demetri knew his old friend well enough to understand that Felix was enduring his own inner struggles. No, one night was not enough, but one day had to be.
Demetri began making his way out of his private chambers before grabbing the blood red decanter from his room. There was an almost foreign hollowness to the castle corridors, as if the silence that had ensued since the previous evening had engulfed his home entirely, flesh and bones, marble and stone. It made his skin pale and and his eyes burn with crimson hues. He forced himself to swallow his own apprehension and stopped abruptly, if only to lean against the cold comfort of the wall. He allowed his eyes to close for a moment. Reaching into the abysmal recesses of his consciousness, he brushed past the burning embers of hundreds, millions of minds that shown both bright and dim throughout the darkness. He reached; reached until he had found the glowing, radiant tendril of the mind he knew best in the entire castle, and his feet began to follow the impulse developed through centuries of practice. Before he knew it, his feet had led him to Volturi athenaeum, to the very place he had expected to find the one who had wounded Heidi and him the most.
Pushing through the double-doors, he neither glanced about the library, nor chose to sit in one of the armchairs nearest the fire. Instinct had led him to set the decanter on a table, had led him to a bookshelf of all places. His bone-white fingers gently grazed the leather binding of The Invisible Man, “They say the test of a good novel… is dreading to begin the last chapter.”