𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄, Volturi Kings

𝐗𝐈𝐕, 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐖

IT WAS MY JOB TO KEEP THINGS RUNNING IN THE CLOCKTOWER. Not really, I can't hype myself up and feel that important around here. For reality's sake I'll say that I do enough to prove I belong here as a secratary for the Volturi brothers.

For all that it was worth to anyone back home, I'd been a dear at organizing mail for anyone who asked it to be done. Now, it's my job to manage who gets what packages at what times, as well as get their letters from... I suppose their friends and other family members, there to them.

The walk from the mailbox to the rooms was a drag, I'll admit, but the process of sorting mail genuinely wanted to make me take a few days off every Saturday when I did it. The personal mail waited until then to be done, and it showed. Mail all over the desks at the library, with me over them, praying that a few would magically fly into the right pile.

I hope nobody walked in on me doing that. My scrunched up nose at the cursive would make anyone in this place laugh openly. I never did tell those men that my eyesight wasn't the best when it came to these things.

Marcus wouldn't care, I doubt he would.

Aro might not, he may give advice on whose it could be.

Caius would scowl at my inability to read. He'd probably call me illiterate. And I'd probably flip him off behind his back.

"This is literally the worst," I said as I grabbed another letter, one with a note at the bottom that I prayed would give some info as to whose this was. The name was made from some expensive ink, I'd reckon, and smeared. "Why can these people do the address clearly and not the fucking names. Who the hell do they think does the mail around here? Me, it's me, I do. Fuck me. Fuck me into next Tueday. I'll probably be done with this by Tuesday."

Besides ranting about my predicament, I did notice in small, barely legible handwriting, that whoever wrote this, "missed her, write more."

I wished he didn't write so often. Wished nobody wrote so often. Use a freaking phone, or a computer if you're feeling so inclined. These medieval letters that may as well have been shat on by carrier pidgeons were not my style whatsoever.

While I hated, and I mean hated, doing this, I had to open up the letter to figure out who had written it. I didn't want to, and I promised whoever wrote this internally that I'd only read the first part, which often read "dear-"

Never ask me how I know that. Okay- I'd done it a few times when in a similar situation. Sue me. I've always been too curious.

"Nows a better time than on Tuesday when I'm burnt out and disoriented," I reasoned as I carefully opened the letter with a spare letter opener I'd aquired from down the street, from a kind old couple who seemed worried when I'd said I'd been staying here as the Volturi brother's secretary.

"I have wanted your touch during our times apart, your sweet lips tasting like the sweetest young blood," I read aloud to myself, knowing nobody was in the Library to catch me. "Okay, that's fucking disgusting. Should the FBI be involved in this? Shit, except reading mail is illegal, isn't it? Damn, could have caught this guy. Seems like a wackjob, or a stalker."