THE UNDYING | TWILIGHT

7. A Second Opinion

"This is wrong."

Aro stepped back a few paces and stared closely at the new painting on his wall. His discontent grew with every unbearable second that passed. "Something isn't right," he said. "Renata, what do you think?"

The brunette's vigilant eyes were fixed to the door, as if an intruder was about to burst in at any moment. Her master's sudden call shattered her composure immediately, and she started to stammer and twitch like someone aroused from a deep sleep. "Master?"

"The painting, how does it make you feel?"

"Feel?" She had been in the room with this painting for nearly an hour, yet she hadn't looked at it once, not until commanded. "I feel ..."

Her eyes became drawn to the men, to their faces: twisted in agony as they tried to climb out from the dark, bottomless pit of their own damnation and touch the light. But all this was impossible, for their heavy chains bore too great a burden.

"I feel ... condemned. Please, may I look away now?"

"Of course!" Aro exclaimed, showing little regard for the young woman's discomfort. "It's dark, depressing, and so clichéd. I can't have that. Hmm, let me see the other two. Hold them up nice and high. Yes, just like that." He studied both pieces carefully. "I'm not sure I understand the concept of abstract art, but I do appreciate it. I see nothing, yet I feel so much. Tell me, who is the artist?"

Renata searched around for a signature. "Kandinsky, I believe."

"Hmm." Aro pressed his hands together and brought them to his lips. "I just can't decide on my own. I need another opinion. Bring in Marcus and Caius, please."

Renata's eyes widened. "You want me to leave you? But if something should happen while I'm away ..."

"What could possibly happen? I'm perfectly safe in my chambers, I assure you." He waved her off with a subtle flick of his wrist. "Go on now. Be quick about it."

I don't like this at all, Renata thought, but she did as her master bid. Upon exiting his chambers, she had planned to lock the door behind her, but the key had somehow vanished from its home in her pocket. Panicking, she searched through every pocket on her being but found nothing.

"Master, someone has taken the key!" she cried from outside. "I'm not comfortable leaving you so vulnerable. What if this is all part of some treacherous plot?"

"Everything is fine, Renata," Aro promised as he returned to his desk. "There is no plot."

"But I must find the key."

"Yes, I wonder what could have happened to it ..." His eyes drifted over to the top drawer of his desk. "I'll be sure to search for it while you're away."

"But—"

"The sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back. Please, Renata, you're the only one I trust."

Renata could almost feel herself blushing. "Yes, Master."

A bright smile spread across her pale face as she began her strut down the hall, shuffling her black loafers across the floor. She greatly preferred the soft dragging sound over the loud snap of a heel striking the stone like a whip. Unlike some of her associates, who would remain nameless, she refused to dress like a harlot. Walking around in tight, skimpy dresses and putting her breasts on full display. Unforgivable. 

There's such depravity here, Renata thought, such filth. I cannot let it affect Master Aro. I must protect him. I'm the only one who can protect him from the wickedness of this place ... and the people who would do him harm.