Disclaimer: Don't own no one. Stephenie Meyer and Charlotte Bronte do.

Marcus hadn't felt anything in a very, very long time.

Well, that wasn't entirely accurate; he felt, but it wasn't an emotion. Not directly. The vicarious feelings of attachment, of love, they didn't belong to him. They were just thrust upon him in a cruel twist of fate. He had never liked his…relationship savvy power. It was there, like his eye color, like the venom in his teeth, like a lot of his vampiric traits. An accidental sort of telepathy, he could find one day not to have it and not be bothered by it in the slightest.

Nowadays though, it was a burn that did not heal, irritating but somehow bearable. …nowadays all he did was exist.

He didn't care enough to live, but he wouldn't go out of his way to die. Aro hated it when his thoughts drifted towards flames, of finding a blazing bonfire to walk into. He found it easier just to stay tethered to the Volturi like a cow chewing its cud.

There was little joy in life for him; little terror in the grave. He had lived the parting hour to see one he would have died to save.

He didn't recall the trip to Forks, his steps falling one in front of the other as he moved in the procession. He supposed the scenery was beautiful; he didn't really care to look. There were quite a lot gathered, and it was a mixed bunch. Some wolf things that were sure to rile Caius up for awhile, rogues that were off the radar. And, of course, the Cullens.

He didn't need Edward or Aro's gifts to tell why they were here. The Cullens were too numerous, gaining too much power to be left alone. The hybrid was merely a scape goat.

The burn acted up predictably, before whatever shields they had in their ragtag group came up. But the burn didn't itch; in fact it felt warm.

He kept his eyes unfocused, but he was feeling along the tendrils of a web mentally. All of them, every single vampire and werewolf alike, were tied to this little girl Renesmee. Their love for the freak was radiant, blinding almost. And he had thought the bond that kept Edward from tearing into Bella was strong. This…was unlike anything he had witnessed. It was as if she was a messiah and they were her followers, so willing to die for their love.

There had only been one instance that compared to now. It was when Didyme was alive.

He could still envision her as if he had seen her yesterday. Her hair like spun gold. Her delicate eyebrows. That infectious smile that spread like wildfire in a crowded room. And god, her laugh… She had been an addiction to their coven as strong as blood, but there was only love she loved with such intensity back.

He would never know what about him caught her attention, much like he didn't know why he had been chosen to become some undead monster. But he was grateful for it even now. Their love had been a flame; bright in burning but snuffed out far too quickly.

He would never forget how she went missing, and the first true pain he had felt since he had been turned when he saw a pile of ashes, all that remained of his bride the ring he had given to her when they had mated.

Aro said the Romanians had gotten her.

Marcus's heart told him Aro was lying.

He had no proof, and so he left it as is. He had heard that ghosts were spirits who haunted until they were avenged and so he had done nothing about her death. Nothing but fade away to a petty existence.

He didn't believe in ghosts anymore.

So this Renesmee brought happiness, just like his Didyme. Supposedly it wasn't her gift, but it was definitely a part of her. Vaguely, he wondered if she was his lost mate reincarnated.

They called for a vote. Caius, predictably, wanted to kill her. Some nonsense about a risk. It was a child who looked as capable of murder as a butterfly. She was innocent, beautiful, and not the immortal children that had caused a headache for them. Voiceless in the face of their authority.

He spoke.

"I see no immediate danger. The child is safe enough for now. We can always reevaluate later. Let us leave in peace."

There. He had done all he could do for her, the little Didyme copier. He hoped it was enough, though doubted it was.

He knew from his loss that whatever shafts of sunlight came into one's life, they had to treasure them and let them shine for as long as possible.

III

Yes, it's a drabble. Yes, I used Charlotte Bronte's poem in here (not telling you where). Yes I probably got some details wrong, even if I have the book in front of me. I just needed to get it out of my system. I love Marcus to pieces and when I read his story…so sad.