That's one of the the mellower songs by them, perhaps the only one.
I was listening to Dez Moines, Sassafras, and Danger: Wildman. Heavy stuff there.
Maria looked up at Monica expectantly. Monica sighed and hesitantly sat down beside her in her designated spot, clasping her fingers together on her lap. She heard Lidia's brisk footsteps beside her as she gazed down at Feline's motionless body, placing down a thick bag that smelled strongly of blood. Monica worked her mouth and turned away from the enticing scent.
"You've never seen an immortal child, Maria?" Monica finally said, looking up toward the stars.
Maria shook her head; Monica could hear her the strands of her hair bounce and brush against each other.
"I have." Monica said absently, her eyes searching the sky for the star Sirius. "Five of them. The Volturi sent me on an ameteur mission with Felix to dispose of a coven of three small children, nothing over the age of five. It was sad to see their tiny bodies piled atop each other for burning, but they weren't children anymore." She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her arms on her legs, bouncing her chin on her arms. Maria seemed a bit confused as to were her story was going, and why it portained to Feline's story.
The thing was, it didn't. But Monica continued anyway in that same distant, matter-of-fact voice. "Then there was another pair I eliminated after stumbling upon them in New York City. They were twins; brother and sister. They were created by accident, but their creator, her name was Delilah, I think, kept them anyway, convinced that she could train them to abide by the laws. But they were too young, too undeveloped; I could see the lost cause in their crimson eyes. . ." She trailed off, finally having found the bright star. She stared at it for a moment, listening to the grass brush against each other, hear the waterfall-like rushing of leaves far in the dark trees.
"Ten minutes." Queenie piped up from somewhere behind them.
"When Ma died, it took a toll on all of us, very much so." Monica murmured, finally forcing herself to look at Feline, resting peacefully in the moonlit pit, her pearly skin glowing, her lids flickering as her eyes still darted about in a dream, or nightmare, or whatever vampires have. "But Feline took it the worst, even worse than I did, who had to be the mother to six others. It destroyed her entirely; she was unconsolable. A family friend of ours diagnosed it as PTSD; post-traumatic stress disorder. She got really sick after that; I thought it was the flu, or a high-level cold, or something. She coughed so much, so violently. Feline couldn't sleep, she was always sweating. When she did sleep, she was restless; she coughed so much, it usually kept her awake. We were terrified." Monica admitted, but her voice was strangely monotone.
"I didn't know what she had, but she was so strong, even as she grew rail-thin, nothing but skin and bones. She was always so. . . excited to see another day. I was dying inside everytime she coughed or complained that her chest hurt. Feline refused to eat, and her skin grew so pale and guant, it almost looked like she was already gone. But I had other responsibilities to tend to. I couldn't risk giving exclusive care to Feline, while Rayne was complaining of hunger, or Skye was playing in the street. I kept her in her room, I was so terrified that the others would catch the sickness. Poor baby; she was so bored and lonely."
Monica stopped speaking, her eyes seemingly much older than she looked, than she really was. She bit her lip as Feline stirred, moaning a bit.
"Six minutes." Queenie murmured.
"Everything is kind of fuzzy after that." Monica admitted hastily. "But a doctor diagnosed it a tuberculosis, and it was too far advanced to be anything but fatal. I couldn't earn enough money for the medicine, or for treatment, so we let it advance." She ran a hand through her hair and sighed heavily. "So I saved my money, scrounged for pennies in fountains." She smiled wistfully in a memory. "We used to have family outings were we'd dive into the public fountains for money."
Monica's eyes darkened, her mouth twisting into a dissatisfied line. "I can barely remember now, because it was so close to my death date. But we did save enough money for the treatment, and the doc said that it was possible to save her. I remember running home as fast as I could, whooping and screaming because I got the money. Then-" Monica turned to smile sadly at Maria. "I died."
Monica sighed and plopped backward into the grass, putting her arms under her head. "You know what happens after that. I was drafted into the Volturi, then joined a nomad clan. Then, I came across the Mafia. Even all through those times, I kept checking on them," Monica chuckled. "They still think I'm human and working in the city to raise money for us. I keep in touch with them through our. . . family friend. Recently he told me she was taking a turn for the worst, so I decided to check in early. And then. . .I found her. Dying, pallid, and hardly breathing."
"I know it was the worst descison I have ever made. But I panicked and I. . .did it. Don't ask me how, but I did."