Fanfiction: Fear in a Handful of Dust (12/?)
Title: Fear in a Handful of Dust (12/?)
Author: lady_slayer
Rating: T
Pairing: Damon/Elena,
Category: Hurt/comfort
Summary:Be careful what you wish for, or it might actually happen. Lives will get turned upside down, hearts get broken and everything is NOT the way it should be. Also... nothing good EVER came of a wish that starts with "I wish you could..."!
Warnings: A little blood, a bit more foul language, but nothing TOO bad.
Show/Bookverse: Show
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. And the title is from “The Waste Land” by T.S. Eliot Spoiler: A few, I guess... but I don't really pick up on the actual show-plot, I just use a few newfound charactertraits (and new characters, like Elijah).
GASP; SHRIEK!... there, look at that it’s… it’s…an… UPDATE!
Okay right, enough with the theatrics… I am so, sooo sorry that this took me so long. But life has been a busy little bitch these last few weeks. Really, all I can do is apologize… and hoping that you are still interested in this story!
Now, as always I thank my lovely beta AVECIA for her great work (go read her stories - they are so good, that I even read the Damon/Caroline ones!) and of course to my just as wonderful readers and reviewers - you guys keep me going!
Now, on with it!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
While Elijah was reuniting with his wife, Bonnie and Damon sat across from each other in the kitchen, the silence and tension nearly thick enough to cut it with a knife. Because now that they had decided on a truce, they really had no idea what to do or say. Usually they would threaten and try everything to get a rise out of the other. But that would lead to fighting, which usually made Bonnie pull out her ‘headache-trick’ and Damon would try to taunt her even more for it. Something to definitely avoid while stuck in a truce… right now it would also kill Damon. For good. And even though she wouldn’t shed a single tear for the man… she really would hate it if Elena would be angry at her. And then there was the possibility that her best friend would be stuck permanently in her undead state- another thing to steer clear of.
The only sound in the room was the steady ticking of a clock and the tapping of a bare foot on the tile floor - both of them were too stubborn to break the silence first. They both heaved a heavy sigh of relief as Stefan came rushing through the door, somehow managing to be out of breath even though he technically didn’t need air to survive. He looked around frantically, the veins around his eyes clearly visible, incisors long and decidedly not human looking. As he saw that there was no immediate danger, he relaxed marginally (reigning in his more predatory side). Moments later he had a confused look on his face and turned to Bonnie.
“You texted me to come here as fast as I possibly can; that there’s an emergency.”
Yeah… his brother sounded decidedly NOT amused with the little witch. He would grin and maybe even outright laugh at that; if there wasn’t that pesky little truce he had negotiated himself (sometimes his more clever ideas turned around to bite him in the ass… really inconvenient).
It was still amusing to watch her squirm under Stefan’s shame-on-you-stare; mostly because it was really nice not being the one on the receiving end for once.
“Well, there is an emergency… sort of. I’m alone with Damon, and Elena is in my living room - making out with Elijah and…”
“Really? You called me because you’re alone with Da… woah, wait a second. Repeat the last part, because I could swear you just said that Elena is…”
“Making out with Elijah. You heard right, oh brother dearest.”
Now the confused look was back on Stefan’s face, and he could practically hear his brain jumping into overdrive. But anyone with eyes could see that the words made neither rhyme nor reason to him.
“Don’t get me wrong Damon but… isn’t she supposed to do that with you? Last time I checked, you weren’t big onto sharing what you see as yours.”
The only thing that comment managed to do was to make the same empty expression appear on Bonnies face.
Great, a clueless witch AND a vampire with no idea what’s going on. Lucky me.
“I think you got something wrong there Stefan… after all, Elena wasn’t his girlfriend, last time I checked.”
“And when was the last time you checked?” Damon nearly started to laugh again - it was simply hilarious, how his brother seemed to have found the part of himself again which allowed him to have fun.
“Ex…cuse me? What does that even mean? Elena is your girlfriend, not Damon’s.”
Now both brothers grinned rather devilishly (yeah, Damon thought… it’s really nice that his brother is acting like himself again; not like the broody Mr. Buzz-kill he had been for the last century or so) and exchanged a quick look.
“Oh I don’t know about that. The moans and screams from his bedroom last night had been a really good giveaway at what the two of them had been up to…”
Bonnie’s eyes where as big as saucers by then, and a strange (and admittedly deranged) part of him pictured them actually popping out; hanging out of her eye sockets by muscles and nerves.
“By the way Damon… next time hang a sock or something on the front door if you’re going at it. I really didn’t need those particular sounds to lull me into sleep. I’m really more into Bach or Beethoven than ‘Damon and Elena - fucking the living daylights out of each other: Volume one’… although, I think I need a new name for that. It’s too long.”
By now the witch looked about ready to faint on the spot. She was doing a remarkable imitation of a goldfish out of water, too.
Just as she was getting her act back together and would have probably done something stupid (he could see it in her eyes… they had this glimmer in them that usually meant trouble for him) Elijah and Elena-Alyona stepped into the room.
They stood in the doorway, fingers intertwined; for the first time since they met him, Elijah’s expression was not indifferent, amused or bored. No, right now there were actual feelings showing on his face; by the look of it, he wasn’t trying to hide them either. He just seemed genuinely happy.
Silence had fallen over the room again, and they were all waiting for The Old One to break it.
In the end though, it was his wife who did it. She let go of Elijah’s hand and stepped farther into the room. Then she smiled gently at all of them before she spoke.
“I am very grateful that I had the chance to speak to my dear husband again… that you allowed me to meet him, and not demanded for me to give Elena back right away. I know it must have been hard for you but… I assure you that what I did was for a very good reason.”
The smile that had dropped from Stefan’s face as soon as he had seen Elijah and Elena (or what he thought was Elena) entering the room hand in hand, had now entirely turned into a frown. Usually Damon would have made fun of that, but he conceded to the fact that he had a reason this time.
As if she sensed the confusion of his brother - or maybe she just interpreted the frown right - Alyona turned to Stefan and held her hand out to him; it was in the same fashion she did to Damon earlier that morning… and Stefan being the good boy he had always (or at least sometimes) been, took it gingerly in his, bended over and kissed the air right above her knuckles.
Well learned and remembered… it seemed that you just couldn’t kill the southern Gentleman in one being, even after nearly a hundred and fifty years. Figures.
“You must be Stefan. I have learned much about you, while residing in the back of Elena’s mind. She thinks very fondly of you indeed.”
A small smile ran over Stefan’s face at that, but it was gone nearly as fast as it had appeared there.
“Well… I think very fondly of her too so… would you mind explaining to me where she is? And who are you?”
She smiled that eerily calm smile of hers again, before backtracking her earlier steps to reclaim Elijah’s hand.
“Very well… I think it really is time to tell my - our story. The story of the first vampires and werewolves… the story of the first Doppelganger. It is, after all, the real reason why I had to come back one more time.”
Stefan and Damon immediately straightened up at that, and even Bonnie forgot to throw a tantrum at the fact that her best friend seemed to be sharing more than animosity with the bad Salvatore brother.
“It all began a long time ago; when people still believed in gods and fates - when they still feared the wrath of them, and tried to sooth them with all their might….”
Flashback
If it weren’t for the sound of the raindrops hitting the dry sand and the thunder rumbling high above in the sky, it would be a deathly quiet night. No birds sang their songs, no people were out - not down in the city of Troy, and sure as hell not up in the mountains. The small paths that led up to the top were small and dangerous on a good day… but in a thunderstorm like this one, nobody sane would dare to try and climb it.
But then again, the gap between sanity and insanity was often crossed faster than one would think possible. Love could make a person desperate enough to do so, as could the threat of imminent death.
And so a fair-haired young man, in the prime of his youth and strength - one hand firmly grasped around the small wrist of a woman with dark hair and eyes, and the other pressed over a wound on the left side of his chest - happened to be desperate enough to use the path; for he was not only in love, but he was also dying.
The woman stumbled along behind him, her tears carried away by rain and wind even before they could fall from her eyes, her desperate cries for the man to just stop, or let her go stolen by the bitter wind. And even though the circumstances should have made it impossible… even though they should have fallen to their death, or the man should have bled out a long time ago… they reached the top of the mountain, both of them still alive.
And there, nestled into the half circle of the edge of a small wood was a small hut, flickering light still making its way out from under the closed shutters. The man got more impatient with each step he took forward, feeling that his strength - his life and blood - was starting to fade now. So he went faster and faster, the last few steps nearly running.
Then he was letting go of the wound in his chest (never of her arm, because he feared she would just turn around and run back to that other man… to that bastard she dared to call her husband) and banged on the door as loud and hard as he could. Moments later it was wrenched open, and in front of them stood a pretty, young woman. She had very fair skin and reddish hair; but as small and slender as she was, her brown eyes spit fire at them and showed strength far beyond anything physical.
“You!” Her voice was so full of hate and, hidden so deeply that someone who had never had the misfortune of a broken heart wouldn’t have heard it, pain. That one word would’ve sent most men running for their lives… but he wasn’t most men, and he was in need of help only the little redhead could provide.
“Yes, it is me… and I need your help. I am dying, and I can think of nobody else to save my life now. You have to help me!”
First, his voice had sounded nearly pleading, but at the end it was more demanding than anything else; the voice of a man who was used to getting whatever he wanted
She stared at the both of them, taking in the blood seeping out of his wound, his tight grip on the other woman’s wrist; the anguished expression of the dark haired beauty. And as the eyes of both women met, they found a kin soul in the other. Both their hearts broken by the same man. Alyona - called Helena by those ignorant people of the city of Troy - stolen from her beloved Menelaus. And Oenone sent to live up there where no one ever came to keep her company, just because her husband, the bleeding man standing before her now, had wanted the beautiful Helena for himself. She could feel hatred towards that woman… but it wasn’t her fault that she was born, looking as she was. It wasn’t her fault that Paris was possessed by beauty, or that he always wanted what wasn’t his for the taking. But at the same time she was bitter and couldn’t find it in herself to just straighten a path for her to a happily ever after. So she found a way to get her own revenge, and to give the other woman a chance to do the same thing - but not now, and not for a long time.
So she cursed the man she once called her love. She cursed him with eternal youth, so that he would always be as young and beautiful as he was now. But at the same time, she made sure that the sun could never again reach his skin without bringing him pain and permanent death; she made sure that the blood he so hated when it marred his clean clothes and skin, would always be needed to sustain him.
At the same time, she sent a curse to one of his greatest opponents too - making him into the wolf his name stood for. And at last, she made the love of the other woman into the same monster she had made of her own man.
As soon as the man felt his strength returning to him he turned around, tugging at Alyonas arm to make her come with him. Just before she was out of reach, Oenone laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed it once. Then she had to follow Paris, back down the mountain.
Only, she never reached the bottom of it. Halfway down a rock fall broke loose, taking them both with it.
The sun went up, and down again, and as the moon was nearly at its highest, an arm - soon followed by the rest of a body - made its way out from under stone and dried mud. After him, he dragged the broken body of a once beautiful Alyona, her eyes wide and staring into nothing.
Yes, he was still standing - not rotting away in a grave, or burned to ashes in a hero’s funeral-pyre. But what for? The woman he had loved was dead now… and though he should feel despair, the only thing he could really think of was how delicious the congealed blood on her face smelled.
End of Flashback
They all were silent as she ended her tale, too stunned to say anything. Neither of them had ever thought how or why vampires and werewolves came into existence… not even Damon or Stefan themselves, even though they had lived with fangs and a serious sun allergy for almost a century and a half. But… as Damon once had said: ‘didn’t it always come down to the love of a woman?’
It maybe would even be funny… if it wouldn’t be so terribly tragic at the same time.
“So… let me get this straight. You are Helen of troy which… probably makes Klaus into Paris? So Elijah was…” Of course Stefan would know his literature…
“Menelaus, the King of Sparta.” And as startled as they looked… every one of them could imagine the proud man in front of them sitting on an actual throne, ruling over a country.
“Well… that’s all fine and dandy, really. Klaus managed to piss of the wrong witch who - in turn - laid those curses on you two and… turned someone else into a werewolf. But that really doesn’t explain the whole Doppelganger thing; not in the least.” Damon earned himself a scolding look from Judgy at that… but as long as those weren’t accompanied by bursting blood vessels in his brain, he really couldn’t care less.
“Ah yes, that. You see, as Oenone touched my shoulder, she sent me a message. She let me know that I would have a chance to find my own revenge; she made it so that at random times a Doppelganger would be born. If the circumstances were right… if her heart and soul were similar to mine so she would be like me not only in looks I could come back. I could come back, and take his life myself. Because you see… only a Doppelganger can end his life for good. And only I have the knowledge of how to accomplish that.” There were a few moments of silence before Damon spoke up again.
“So… you’re here to kill Klaus?” She had that eerie smile on her face again; only this time it was edged with hate and even a little cruelty… something that would never have happened if it were actually Elena they were talking to.
“Yes. I am here to kill Klaus.”
Xoxoxoxoxoxox
Right so… what do you think? Still okay like this? I hope so, because I had actually great fun, writing this chapter! Again, sorry for the delay and now… please leave me a few words and tell me if you liked this chapter (or maybe hated it… don’t know o.O). Reviews are love, people!
So long,
Lady
Author: lady_slayer
Rating: T
Pairing: Damon/Elena,
Category: Hurt/comfort
Summary:Be careful what you wish for, or it might actually happen. Lives will get turned upside down, hearts get broken and everything is NOT the way it should be. Also... nothing good EVER came of a wish that starts with "I wish you could..."!
Warnings: A little blood, a bit more foul language, but nothing TOO bad.
Show/Bookverse: Show
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. And the title is from “The Waste Land” by T.S. Eliot Spoiler: A few, I guess... but I don't really pick up on the actual show-plot, I just use a few newfound charactertraits (and new characters, like Elijah).
GASP; SHRIEK!... there, look at that it’s… it’s…an… UPDATE!
Okay right, enough with the theatrics… I am so, sooo sorry that this took me so long. But life has been a busy little bitch these last few weeks. Really, all I can do is apologize… and hoping that you are still interested in this story!
Now, as always I thank my lovely beta AVECIA for her great work (go read her stories - they are so good, that I even read the Damon/Caroline ones!) and of course to my just as wonderful readers and reviewers - you guys keep me going!
Now, on with it!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
While Elijah was reuniting with his wife, Bonnie and Damon sat across from each other in the kitchen, the silence and tension nearly thick enough to cut it with a knife. Because now that they had decided on a truce, they really had no idea what to do or say. Usually they would threaten and try everything to get a rise out of the other. But that would lead to fighting, which usually made Bonnie pull out her ‘headache-trick’ and Damon would try to taunt her even more for it. Something to definitely avoid while stuck in a truce… right now it would also kill Damon. For good. And even though she wouldn’t shed a single tear for the man… she really would hate it if Elena would be angry at her. And then there was the possibility that her best friend would be stuck permanently in her undead state- another thing to steer clear of.
The only sound in the room was the steady ticking of a clock and the tapping of a bare foot on the tile floor - both of them were too stubborn to break the silence first. They both heaved a heavy sigh of relief as Stefan came rushing through the door, somehow managing to be out of breath even though he technically didn’t need air to survive. He looked around frantically, the veins around his eyes clearly visible, incisors long and decidedly not human looking. As he saw that there was no immediate danger, he relaxed marginally (reigning in his more predatory side). Moments later he had a confused look on his face and turned to Bonnie.
“You texted me to come here as fast as I possibly can; that there’s an emergency.”
Yeah… his brother sounded decidedly NOT amused with the little witch. He would grin and maybe even outright laugh at that; if there wasn’t that pesky little truce he had negotiated himself (sometimes his more clever ideas turned around to bite him in the ass… really inconvenient).
It was still amusing to watch her squirm under Stefan’s shame-on-you-stare; mostly because it was really nice not being the one on the receiving end for once.
“Well, there is an emergency… sort of. I’m alone with Damon, and Elena is in my living room - making out with Elijah and…”
“Really? You called me because you’re alone with Da… woah, wait a second. Repeat the last part, because I could swear you just said that Elena is…”
“Making out with Elijah. You heard right, oh brother dearest.”
Now the confused look was back on Stefan’s face, and he could practically hear his brain jumping into overdrive. But anyone with eyes could see that the words made neither rhyme nor reason to him.
“Don’t get me wrong Damon but… isn’t she supposed to do that with you? Last time I checked, you weren’t big onto sharing what you see as yours.”
The only thing that comment managed to do was to make the same empty expression appear on Bonnies face.
Great, a clueless witch AND a vampire with no idea what’s going on. Lucky me.
“I think you got something wrong there Stefan… after all, Elena wasn’t his girlfriend, last time I checked.”
“And when was the last time you checked?” Damon nearly started to laugh again - it was simply hilarious, how his brother seemed to have found the part of himself again which allowed him to have fun.
“Ex…cuse me? What does that even mean? Elena is your girlfriend, not Damon’s.”
Now both brothers grinned rather devilishly (yeah, Damon thought… it’s really nice that his brother is acting like himself again; not like the broody Mr. Buzz-kill he had been for the last century or so) and exchanged a quick look.
“Oh I don’t know about that. The moans and screams from his bedroom last night had been a really good giveaway at what the two of them had been up to…”
Bonnie’s eyes where as big as saucers by then, and a strange (and admittedly deranged) part of him pictured them actually popping out; hanging out of her eye sockets by muscles and nerves.
“By the way Damon… next time hang a sock or something on the front door if you’re going at it. I really didn’t need those particular sounds to lull me into sleep. I’m really more into Bach or Beethoven than ‘Damon and Elena - fucking the living daylights out of each other: Volume one’… although, I think I need a new name for that. It’s too long.”
By now the witch looked about ready to faint on the spot. She was doing a remarkable imitation of a goldfish out of water, too.
Just as she was getting her act back together and would have probably done something stupid (he could see it in her eyes… they had this glimmer in them that usually meant trouble for him) Elijah and Elena-Alyona stepped into the room.
They stood in the doorway, fingers intertwined; for the first time since they met him, Elijah’s expression was not indifferent, amused or bored. No, right now there were actual feelings showing on his face; by the look of it, he wasn’t trying to hide them either. He just seemed genuinely happy.
Silence had fallen over the room again, and they were all waiting for The Old One to break it.
In the end though, it was his wife who did it. She let go of Elijah’s hand and stepped farther into the room. Then she smiled gently at all of them before she spoke.
“I am very grateful that I had the chance to speak to my dear husband again… that you allowed me to meet him, and not demanded for me to give Elena back right away. I know it must have been hard for you but… I assure you that what I did was for a very good reason.”
The smile that had dropped from Stefan’s face as soon as he had seen Elijah and Elena (or what he thought was Elena) entering the room hand in hand, had now entirely turned into a frown. Usually Damon would have made fun of that, but he conceded to the fact that he had a reason this time.
As if she sensed the confusion of his brother - or maybe she just interpreted the frown right - Alyona turned to Stefan and held her hand out to him; it was in the same fashion she did to Damon earlier that morning… and Stefan being the good boy he had always (or at least sometimes) been, took it gingerly in his, bended over and kissed the air right above her knuckles.
Well learned and remembered… it seemed that you just couldn’t kill the southern Gentleman in one being, even after nearly a hundred and fifty years. Figures.
“You must be Stefan. I have learned much about you, while residing in the back of Elena’s mind. She thinks very fondly of you indeed.”
A small smile ran over Stefan’s face at that, but it was gone nearly as fast as it had appeared there.
“Well… I think very fondly of her too so… would you mind explaining to me where she is? And who are you?”
She smiled that eerily calm smile of hers again, before backtracking her earlier steps to reclaim Elijah’s hand.
“Very well… I think it really is time to tell my - our story. The story of the first vampires and werewolves… the story of the first Doppelganger. It is, after all, the real reason why I had to come back one more time.”
Stefan and Damon immediately straightened up at that, and even Bonnie forgot to throw a tantrum at the fact that her best friend seemed to be sharing more than animosity with the bad Salvatore brother.
“It all began a long time ago; when people still believed in gods and fates - when they still feared the wrath of them, and tried to sooth them with all their might….”
Flashback
If it weren’t for the sound of the raindrops hitting the dry sand and the thunder rumbling high above in the sky, it would be a deathly quiet night. No birds sang their songs, no people were out - not down in the city of Troy, and sure as hell not up in the mountains. The small paths that led up to the top were small and dangerous on a good day… but in a thunderstorm like this one, nobody sane would dare to try and climb it.
But then again, the gap between sanity and insanity was often crossed faster than one would think possible. Love could make a person desperate enough to do so, as could the threat of imminent death.
And so a fair-haired young man, in the prime of his youth and strength - one hand firmly grasped around the small wrist of a woman with dark hair and eyes, and the other pressed over a wound on the left side of his chest - happened to be desperate enough to use the path; for he was not only in love, but he was also dying.
The woman stumbled along behind him, her tears carried away by rain and wind even before they could fall from her eyes, her desperate cries for the man to just stop, or let her go stolen by the bitter wind. And even though the circumstances should have made it impossible… even though they should have fallen to their death, or the man should have bled out a long time ago… they reached the top of the mountain, both of them still alive.
And there, nestled into the half circle of the edge of a small wood was a small hut, flickering light still making its way out from under the closed shutters. The man got more impatient with each step he took forward, feeling that his strength - his life and blood - was starting to fade now. So he went faster and faster, the last few steps nearly running.
Then he was letting go of the wound in his chest (never of her arm, because he feared she would just turn around and run back to that other man… to that bastard she dared to call her husband) and banged on the door as loud and hard as he could. Moments later it was wrenched open, and in front of them stood a pretty, young woman. She had very fair skin and reddish hair; but as small and slender as she was, her brown eyes spit fire at them and showed strength far beyond anything physical.
“You!” Her voice was so full of hate and, hidden so deeply that someone who had never had the misfortune of a broken heart wouldn’t have heard it, pain. That one word would’ve sent most men running for their lives… but he wasn’t most men, and he was in need of help only the little redhead could provide.
“Yes, it is me… and I need your help. I am dying, and I can think of nobody else to save my life now. You have to help me!”
First, his voice had sounded nearly pleading, but at the end it was more demanding than anything else; the voice of a man who was used to getting whatever he wanted
She stared at the both of them, taking in the blood seeping out of his wound, his tight grip on the other woman’s wrist; the anguished expression of the dark haired beauty. And as the eyes of both women met, they found a kin soul in the other. Both their hearts broken by the same man. Alyona - called Helena by those ignorant people of the city of Troy - stolen from her beloved Menelaus. And Oenone sent to live up there where no one ever came to keep her company, just because her husband, the bleeding man standing before her now, had wanted the beautiful Helena for himself. She could feel hatred towards that woman… but it wasn’t her fault that she was born, looking as she was. It wasn’t her fault that Paris was possessed by beauty, or that he always wanted what wasn’t his for the taking. But at the same time she was bitter and couldn’t find it in herself to just straighten a path for her to a happily ever after. So she found a way to get her own revenge, and to give the other woman a chance to do the same thing - but not now, and not for a long time.
So she cursed the man she once called her love. She cursed him with eternal youth, so that he would always be as young and beautiful as he was now. But at the same time, she made sure that the sun could never again reach his skin without bringing him pain and permanent death; she made sure that the blood he so hated when it marred his clean clothes and skin, would always be needed to sustain him.
At the same time, she sent a curse to one of his greatest opponents too - making him into the wolf his name stood for. And at last, she made the love of the other woman into the same monster she had made of her own man.
As soon as the man felt his strength returning to him he turned around, tugging at Alyonas arm to make her come with him. Just before she was out of reach, Oenone laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed it once. Then she had to follow Paris, back down the mountain.
Only, she never reached the bottom of it. Halfway down a rock fall broke loose, taking them both with it.
The sun went up, and down again, and as the moon was nearly at its highest, an arm - soon followed by the rest of a body - made its way out from under stone and dried mud. After him, he dragged the broken body of a once beautiful Alyona, her eyes wide and staring into nothing.
Yes, he was still standing - not rotting away in a grave, or burned to ashes in a hero’s funeral-pyre. But what for? The woman he had loved was dead now… and though he should feel despair, the only thing he could really think of was how delicious the congealed blood on her face smelled.
End of Flashback
They all were silent as she ended her tale, too stunned to say anything. Neither of them had ever thought how or why vampires and werewolves came into existence… not even Damon or Stefan themselves, even though they had lived with fangs and a serious sun allergy for almost a century and a half. But… as Damon once had said: ‘didn’t it always come down to the love of a woman?’
It maybe would even be funny… if it wouldn’t be so terribly tragic at the same time.
“So… let me get this straight. You are Helen of troy which… probably makes Klaus into Paris? So Elijah was…” Of course Stefan would know his literature…
“Menelaus, the King of Sparta.” And as startled as they looked… every one of them could imagine the proud man in front of them sitting on an actual throne, ruling over a country.
“Well… that’s all fine and dandy, really. Klaus managed to piss of the wrong witch who - in turn - laid those curses on you two and… turned someone else into a werewolf. But that really doesn’t explain the whole Doppelganger thing; not in the least.” Damon earned himself a scolding look from Judgy at that… but as long as those weren’t accompanied by bursting blood vessels in his brain, he really couldn’t care less.
“Ah yes, that. You see, as Oenone touched my shoulder, she sent me a message. She let me know that I would have a chance to find my own revenge; she made it so that at random times a Doppelganger would be born. If the circumstances were right… if her heart and soul were similar to mine so she would be like me not only in looks I could come back. I could come back, and take his life myself. Because you see… only a Doppelganger can end his life for good. And only I have the knowledge of how to accomplish that.” There were a few moments of silence before Damon spoke up again.
“So… you’re here to kill Klaus?” She had that eerie smile on her face again; only this time it was edged with hate and even a little cruelty… something that would never have happened if it were actually Elena they were talking to.
“Yes. I am here to kill Klaus.”
Xoxoxoxoxoxox
Right so… what do you think? Still okay like this? I hope so, because I had actually great fun, writing this chapter! Again, sorry for the delay and now… please leave me a few words and tell me if you liked this chapter (or maybe hated it… don’t know o.O). Reviews are love, people!
So long,
Lady