MADELENA
“Hello, brother.”
Two simple words that in their tone and cadence conveyed all that had come before. This was to be no happy homecoming. This was to be war.
In the years since the Salvatores took their place in the world of the undead, there were a number of different run-ins and confrontations that had over time molded the relationship Damon and Stefan maintained at this crossroad. It was one fraught with distrust, misplaced resentment and general incivility. Damon was here with an agenda, but Damon always had an agenda, hidden or otherwise, when it came to interactions with his brother. The sweet-faced boy so beloved by his mother was now a smirking monster who used arrogance and sexual prowess to cover up his own insecurities. Stefan, the babe who never knew a mother’s love, was even more a monster, not only in that he killed uncontrollably when in the clutches of blood lust, but he had convinced himself he was the good guy. Denial runs strong in this family.
I had finally been freed from the confines of the boarding house walls where I had been trapped after the locket, but was relegated to the far corners of the attic. The tale of how this occurred was told elsewhere and is unimportant at this juncture, suffice it to say I had nowhere else I could go and neither Stefan nor Zach seemed to mind my presence. I was still the caretaker in a sense and found it quite peaceful to spend my new found limited freedom exploring the books and artifacts stowed away through decades of Stefan’s pack ratting. It was from this perch I heard the violent confrontation that highlighted the reunion and raced to the window to look down upon the yard.
The moment I saw Damon in all his bad boy artifice, I was gone. I would soon be joined by several others all vying for his attention. He was no longer the sweet child who hid amongst his mother’s skirts when Giuseppe’s voice thundered through the manor, he was sex and sin in a leather jacket. He was also convinced of his love for another and I had no heart for being second best, a trait we actually shared.
I was sure to stay out of his way as he tangled with Stefan over the wisdom of freeing Katherine from her supposed tomb and the duo’s joint obsession with the lovely, if disaster-prone Gilbert girl. I will admit to some mild amusement when she chose neither of them and skipped town to have a torrid love affair with Caroline. I must say the blow to their respective egos was a bit delicious and they soon embarked on separate journeys out of Mystic Falls. Or so I thought.
To say our first official meeting was inauspicious would be an insult to horrible meetings. I don’t believe dumping a tray of ice cubes down someone’s breeches is ever considered an appropriate greeting, and my mother would have fainted dead away at the thought, but he did insult my singing, a failing no woman should have to put up with. So I of course supplied the icy vengeance and he supplied the snark and inappropriate nudity.
I truly hadn’t expected him to disrobe, but who was I to look such a gift horse in the mouth? It was also quite obvious he had used his sexuality as a weapon often enough in the past that he just assumed I would melt in a puddle at his feet to mix in with the melted ice cubes. I was not so easily swayed. Instead of leering, I laughed, not in mocking or cruelty, but in true light hearted joviality. I don’t believe many had ever laughed with him out of amusement and he was quite amused by my story, as well. I was stunned to hear Stefan had never mentioned me. I truly believe Stefan meant only to keep me from harm when he kept knowledge of me from Damon; such distrust being the hallmark of their history.
We bonded over our love for bourbon, sexual innuendos and Alaric, three things we both agreed made life in Mystic Falls more palatable. Even though there was no denying I found him to be the most attractive man I’d seen in 500 years, I asked nothing of him nor judged him as lacking. Being locked in spirit form for 500 years gives one a bit of a perspective on long term obsessions and a desperate need for love. I told him it was time to let go of the past or be doomed to repeat it forever.
“It’s over, Damon. Let it reside in the past and live in the now. Don’t look back or you’ll never see the wonder that’s ahead.”
We were not each other’s first friends, but we may have been the first of the opposite sex where sex actually wasn’t involved. At least, not at first. What? I never said I was a saint.
At this time Alaric was working with me to determine how I could move beyond the walls of the house. All of the research had turned up nothing and I was quite reluctant to approach the one person who could possibly hold a key to my prison. A Bennett witch had tied me to the House, so perhaps a Bennett witch could free me? It was possible, but from my position as unofficial Mystic Falls observer, everyone went to Bonnie for the slightest of needs with nary a thought as to the effect it would have on her. She was loyal to a fault, however, and would dive into whatever insane plot these often selfish friends would cobble together. I had watched time and again as this lovely young woman was used up and I would not be one more to assume her services were mine for the asking.
Of course humility and restraint are two terms that don’t even have a passing familiarity with Damon Salvatore. I did not know it at the time, but when he approached her with the normal Salvatore swagger, she rejected him on sight, not wanting to be a part of any scheme that Damon was hatching as it had been her experience there was nothing altruistic about his endeavors. However, he surprised her. He plead the case for the girl who refused to ask for herself and together they were able to find the original locket my mother had bound my spirit to and set it back around my neck. Who knew my former gilded cage was the key to my release. It was buried deep within the catacombs of the boarding house and that is what had kept me from venturing out beyond its boundary.
I was tied once more to this bauble of silver filigree, yet somehow I was no longer imprisoned but freed. I was free to leave the house I had known as well as myself since the 1920s. Free to experience all the world had to offer. Free to go on my very first car ride with the top down and the wind in my hair. I was reminded of my days long ago when a similar breeze was felt on horseback in a rolling meadow. I finally allowed myself to cry for the lost love dead so many years, the little boy unaware of the family that may still exist somewhere, and for my own mother whose decision born from a twisted love had yielded to me centuries of torture.
The crying terrified Damon who would much rather confront a room full of werewolves than a single woman’s tears, so he quickly pulled over near the falls to see if there was some way to console me. I was out in a flash and over the small strip of land separating the road from the water, diving in headfirst to wash away the years of regret. Echoes of another splash told me I was not alone in the still icy spray and soon strong arms surrounded me with support and words of comfort.
“It’s OK now. You’re free and you never have to live in the past again. Don’t look back or you’ll never see the wonder that’s ahead.”
With a smirk at the repetition of my own words, Damon Salvatore lowered his head to block out the sun and light up my world with a single kiss. This was the love I had always been seeking, yet had never truly known. I tell myself that it is these words that convinced me to keep the secret of what had happened to his mother inside. The truth is I was selfish and greedy, unknowing that this selfishness would be my undoing.
And Damon’s.
“Hello, brother.”
Two simple words that in their tone and cadence conveyed all that had come before. This was to be no happy homecoming. This was to be war.
In the years since the Salvatores took their place in the world of the undead, there were a number of different run-ins and confrontations that had over time molded the relationship Damon and Stefan maintained at this crossroad. It was one fraught with distrust, misplaced resentment and general incivility. Damon was here with an agenda, but Damon always had an agenda, hidden or otherwise, when it came to interactions with his brother. The sweet-faced boy so beloved by his mother was now a smirking monster who used arrogance and sexual prowess to cover up his own insecurities. Stefan, the babe who never knew a mother’s love, was even more a monster, not only in that he killed uncontrollably when in the clutches of blood lust, but he had convinced himself he was the good guy. Denial runs strong in this family.
I had finally been freed from the confines of the boarding house walls where I had been trapped after the locket, but was relegated to the far corners of the attic. The tale of how this occurred was told elsewhere and is unimportant at this juncture, suffice it to say I had nowhere else I could go and neither Stefan nor Zach seemed to mind my presence. I was still the caretaker in a sense and found it quite peaceful to spend my new found limited freedom exploring the books and artifacts stowed away through decades of Stefan’s pack ratting. It was from this perch I heard the violent confrontation that highlighted the reunion and raced to the window to look down upon the yard.
The moment I saw Damon in all his bad boy artifice, I was gone. I would soon be joined by several others all vying for his attention. He was no longer the sweet child who hid amongst his mother’s skirts when Giuseppe’s voice thundered through the manor, he was sex and sin in a leather jacket. He was also convinced of his love for another and I had no heart for being second best, a trait we actually shared.
I was sure to stay out of his way as he tangled with Stefan over the wisdom of freeing Katherine from her supposed tomb and the duo’s joint obsession with the lovely, if disaster-prone Gilbert girl. I will admit to some mild amusement when she chose neither of them and skipped town to have a torrid love affair with Caroline. I must say the blow to their respective egos was a bit delicious and they soon embarked on separate journeys out of Mystic Falls. Or so I thought.
To say our first official meeting was inauspicious would be an insult to horrible meetings. I don’t believe dumping a tray of ice cubes down someone’s breeches is ever considered an appropriate greeting, and my mother would have fainted dead away at the thought, but he did insult my singing, a failing no woman should have to put up with. So I of course supplied the icy vengeance and he supplied the snark and inappropriate nudity.
I truly hadn’t expected him to disrobe, but who was I to look such a gift horse in the mouth? It was also quite obvious he had used his sexuality as a weapon often enough in the past that he just assumed I would melt in a puddle at his feet to mix in with the melted ice cubes. I was not so easily swayed. Instead of leering, I laughed, not in mocking or cruelty, but in true light hearted joviality. I don’t believe many had ever laughed with him out of amusement and he was quite amused by my story, as well. I was stunned to hear Stefan had never mentioned me. I truly believe Stefan meant only to keep me from harm when he kept knowledge of me from Damon; such distrust being the hallmark of their history.
We bonded over our love for bourbon, sexual innuendos and Alaric, three things we both agreed made life in Mystic Falls more palatable. Even though there was no denying I found him to be the most attractive man I’d seen in 500 years, I asked nothing of him nor judged him as lacking. Being locked in spirit form for 500 years gives one a bit of a perspective on long term obsessions and a desperate need for love. I told him it was time to let go of the past or be doomed to repeat it forever.
“It’s over, Damon. Let it reside in the past and live in the now. Don’t look back or you’ll never see the wonder that’s ahead.”
We were not each other’s first friends, but we may have been the first of the opposite sex where sex actually wasn’t involved. At least, not at first. What? I never said I was a saint.
At this time Alaric was working with me to determine how I could move beyond the walls of the house. All of the research had turned up nothing and I was quite reluctant to approach the one person who could possibly hold a key to my prison. A Bennett witch had tied me to the House, so perhaps a Bennett witch could free me? It was possible, but from my position as unofficial Mystic Falls observer, everyone went to Bonnie for the slightest of needs with nary a thought as to the effect it would have on her. She was loyal to a fault, however, and would dive into whatever insane plot these often selfish friends would cobble together. I had watched time and again as this lovely young woman was used up and I would not be one more to assume her services were mine for the asking.
Of course humility and restraint are two terms that don’t even have a passing familiarity with Damon Salvatore. I did not know it at the time, but when he approached her with the normal Salvatore swagger, she rejected him on sight, not wanting to be a part of any scheme that Damon was hatching as it had been her experience there was nothing altruistic about his endeavors. However, he surprised her. He plead the case for the girl who refused to ask for herself and together they were able to find the original locket my mother had bound my spirit to and set it back around my neck. Who knew my former gilded cage was the key to my release. It was buried deep within the catacombs of the boarding house and that is what had kept me from venturing out beyond its boundary.
I was tied once more to this bauble of silver filigree, yet somehow I was no longer imprisoned but freed. I was free to leave the house I had known as well as myself since the 1920s. Free to experience all the world had to offer. Free to go on my very first car ride with the top down and the wind in my hair. I was reminded of my days long ago when a similar breeze was felt on horseback in a rolling meadow. I finally allowed myself to cry for the lost love dead so many years, the little boy unaware of the family that may still exist somewhere, and for my own mother whose decision born from a twisted love had yielded to me centuries of torture.
The crying terrified Damon who would much rather confront a room full of werewolves than a single woman’s tears, so he quickly pulled over near the falls to see if there was some way to console me. I was out in a flash and over the small strip of land separating the road from the water, diving in headfirst to wash away the years of regret. Echoes of another splash told me I was not alone in the still icy spray and soon strong arms surrounded me with support and words of comfort.
“It’s OK now. You’re free and you never have to live in the past again. Don’t look back or you’ll never see the wonder that’s ahead.”
With a smirk at the repetition of my own words, Damon Salvatore lowered his head to block out the sun and light up my world with a single kiss. This was the love I had always been seeking, yet had never truly known. I tell myself that it is these words that convinced me to keep the secret of what had happened to his mother inside. The truth is I was selfish and greedy, unknowing that this selfishness would be my undoing.
And Damon’s.