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"I etch my own face upon my wicked flesh. I am my own devastating god."
By Rachel McKibbens, from Women of Resistance
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Lucia Ibarra was going to kill Damon Salvatore.
Centuries of plotting, curating backup plans and failsafes, and fantasizing of driving the stake into his heart all led to this moment. She returned to Mystic Falls, a trail of blood and bodies behind her. The town welcomed her back with its suffocating hands — but she would not surrender to it, not until the last body on her list was checked off.
Her plans, her meticulous plans, failed to warn her of what it would be like to face him. What it would be like to see him for the first time in so very long, what reaction her heart would have. She hadn't thought of her heart in so long; it had become a mere muscle in her chest, a blood-carrying vessel that provided no insight to her brain. It had been so long, she hadn't realized that her brain and her heart missed each other.
Her heart almost entirely gave out when she saw him reeling when he discovered Katherine was alive, but had deliberately been avoiding him. It made her heart itch to comfort him, to hold him, to tell him it's all going to be okay. It's easier this way, she told her heart as she was about to cut off its connection to her brain. He can't reach us now.
