Death opens || Vampire Diaries [S1]

Chapter 1: Firesong

brave love, dream
not of staunching such quick flame, but come,
lean to my wound; burn on, burn on

⁂

NADEZHDA

Fog spills across the forest floor, bathing muted green in shimmering gray. The edges curl and stretch in lazy tendrils, barely hinting at the half-remembered faces lurking just beyond the flickering light—a whisper of cloth beneath a fire song. A blackened claw here, a ravaged skirt there­, all ashen kissed by the hungry flames. Long are their memories, anguished their cries. The martyrs of another time. The ruins of a puritanical nightmare.

To the melodic crackle of that distant fire, I step through the shadows of the cemetery onto dry grass and overturned earth. The night is silent as the grave (pun intended) but for the wet slurp, slurp, slurping from across the way. It's the post-epilogue of a Gothic novel—when the beast has given up on subtlety and the virginal heroine unveils her dying lust to stain chastity with a bold red lip.

Pale, limp bodies are strewn about the forest floor in a gruesome tableau, and the clearing fills with the scent of burning flesh; but the only thing I notice are the leather-clad shoulders hunched over his latest kill. At the snap of a careless twig beneath my boot heel, the killer turns on me. Black veins writhe beneath the pallid skin of his face, his lips part to reveal two perfect gleaming fangs dripping with blood, and I freeze in my tracks.

So quickly that his body blurs at the edges, he strikes, and I am forcibly flung through the air—my back crashing into the tree behind me with such velocity that I hear several ribs crack on impact. But before I hit the ground, a clenched fist closes vice-like around my bare throat and the twin daggers of his eyes pin me in place.

I stare impassively back as I watch his anger fade to confusion and, finally, a sort of startled recognition.

"Z?"

I slide gracefully to the ground from his slackening grip, and a smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as I cast an amused glance at the gory evidence of his recent activity. Clapping a hand on his upper arm, I grin. "You've really out done yourself this time, haven't you, дорогой[1]?"

From the shock still describing his face, this is not the reaction he expected, though why he should think anything else is beyond me. Has he met me? Then again, I suppose he may still be reeling from the surprise of my sudden appearance. I decide to take this as a compliment. He's clearly so blown away by the delight of my presence that he simply hasn't remembered to be properly excited.

Closing his mouth with the click of clenched teeth, he finds his voice again. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

I bristle in mock offense, "What? I can't just decide to visit an old friend if not for some nefarious purpose?" He stares at me in frank and unabashed disbelief. That's offensive. I'm offended. Really. "I was bored," I say and offer him a flirtatious smile. "I missed you."

"Uh huh," he agrees. "And I might actually believe that if at any point in the last hundred years, you had done a single damn thing without an ulterior motive."

I just bat my eyelashes and smile wistfully up at him. "Yes. We share that," I concede.

He chuckles sardonically, but I can recognize an admission of defeat when I hear it. "You gonna tell me about this diabolical plan of yours, or am I going to have to torture it out of you? 'Cause, you know, I've kinda got some plans of my own here, and I can't have you screwing it up for me."

I smirk. "Quid pro quo, Clarice."

He sighs and rolls his eyes, but the expression is far more fond than irritated. He slings an arm around my shoulders and says, "Come on, Hannibal. If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right."