'You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye
And I got that red lip classic thing that you like
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time
'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style
You got that long hair, slicked bac...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
To be a star, you first must burn. That was a saying that Hardin had once told Damon long ago, after he had read it from a book.
That very sentence came to his mind as he listened to Rosalie speak about Carlisle. The story of the three hundred and sixty-two year old vampire. Damon wondered how the man did it and how he found the strength to carry on every day.
Damon could hear in Rosalie's voice how much cared for Carlisle, how deeply she loved him as a father. She looked up to him.
"Carlisle was born in London, in the sixteen-forties, he believes. Time wasn't marked as accurately then, for the common people anyway. It was just before Cromwell's rule, though." Rosalie's voice was soft, yet powerful speaking of the man that inspired her.
Damon looked at her, the way her eyes sparkled, looking at the cross that hung above them. "He was the only son of an Anglican pastor. His mother died giving birth to him. His father was an intolerant man. As the Protestants came into power, he was enthusiastic in his persecution of Roman Catholics and other religions. He also believed very strongly in the reality of evil. He led hunts for witches, werewolves... and vampires."
Rosalie looked towards Damon to see if he was still paying attention, but when she found him already staring at her. Hanging onto every single one of her words.
"They burned a lot of innocent people, of course, the real creatures that he sought were not so easy to catch." Damon wondered how humans even so much as though they could challenge a supernatural creature.
"When the pastor grew old, he placed his obedient son in charge of the raids. At first, Carlisle was a disappointment; he was not quick to accuse, to see demons where they did not exist. But he was persistent, and more clever than his father. He actually discovered a coven of true vampires that lived hidden in the sewers of the city, only coming out by night to hunt. In those days, when monsters were not just myths and legends, that was the way many lived." Rosalie paused, her hand squeezing Damon's.
"The people gathered their pitchforks and torches, of course." Her brief laugh was darker now. "And he waited where Carlisle had seen the monsters exit into the street. Eventually, one emerged."
Damon didn't know why, but he held his breath. Of course, he already knew Carlisle was here in the present. But he felt like he was watching a horror movie.
Rosalie's voice grew quiet, and Damon strained to her each of her words.
"He must have been ancient and weak with hunger. Carlisle heard him call out in Latin to the others when he caught the scent of the mob. He ran through the streets, and Carlisle, he was twenty-three and very fast, was in the lead of the pursuit. The creature could have easily outrun them, but Carlisle thinks he was too hungry, so he turned and attacked. He fell on Carlisle first, but the others were close behind, and he turned to defend himself. He killed two men and made off with a third, leaving Carlisle." Rosalie paused for a moment, her eyes taking in Damon's reaction, seeing if he was willing to hear the rest.
