So, yes, I know I have another Bamon piece out here that I haven't finished, but, well I don't particularly LIKE that piece... I like this one. :) This will be a 2 or 3 parter at most.
Prolly PG13.
No warnings, disclaimer on profile... not beta'd... Uh... yeah... that's it.
Every spell that a witch casts is attached to her. It clings to her like strands of a spider's web. Gossamer, invisible, but indelibly attached. These strands remain imbedded in the witch's skin... attached to her hands, to her legs, her soul... her heart.
Some strands are thicker, more intricate than others...
Some last for just the length of time that the spell exists...
Some last until the witch dies...
And some spells... some of them will last until the world ends.
The first time Bonnie Bennett cast a spell, she felt the power of her magic coursing through her veins, taking the place of her blood. And when she finished uttering the spell... when the magic in her veins had been replaced by blood again, she felt magic become a part of her. She felt the first silken strand of 'magic' attach itself to her fingertips.
A witch becomes use to the feeling of these strands... she gets use to being clothed in invisible silk; every piece in its' place... the dress she wears becoming more intricate, more beautiful with every word... every wave of her hands.
Yes, a witch gets use to wearing a second skin.
And she notices when a strand - a strand that was there – breaks.
This morning, Bonnie felt a strand evaporate. She didn't know which strand it was... what spell it represented, but she felt it stretch, tense, and then... she felt it break away and fade to nothing.
She sat up in her bed, uselessly trying to find what 'had been'; trying to figure out what she had lost control of.
She didn't figure out what spell had broken until a half hour later, when the incessant knocking at her door dragged her out of bed, and she opened the door and saw him standing there.
DBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDB
It pierced him like a knife laced with vervain; intense, vivid, and penetrating. The memories cut through him so sharply that he crushed the tumbler that was clutched in his hand; shards and drops of crystal and scotch raining onto the floor.
He cursed... not from the glass imbedded in his hand, but from the realization that he'd been living a lie... And that that lie was all a little, self-sacrificing, witch's fault.
Leaving the boardinghouse without uttering a word to the concerned Caroline and Stefan, he headed to his witch's home.
And that was just it, she was HIS witch.
DBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDB
"Damon." The word was barely out of her mouth before he had pushed over the threshold and pulled her against him.
He held her desperately, harshly... his little bird... and he stared down at her... re-memorizing her features. He knew them, of course, as an acquaintance...as a frenemy... as a friend... but he now remembered that he also knew her face as a lover knows a lover's face.
He knew her eyes, her adorable nose, her saint-tempting lips. He knew all of her.
And she'd made him forget it all with a spell...
As he lowered his lips to hers he half-threateningly promised, "When I'm done kissing you, I'm going to kill you."
DBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDB
She had missed this.
Missed being held by him. Being enveloped by him...
In the short time that they had had together, she had learned that Damon did everything wholeheartedly. He hunted with his whole being, he hated with his whole being, he hugged and caressed with his whole being. Everything Damon did, he did with his whole body, his whole soul. So when he touched her, when he kissed her, he did it with all of him.
She had missed all of Damon.
