This is my first story on Fanfiction even thought I've wanted to post one for a very long time now. So my first one will be this twist on Vampire Diaries, with different character traits and a different setting. Even if it turns out that it sucks - I am proud. Everyone should be of their stories. So here is mine:


PROLOGUE:

(Disclaimer: I own none of the characters)

It was snowing. A thick flurry, one couldn't see anything. The whole city of Paris looked like dipped in frozen yoghurt, only the colorful cars, the colorful people disrupted this peaceful sight.

Katherine calmly walked up one of the main streets, pompous in a bright green coat, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders. Pale, beautiful. She would have made a stunning corpse, but unfortunately she was alive. Wicked, evil. But nobody knew that. The men bowed to her, took of their hats. The women partly glared enviously at her, partly looked at her fascinated. She smiled. She would have been perfection incarnated, had she not been so dark.

The main streets forked into narrower, less known alleys. They were still as picturesque as streets in this time, 1920, could be. She bitterly remembered the time of the revolution, all the horror and the pain thick in the air. Although – there had been plenty of blood back then. Now, she had to be more elusive. It became harder and harder to be a vampire. But she loved every single second of it anyway.

The filthy beggars at the alley corners stared at her as if they'd seen an angel. Katherine didn't even glance at them. They were good for nothing. Even their blood was tainted with alcohol and decay. She had class. As good and beautiful as she was, she knew that simple blood wasn't worth her. That was why she spent most of her time playing games with her prey. It thickened the blood.

Finally she came to the place she had been looking for. The reason she had wandered in to these stinking quarters of the grand Paris. She had followed the young man here the night earlier, but had been interrupted by a carriage. When the carriage had driven away, the young man had been gone. But now.. Katherine had smelled his blood, and the mere memory made her throat burn. She needed to kill this boy, even if he was practically a nobody, a poor musician receiving pennies for his exquisite music at dinner parties, feasts. She even vaguely remembered his name, a rare occasion, Damon Salvatore.

With ease she beat open the locked door and strode in. The hallway was filthy and empty and messy, but the vague scent of vanilla wafting from Damon upstairs made her forget it. She hungered so much for his blood that she went even blind for her surroundings.

In a small bed room/living room on the upper floor, young Damon sat by a beaten-looking piano and produced a couple of tones, half-heartedly. She neared him noiselessly. Beneath his dark hair she sighted his throat. The vein pulsed.

He seemed to have noticed her presence because suddenly he twisted round and nearly fell out of his chair. She softened. He really was handsome, and those eyes.. her fangs wanted to come out.

"Who are you?" His voice was anxious, uncertain. Katherine saw that he didn't know whether to feel fascination or anger at the fact that she had broken into his home. "What do you want?"

She smiled and there was a click as her fangs popped out – she couldn't control it anymore. She wanted him more than she had wanted anyone else for quite some time. "You."

Before he could react, run away, resist, she was on him and they both thudded into the dusty floor. He fell wrong, scratched his neck on a nail sticking out. The blood ran out, it smelled strongly of vanilla and peppermint and music. His intoxicating eyes widened as she leant over him, put her lips to his throat, and sucked in all that warm, good blood.

Firework. She loved it. There was nothing that could have made her stop. She was in a scarlet world. Then Damon's heartbeat grew fainter and fainter. For some reason, that made her stop. She rose from his limp body. He was not yet dead, but he was only barely alive. His breaths came fragile, butterflies with wings of glass.

She made a spontaneous decision and bit her wrist open. Spat out her own blood and then brought the wrist to Damon's lips. They were flecked scarlet. She poured as much as in as she cared for, then she leant over Damon's throat, sucked again, killed him this time. Until his heart stopped beating.

When she was finished, she stood up, wiped her mouth on her sleeve and stepped over the poor musician who lay bleeding on the dust. Without a backward glance she left the building, let herself be swept in the frosty wind again. It hadn't stopped snowing.

Back in the house, the musician awoke.


I hope you fanfiction-reading guys like it. You might as well love it or hate it, that's up to you. Comments, praise as well as criticism, are welcome.

Goodbye and good luck,

CheeseSwiss