What Lies Beneath
Prologue.
There was a man- an impossibly gorgeous looking young man. Tall, lean and muscular, the features of a prince charming. His eyes were as blue as the ocean-so blue, people would find themselves getting lost from just a single glance. His hair was unruly all the time, jet black and extremely alluring. But the perfection stopped there. You cannot judge a book by its cover and that saying couldn't be any truer with regards to the wild Damon Salvatore.
He had everything, that looks, the money, the attention, and the women- just not love. "Love doesn't exist," He would say. "It's just an illusion," And that was exactly what he'd thought so he never looked for love. Because his life started in the mid 1800's; it was only known and common for parents to arrange their children's marriage. Damon refused to each and every lady his father arranged for him and eventually he stopped trying. Damon remained a bachelor at twenty-eight and from anybody else's perspective, it didn't seem like that was going to change anytime soon. He would spend countless hours at the local tavern drinking whiskey, preferably bourbon- his trademark drink. He would drink himself to oblivion, picking up a local wild girl that wanted to disobey her parents here and there-in the process, dragging her to the boarding house and seducing her in his chambers. Nobody would dare try and stop him.
He did that for years and people became use to it. His father ignored him because he didn't know what to do anymore; girls adored him; the other bachelors of mystic falls hated him. He loved his life until one dreary-foggy night.
He was walking alone, drunk-of course; heading home from the tavern without a lady as surprising as that was. He kept walking; well staggering on the side of the road and just before he got to the boarding house; he saw a shadow of a person. He kept walking, his drunken state not acknowledging how creepy it seemed.
"Hello, Damon." The voice purred into the darkness, echoing off the fog.
"Who are you?" Damon slurred intrigued. The voice belonged to a lady. Perhaps he wouldn't be going home alone after all.
"My name is Sheila Bennett." She responded as she stepped out of the fog. She was older than Damon but still young; probably somewhere in her early thirties. "I am a witch, Damon."
"A witch in my bed, surely." A lopsided smirk appeared on his perfect face.
"You're too cunning, ." Sheila said but there was no trace of amusement in her voice. In fact, it dripped with iciness and Damon shivered but not from the cool crisp air.
"I have been watching you, Damon." Sheila took a step toward him and he found himself involuntary stepping back. She was being creepy.
"Of course you have." He told her cockily. "But if you would excuse me, I have to return to my lovely abode." The alcohol made him extremely sarcastic. He attempted to walk past Sheila but she grabbed his arm and when she let him loose, he found himself unable to move -immotile.
"I cannot move," Damon exclaimed in fear. "What have you done?"
"You are going to listen to me one way or another," Sheila said calmly. "Life as you know it is going to change for you tonight, Damon."
"What is that supposed to mean?" He was still trying to move-desperately trying and failing miserably.
"You have been a horrible man, Damon," Sheila whispered, her curly black hair blowing in the wind. "You have toyed with people-you have shamed and disobeyed your family. You are no input to society."
"You don't know anything about me." He spat.
"I know more than you think." She replied. "And honestly, you do not deserve to live the way you have been - luxurious, care free - a bachelor at this age. "It stops tonight, Damon."
"You really think I am going to listen to you?" He asked; his drunken state unable to ask anything else because he was still trying to free himself as well as process her words.
"No, but after tonight ... you will have no choice." Sheila's eyes looked up into the sky and she began mumbling something Damon could not process. Something of another language... perhaps Latin?
"What are you saying? " Damon asked wearily but there was no response. Sheila remained chanting and the wind around them picked up-the fall leaves circling around them. Damon was getting dizzier by the second and he felt bile rise in his throat. But just as he thought the contents of his stomach were going to leave his body-the wind stopped.
"What just happened?" He asked nauseously.
"I did what I had to do, Damon." The 'witch' told him. "You deserve this. You need this to change and this is my way of doing so."
"I do not understand." Damon muttered. "You are not answering me".
"You will see in the morning, Damon Salvatore." She informed him. "But for now I need you to remember something. So listen closely: you will remain this way for as long as it takes. You will not age-you will not change until you free yourself. You will not die -you cannot die so I would advise you not to even try." Damon grew more and more confused with each passing word. Will not die? Will not age? She was being rediculous. "You need to find somebody to love you-somebody to change you for the better. But this deal is not timeless. I will give you until the year two thousand and ten". A grin appeared across her dark face. "It may take that long for somebody to love you. For now, Damon, I hid you adieu. We will meet again when the time is right," and with that, Sheila disappeared into the night, leaving a pale, drunk and mortified Damon.
But what did the crazy lady know? Surely she was just toying with him. He could not recognize her but perhaps he had broken her heart before and she was back for revenge. That had to be it. Damon thought nothing of the wind or the woman named Sheila. After all, he was Damon Salvatore.
Hey all. :) This is a co-story by myself and my amazing friend Amy, (LiveBreatheVampire). We're really excited about this and we hope you are too. Tell us what you think, much love xoxox.