A/N: Boundless gratitude to the talented JWAB for beta-ing and for being an amazing, patient mentor to a new FanFiction writer. If you haven't already, check out JWAB's stuff. She's the real deal. Also, you can find her Damon/Elena fic Out of my Mind and her Matt/Rebekah fic Gifts on Amazon Kindle Worlds, under the name Jenna Elliot.
Prologue: The Four Seasons
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
Edgar Allen Poe, "The Raven"
She woke to the sound of a raven quorking outside her bedroom window and the smell of waffles and coffee. It must be Sunday. Elena loved Sundays; sleeping in, no rush to be anywhere, and her mom making breakfast.
She rolled out of bed and looked around the room for her bunny slippers. They weren't in any of their usual places.
A large raven perched on her window sill. It uttered a deep, resonant "prruk-prruk-prruk." Its feathers shone with a purple iridescence in the sunlight; Elena wanted to stroke them to see if they were as silky as they seemed. I've seen you somewhere else before, haven't I? The bird studied her, cocking its head to one side, and made a low, musical croak as if in response to her unspoken question.
Elena turned to pick her way through the huckleberry patch growing in the middle of her bedroom. Strange, that wasn't here before. She looked for ripe huckleberries to snack on as she went and popped some of the larger ones into her mouth.
Savoring the sweetness of the berries, she grabbed her robe off its hook and saw her slippers sitting on the closet shelf. Did I put those there last night? Elena tried to recall what she had done before going to bed but couldn't. Her stomach fluttered slightly.
She reached for her bunny slippers but they hopped off the shelf to the floor, ears flopping, and came to rest at her bare feet. "Oh." Elena smiled as she slid her feet into them. "Thanks."
Pulling her hair up into a ponytail, Elena padded downstairs. The "Spring" concerto from Vivaldi's Four Seasons was playing; crimson poppies bloomed from the wooden bannister as she descended. How beautiful. She stopped to pick one then quickly pulled her hand back. Elena stared in fascination; the blossom had sharp white fangs.
Elena entered the bright light of the kitchen, breathing in smells that made her stomach rumble.
Her mother looked up from the waffle iron. "Mornin', sunshine."
"Morning." Elena's throat suddenly tightened and tears threatened. She found herself rushing over to her mom, as if it had been years since she'd last seen her. Why am I so sad?
"Hey, it's okay… it's all gonna be okay," Miranda murmured, gently rocking her. She held Elena and smoothed her hair like she was a little girl again until her sudden sobs subsided.
Eventually Elena pulled away, shaking her head in confusion, and dried her eyes on the sleeve of her robe.
Miranda tweaked her nose and kissed her forehead. "Coffee?" She tucked a lock of hair that had escaped Elena's ponytail behind her ear.
"Sure." Elena no longer felt sad but the fluttery feeling in her stomach was back. Why was I crying like that? Her unease intensified until her mother handed her a cup of coffee. "Where's Dad?"
"Upstairs." Miranda laughed. "I kicked him out of the kitchen because he wouldn't stop backseat cooking."
Elena sat down on a stool at the kitchen island to watch her mother scramble eggs. "Is Jeremy still in bed?"
"I swear that kid would sleep all day if he could." Miranda opened the refrigerator door. "Maybe the smell of bacon will wake him up." The package of bacon flew out of the refrigerator on tiny wings and landed on the counter next to her.
In the living room, the first movement of "Summer" had begun. Elena glanced toward the staircase. The lush poppies were drooping slightly on their long stems as if wilting under intensifying heat.
Elena found herself musing about the way he often listened to Vivaldi when cooking, just like her mom. The thought comforted her, thawing her like the warmth of the sun after a cool spring. But who is "he?"
Then a memory came to her of another kitchen.
Garlic, basil and onions. A glass of red wine; lips of the same color. Lips she caught herself watching, again. The movement of his pale, perfect throat as he swallowed a mouthful of wine. His velvet voice describing the music's tension and release as it played. Her body echoing that tension and, though she shouldn't, longing for that release. With him.
Elena was wrenched back by her mom's voice. "You know honey, sometimes things just need to be felt."
Was her mom referring to the memory of him or her crying spell?
Miranda placed a steaming waffle on a plate and offered it to Elena.
"Are those blueberries in there?" Elena asked, reaching for the butter.
"Huckleberries," Miranda sighed and shook her head, "no thanks to him." She gestured to the fat black bear sitting in the corner. He shrugged at Elena, then went back to munching on the bowl of huckleberries he'd placed on top of his generous belly.
"You would not believe how many berries that bear can eat," Miranda continued. "I had to pick all of the berries in the living room."
Elena held out her plate so her mom could dish eggs and bacon onto it. She began pouring syrup onto her waffle but was interrupted by a loud "toc-toc-toc," followed by a low croak.
The raven was perched on the side of the bear's bowl, fishing around for the best berry. The bear swatted at the bird with a lazy paw. The raven lifted off, squawking in protest, to land on the kitchen island near Elena.
There was something shiny in the raven's beak. The bird hopped closer to her and opened its mouth. The object fell to the counter with a soft plink: a ring with a Lapis Lazuli gemstone.
In the background, Vivaldi's "Summer" turned to "Autumn." Anxiety twirled around the edges of Elena's consciousness like dry leaves fluttering and blowing in the wind.
I know that ring. Her mind searched for the memory but it slipped away; a little fish swimming into the darkness.
"Mom-" she began, her voice high and unsteady. Her stomach churned; she struggled to keep her breath even.
Miranda's eyes meet hers, full of sadness and loving compassion which only made her anxiety worse.
Suddenly the landscape changed. Elena was drowning in dark water; the next second, she was enveloped by flames. Her lungs burned – they'd filled with water. She gagged at the smell of charred flesh.
Her mother's voice reached her through the wet roar of flames. "Elena, I need you to listen carefully and I need you to be brave."
She found herself standing on Wickery Bridge facing her mom. In the background, Vivaldi's "Autumn" had turned to "Winter." The raven called intrusively from the side railing, loud and shrill. It was so cold, Elena could see her breath.
"Elena, listen to me." Her mother's tone was commanding but her hands were gentle on Elena's shoulders. "Remember what I told you about feeling things? "
"Sometimes things just need to be felt," Elena whispered with her eyes closed.
"Elena, look at me," she insisted but Elena shook her head. "Look at me." Elena felt the brush of raven wings and her mother's voice became his voice, low and desperate. "Elena, open your eyes."
She opened them to gaze into eyes the color of indigo and found herself sinking into blue. His voice was demanding but tender. "I need you to do something for me." Damon's hands cradled her face, thumbs soothing her cheekbones. Her eyes dropped to stare at his lips, an act so familiar yet forbidden.
Elena shut her eyes again but her body instinctively responded to his, to his touch and smell. There was a pull low in her belly; her breath quickened. She pressed herself closer to him, her heart pounding. I won't refuse his request, I know it.
Damon's hands slipped from her face. His body was gone and she instantly felt the loss. His smooth voice was now urgent: "Elena, I want you to wake up." She blindly reached for him, unable to tolerate the separation.
"Wake up," he repeated, almost pleading. "And when you do, hold onto your humanity."
The realization smashed into her, full force: she was dreaming. Reality descended. My mother and father drowned at Wickery Bridge. I drowned there too. I lost Jenna, my parents, Alaric. My brother is dead; I burned our home to ashes with his corpse inside it.
Elena doubled over against the magnitude of the loss, gasping for breath. The roar of death and horror surrounded her from all sides. The pain soon became unmanageable. Her emotions crowded her; it seemed impossible to survive the pressure.
Then the truth rushed back, releasing her: I don't have to feel these things. These emotions are no longer part of me. I've disowned them. I am safe.
"No," she whispered, pushing through the lush silk of raven wings the color of midnight into the light of morning.