She watched in the shadows as the man she though she loved swept her sister into his arms, kissing her lips, and professing his love for the woman in her arms.
Whispering the words he had uttered to herself that very afternoon.
The betrayal of her sister was dimmed in comparison of the betrayal of the man she loved. Her older sister was a puppeteer and was always playing games. And her love had become a puppet, compelled to do her sister's bidding. Her sister had showed her that men are fickle and are liars; she had always suspected that her love did not truly feel for her.
And now as she curled into a corner of the tomb crying out her older sister to save her while listening to her fellow prisoners in the tomb snarling and crying out, she thought of her love.
Of the time before her sister had snared him, when he would gather her into his arms and gaze at her adoringly, while she blushed at the intensity of his stare.
Suddenly she screamed her sister's name, a scream that pierced her companion's ears, a scream that was taut with fear.
Why wasn't her sister coming to save her?
Her sister had escaped, she had seen her escape her captors and her own dragged her into the tomb.
So why wasn't she coming to save her little sister?
She tucked her head into her arms, curled into a ball, and sobbed.
And the name she whimpered was not her sister's, but her loves.
Damon.
Because she was Isabella Pierce,
Little sister of Katherine Pierce,
And she was a vampire.