This is the new elejah fic I have started. It's a bit unconventional but please give it a try and let me know what you think.
BURNED ANGEL
Chapter One
Draw me like fire,
Seared across the page,
Fast lines of red and orange,
Only a fragment,
Solitary burn
until morning dew relieves me,
Raw and open,
open and closed,
Make me the fire
of quickly burning eyes.
-Blindness by Kassel D
Darkness was a refuge. It was an impregnable fortress where he could hide in his own loneliness and misery. It was a catacomb where he could lose himself without remembering the pain. He could feel the heat of sun on his skin, the smell of fallen apples of his orchard, he could smell the roses of his garden and yet he couldn't see. He couldn't see the light, the colors, the birds, the bees, the sun, the sky and numerous clouds that lined it. He couldn't see the beauty of roses, the optimism of sun, and the strength of the earth that bore his weight. Once upon a time he had seen them, taken in the beauty, the words that nature gave him. Once upon a time, a time long ago he had lived. But that time was long past, now he sat here, a shell of man that had once incited terror in the hearts of people he had ruled incited passion in women whom he had loved.
At the moment he just existed, sitting here in his garden he dreamt about the years that were long gone, dreamt about the brother he had lost, the sister he had sacrificed. Now when he couldn't see or feel he could analyze all the mistakes of his long burdened life. The oncoming footsteps alerted him of his personal aide's arrival.
Damon Salvatore had served Elijah Mikaelson for 113 years and from past 20 years he had been Elijah's eyes and ears. He tried his level best to keep his master informed of everything that went on in the vampire world. The king didn't sit on the throne these days that didn't mean the king was no longer a king. Elijah Mikaelson was the undisputed ruler of the dwellers of the dark, a place some said he had gained by defeating his father, the ancient one. Elijah was 'the vampire', creator who had created new race, turned the mortals into night walkers, a gift of immortality that was bestowed on chosen few.
He along with his four siblings represented the royalty of vampire world. Unfortunately, now only remained two apart from him. Some said his brother had been hunted by the ancient one, killed because he was part wolf. Some said he had killed his sister to save his brother. Nobody knew the truth apart from the people present in that garden. Elijah himself and Damon.
"She refused again master."
"Even after you made an offer for five million dollars?" he asked. His voice was deep husky baritone with slight accent.
"Yes master. She is adamant she won't come down here. She states either you go to Chicago or consult with different surgeon. She even faxed a list of other notable plastic surgeons."
"But I don't want someone else. I want the best and fastest. She is that. Dr. Elena Gilbert is the fastest plastic surgeon Damon, and in my case we need the speed."
"I understand master but she refuses every time. I don't know what to do." Damon was hesitant.
"Double the offer. Make it 10 million dollars. Let's see how she refuses that." The years he had roamed as vampire on the earth had taught him many things regarding human race and he knew from experience that humans were greedy. They always waited for something bigger, something better. He didn't think Elena Gilbert was any different. Just for this once he needed a mortal's greed for his own need.
"It's getting late sire, you must come inside."
Damon's hands settled on his shoulders as he stood to guide him towards his chambers. How he detested his weakness and abhorred his vulnerability and yet he was dependent on Damon. The hood of his cloak covered his face as it had from past 20 years, a mystery shrouded in darkness. His steps were slow and his gait tired. It looked as if time finally had caught up with the vampire lord, not physically but mentally. Physically he was considered a handsome man by those who remembered him, tall and lithe like a cudgel, his eyes a warm chocolaty brown and his hair like burnished dark bronze. His face had remained unchanged, youthful in its appearance; the clash of bones had created something aristocratic and handsome in its appearance. But nobody had seen him without his hood from past twenty years, nobody had seen him in the light of day, nobody had met him without the darkness surrounding him. To the newly created he was becoming a story, a story they told yet didn't believe. To the older ones he was becoming weak, his leadership in question. It was a fact that subjects needed to see their ruler to believe in order, to believe there was someone who could punish them for their misdeeds. The riots were breaking out in the parts of vampire world, the vampire territories fighting among themselves for control. They had reached his room.
"Will there be anything else, master?" Damon asked.
"No Damon. You are excused. I want to be alone."
The sudden stillness told him he was alone in his chambers and in his own proximity he threw back his hood. His hands rose to trace the familiar texture of his face, his skin but as soon as they came in contact with the surface, all they found were unfamiliarity. There was no smooth shaven cheek, no nose, no lips, no eye lids or lashes. His face was an ugly canvas of jutting bones and just healed flesh. It looked somebody had slashed his face open with knife and sewed it while they were drunk. His face was gruesome, a ghastly display of brutality and madness. The perfection of him was marred by the imperfection of his face. He still remembered the day it had happened, twenty years ago when he and his brother Nicklaus had been caught along with their sister Rebekah.
He could still hear Rebekah's screams, he could still hear Nicklaus's cry of anguish as they butchered his wife and child. Even now the memory of their fear, their terror terrified him. He was the strongest vampire in existence, the oldest and the original and yet he too was weak against vervain. They had used knifes soaked in vervain and ashes of white oak. Two things even Elijah Mikaelson couldn't fight. Damon had rescued him from his captors and he still didn't know what had become of his captured siblings. Every moment his undead heart tortured him and his nonexistent soul crowned him a coward. From past 20 years he hadn't seen the light, the world as it changed and morphed into something more intricate. From past 20 years his face had vanished behind his hood.
Damon had suggested the idea of a mortal surgeon reopening his face and resetting his bones, removing the lingering vervain, so that his face could heal properly to its former identity. Ten plastic surgeons had examined him till day; every one of them a notable name but only one or two had been able to keep their food down once they had examined the monstrosity of his face. Few months ago Damon had found an article in the Times magazine about Dr. Elena Gilbert and her speed by which she did a surgery. She was a renowned plastic surgeon, still young enough to be considered a child among her peers but talented enough to give them a run for their money. He had offered Elena Gilbert vast sum of money and yet she refused. Money was not a concern for him. In his more than thousand years of life he had accumulated huge wealth, the ten million dollars that he was offering her was a measly sum. He could offer her ten times more if she agreed to operate on him. He wasn't a vain person but he needed his eyes if not his face. He needed to see, he needed those eyes desperately, eyes that were buried beneath the healed mass of flesh.
He felt his way towards the window of his room. The cool air greeted his face, smelling faintly of lavender, roses and freshly mown grass. He turned his face upwards pretending he could still see the stars like diamonds stretched across the dark body of sky, pretending he could still see the moon creating the ripples of moonlight in the cosmic lake…
So what do you think? Should I continue this? Review and let me know what you think.
-Eos
:)