A/N: This is my first story so sorry in advance for all the mistakes I've missed, which must seem blaringly obvious to you. All reviews appreciated – I won't beg, but know I did consider it. Enjoy (I hope ;) )

I see the red around his mouth, crimson dripping down his chin. Strong and fast, slamming, jolts the stomach – revulsion. And then shock, and the familiar but fresh sting of comparison – on her, the scarlet stain had not been repulsive. It only made her more alluring, as she gave so much of herself to me that she would never show to anyone else. I accepted all of her so willingly, her lips sweet burgundy. But on Stefan, no – the lipstick only repels, shows the monster he has become. It can't ignite the desire it wound have, modelled on her. And then a stab, a twinge of recognition – I see her gleam in his eyes. That same frenzy lit up her face as twists and perverts his. It was only supposed to be me that could share that part of her, never him.

He's drawing something from behind him, gently leading it into the open. Only this could break my staring at the glinting white of his teeth, the black webs woven around those feverish eyes. I see the girl's bonnet, her plain dress, marking her as lower than ourselves, someone less important. He pulls her by the arm. Some part of me notes that he is speaking; he is excited. But too much more of me does not care, will likely never care again, that I don't bother to try to discern his words.

I see the girl's pearly skin, the roses on her cheeks, and the comparisons come too easily. Not pale enough, too plain, too human. Her eyes are too light and innocent, lack the necessary flirtatious edge. And she fills my mind again, smirking, skirts bouncing as she runs through a green maze in summer sunshine. Beckoning, and what can I do but follow?

But the sky is too dark, shadows shifting between the trees, torches burning. The hazy sun is only a memory, lemon to a fresh and gaping wound. Her face is not alight with that devilish smile. It is contorted, agony in every twisted, tortured feature, jaw locked with irons, hands bound with dripping ropes. And there is fear in her eyes. And fear in mine, for how can I save her? And pain in mine, as I realise I was never good enough, never quick enough, as they shut for what should have been the last time, as they close to the agonising knowledge that she has left the world, and it was my fault.

But no, I am by the black lake, under the blackest of skies, empty of stars. (I doubt there will ever be stars again.) And it is Stefan who stands in front of me, red mouth and furious eyes, and the weak girl he drags is not her, not even close. Before this can destroy me again, he has shoved the girl at me, and now, I see her creamy skin, the way it pulses under the listless moon, and I am drawn closer on silent feet. However much my head is screaming 'No!', my still beatless heart and empty veins pull me to the life I hear thudding through her, vital and oh so hypnotic.

He is caressing her, and the flush it brings to the girl's cheek is alluring in a new and unfamiliar way. He is lowering his wetted lips to her soft skin, and I can hear his teeth piercing and I can see the single drop roll down her proffered neck, slowly, tauntingly, as he withdraws.

He is thrusting the girl forwards, giving her to me. (If only he had been so generous with her.)

And I try to push her away, but it is a futile attempt. The part of me that knows I do not want this is forced to cower, whimpering, overruled by the sight of her throat, and the weeping gash adorning it with rubies. And her outstretched neck is all my aching eyes can see, as I am drawn steadily nearer.

And the scent! It is no longer a desire, but a need, as I close those final inches and press my eager lips to the seeping wound.

Flooding my mouth, hot and wet, rust and salt, and I hardly hear her neck snap, or her pulse weakening. I do not see the life leave her eyes – my focus is so complete. And I drag more from the limp body, desperate, because while I can feel every sensation more clearly than ever before, and my eyes no longer ache, and my throat is no longer burning, and for the first time since the bullet hit my chest, I can feel no pain from the scar, there is not the promised release. There is no sunshine, no soaring or tingling or laughter. There is the feeling of a new hunger temporarily satisfied, a constant pain numbed for now. But there is no life, no pleasure in this, and I realise, again, that she is gone, and I will never see her again.

But I am still here. And the knife that twists in my heart, has been bleeding me slowly since that bleakest of nights, that makes me want to tear the very flesh from my bones, to gauge out my own eyes so I don't have to picture her face, is still embedded firmly in my chest. This drinking, the renewed pulsing in my veins, the powers that have granted new clarity, have still not let me forget – her raven curls, her deep brown eyes, her caress, are just as clear as the day I first felt them.

Only now, eternity stretches before me. There are mocking centuries of 'life' to be endured without her, to spend trying to ignore the enigmatic smile engraved so deep, the agonized, pleading eyes that will haunt me endlessly. As the blackness finally consumes the last of my humanity, the lifeless body drops from my crimson mouth.