This is something I cooked up for ViceVersus's songfic contest on , for Part One of Lightning Strike, also known as 'What if the Storm Ends?' Here's the link, if you want it - www . roleplaygateway song-fic-contest-winners-entries-t47055 . html Take out the spaces, of course. It won the contest.
Note: Originally, the name of the guy was Alexander, but for Vampire Diaries I changed it to Stefan. Sorry if I missed any.
Elena made her way through the halls of the dusty Guiseppe Salvatore House Museum, panic setting in. How – why – where? When – Gone – If ? The questions whirled around her like a typhoon, words catching her every step, every breath, every movement of her eyes.
Would they really? Maybe. Will I never? Is there? Can I? But one word stood out more clearly to her than the rest, as if in bold, as if shouting – one word to capture her feelings.
Lost.
Lost in a lethargic, ancient house with creaking floorboards and imposing stairs and… and oh. She collapsed into a dark green chair, plush and vintage, not caring if the sign read 'Do Not Touch' – if there was one, even. She didn't care. She was lost, unable to find the entrance, the exit, her friends. Elena knew it was childish, but the one she wanted right now was her mother. Who wouldn't? It was cold, so cold. Her blond hair had fallen out from its loose bun, the clip lying forgotten in some bypassed room.
So what. There wasn't anybody else in the Museum today – not even the clerk, who had gone out for lunch. Elena had nearly given up hope of finding her way out of the house when she heard voices –no, one voice. Was it calling her name?
She sat upright, listening for the hushed voice again. But it didn't come. Out of control! Her mind yelled. Don't just sit here, go! Elena never gives up! She took a deep breath, rising regally from her 'throne.'
Good, her voice urged her – was it even her own? But who else did she have to cling to, confused and afraid? Now just walk, and keep walking. Everything comes to an end. It's just a house.
The voice kept on talking – she kept on walking. Step, step, step, look into room, step, step step. Step, step, ste- stop. A crossroads? In a house? And the voice in her head was silent. Her thoughts became fuzzy again, and Elena threatened to faint. She was panicking, breathing hard, spinning around, looking at all her options but not analyzing. No air- no way out – trapped forever – Help!
No help came, of course, except for a distant rumbling sound. Her ears seemed to perk up. Maybe it was a man laughing, though she couldn't fathom why he would be laughing, or a footstep, though she didn't know why it would be so … heavy. It boomed again. Thunder! And then, she heard her name.
"Elena!" A man's voice cried, youthful yet sad. "Elena, this way!" Elena didn't think at all, though some part of her mind knew she had never heard such an enchanting voice in her life. But she knew him. At least, she thought she did.
Lifting her skirt – had she been wearing a dress, so tight fitting, so old-fashioned it was as if it was from at least a hundred years ago? No, she most definitely hadn't. So why was she wearing it now, drifting along as if she had worn it her whole life? Part of her said she had. Part of her said she hadn't.
At the same time, part of her knew she was lost. The other told her this was her house, she knew every inch of it. When had that side of her come? Or was it the half of her that insisted, no, she was lost, she was a normal girl visiting her cousins, and she had gotten lost in this house – was that the new side? Everything blurred together, the lines between hallucination, imagination, and reality. Reality turned everything into confusion. Imagination made her think she was from two times. And hallucination? Everything.
"Elena!" came the cry again. Thunder rolled again, louder this time.
She found a name tearing out of her lips, a name she had never spoken before. "Stefan!"
A door! Right there! She was free! Elena streamed out the door, narrowly avoiding tripping over the doorway. But outside was not the blue-sky day she had entered. No. Outside, the sky was a dark, suppressive grey, a shade of desolation and hopelessness. The air around her crackled with energy – storm energy. A dry storm – and the heat was oppressive in the heavy beige dress.
She saw a man – handsome? Or was the word noble? – out there. He must've been the one shouting for her. Stefan. Stefan, son of the Guiseppe Salvatore who had owned the large historical house. Stefan, her Stefan. Waiting for her on the pavilion. Elena started running to him – but stopped.
What in the world was a pavilion? How did she know who that man was? Why was he hers?
Again her mind was wracked with confusion, the two memories, the two parts of her battling it out for her true self. Elena felt like she was whirling around. Her hair felt like it was floating – as if she was swimming through the air. It was thick, so thick, pressing down on her, crushing her. Why had she ever wanted to come outside?
And then, suddenly, Stefan was in front of her with a worried yet loving expression on his face. Gentle hands touched her face, checking for a fever. He said something, but she couldn't hear him over the ringing in her ears. Lightning flashed, so bright and sudden she flinched. And the guy, Stefan, thought she was flinching away from him. Did he say "Don't leave me" or "I love you" or perhaps "I've been looking for you?" She didn't know, she didn't know!
Elena's mind was so, so foggy. Was he a stranger or a close friend? He said something again, something unintelligible. Lightning, bright streaks across the sky, surrounded them in their flashes. It wasn't nearly as dark, but the air was still so heavy and orange. Her mind was a chaotic mess. Even she couldn't follow her own train of thought.
Lost.
Chaos! A hand grabbed her wrist, but Elena's mind was no longer functioning enough to realize that it was he, standing in front of her. She did something she hadn't even done while lost within the house – she screamed.
And what a piercing sound it was. It nearly shattered the windows. The blonde woman, her hair the colour of the lightning around her, released all the pent-up confusion and hectic thoughts that danced in her brain. She wished they would all just fly out of her – she could be empty, calm, serene. Blissfully unaware of this turmoil.
Elena closed her eyes and collapsed to the ground.
The next moment, she found herself writhing on the floor, crying out "Stefan! Stefan! Don't go! Make it stop! I won't forget!" And the words faded out to senseless yelling. Hands held her down, yelling right back at her. Stefan only had two hands – and they didn't feel at all afraid like these did.
"Elena, calm down. It'll be alright!" Hearing that made her stop thrashing. It sounded like her cousin, Nadya. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes.
Surrounded… by her friends? On the floor? That familiar feeling, confusion, returned, and she sat up. "How did I get here?"
The clerk-woman shook her head. "It's been long rumoured her dress was possessed or something. Apparently it's true." Elena looked about, and saw, to her surprise, the dress she had been wearing.
"Whose dress?" She was afraid of the answer, but somehow, she knew it to be true.
"Elena, Stefan Salvatore's fiancée. She died the night before the wedding – struck by lightning. He swore she turned into an angel before his eyes as she vanished – but then they found the body. No one knows her last name."
The modern Elena would never forget – but never see him again. And oh, how bad she wanted to.