Florence, Italy: The Renaissance.
Damon's black eyes flew open.
Darkness, complete and utter darkness.
The smell of grass and soil lingered around him as he attempted to sit up. Almost immediately his head hit something hard and a pain shot through his forehead. Wood. A lid. Damon tried to scoot over, but his body brushed against something else, something fleshy blocking his path. Another body, but whose? His mind wouldn't show him a clear picture. But somehow he knew something terrible had happened. As he strained to remember, a memory hit him like a wave crashing ashore. Katherine's dead. I found her ashes. He fought the haze in his mind to remember more. The images of what had happened after he'd found her was a blur. A name came to mind. A name he hated more than any other.
Stefan.
Stefan was the memory his mind was trying to conceal from him. He remembered them arguing over Katherine's ring. He remembered them fighting…remembered his sword entering Stefan's body…remembered Stefan raising his sword with the last of his strength…everything after that was hazy.
"Damon?" Came a weak voice, Stefan's voice. His brother was awake.
Damon remained silent, pushing up on the roof above his head. Loathing filled his heart as he attempted to free himself from his confinement.
"Damon?" Came the voice again.
Damon pushed up harder using his legs for extra leverage; smiling as the lid slid off. He sat up and was amazed by the beauty of the night. It was as though he was seeing everything for the first time. Every smell, every sight seemed magnified…sharper. Graves surrounded the coffin he and Stefan had been put inside; marble statues of angels, gargoyles, saints… shadows danced off their marble faces…seemingly bringing them to life. The sun was setting and the stars were beginning to blink their eyes. The wind blew through the trees, rustling their leaves; an almost musical sound to his ears. The funeral must not be till tomorrow, Damon thought, otherwise we'd be six feet under.
"Damon." Stefan was pulling himself towards the opening.
Damon did not answer him. His brother would have to fend for himself in this new world; Damon had no more pity for him…not that he had, had much before. He rose to his feet and bolted into the woods, dodging gravestones and statues as he went, leaving his brother far behind. This was the night; cruel, unforgiving, unmerciful…the strong survived, the weak perished…St. Stefan would perish…for what feeds off the light cannot survive in the dark. But Damon, was determined to flourish.