Chapter Twenty-Five

Awakening

Virginia

1865

A fist grasped her sternum, its unyielding fingers crushing her ribs and weaving between the sinews in her neck like threads of a red tapestry. Pain, unimaginable pain, turned her belly to stone and set her throat alight with white and blue heat. The nerves in her teeth vibrated; each threatened to crack down the middle like a pearl caught under a hammer. She could feel every individual hair hanging from her scalp, dragging like sandpaper over the gooseflesh of her neck. She clawed at it with her new fingernails, sharp like the edge of a blade and piercing her skin easier than the yolk of an egg. She hardly noticed. A dribble of already coagulated blood swelled out from her wound, smelling like something rotten. She retched, yet her mouth filled with saliva. Her insides seemed to expand and her gums quivered, as if on the precipice of relief. Suddenly, she understood.

Hunger.

Had she ever felt anything else with such incredible force? Would she ever be anything more? Who was she without it?

"My name is Elena Gilbert," she panted. She said it over and over; the sound of her voice was the only thing to reassure her that she was something other than pain.

Something caught the toe of her shoe; her foot curled around the length of a thick branch. The ground approached her slowly as she fell. She could see every stick, every blade of grass. A spider slipped in and out of blades of green, ever tiny hair on its legs perfectly visible in her new eyes. Her leg shot out in a blur of movement, and she was suddenly walking up right again. Just as quickly as she had fallen, she was again unperturbed.

She glared back at the branch, fury boiling in her empty belly. She stepped towards it, and without meaning to, moved so quickly that she glided right past it. She turned wide-eyed to look at her own two feet, the rage not yet quelled, but accompanied by a new sense of wonder. Again, she moved to grab the branch, but it swiftly moved past her. Her rage renewed, she fell to her knees and forced herself to move as slowly as she knew how. When she finally took hold if it, she was not sure what there was to be done with it; if she stood beside it, it would tower over her. This did not deter her from wrapping her still slender fingers around the cracked bark. Though doubly thicker than her hand, she lifted it with ease; as if gravity suddenly no longer affected this one particular branch.

Holding the branch above her head as easy as a feather, she flexed her the aching muscles of her fingers slightly. A jolt of satisfaction ran through her as the wood groaned and splintered in protest. Teeth gritted in a furious grin, she swung her arm with every bit of strength within her. The branch flew away from her in a blur of motion, it's smaller limbs whistling against the sudden onslaught of wind. For one small moment, her irritation fell to some forgotten place in her mind. The bough's leaves cut through the air like a small symphony of birds chirping. The sound cut off suddenly as the branch, a seemingly unstoppable force, met the truly immovable object: an ancient chestnut tree. A resounding crack broke through the dark forest upon impact. Shattered bark fell to the forest floor, and gratification enveloped her from within.

Another deafening boom erupted from somewhere deep in the forest, and her body reacted before her mind understood. Her legs and torso fell into a low crouch, her muscles warming with anticipation. She was ready to fight, she realized, to survive. A flicker of doubt stroked the nerves in her stomach; she had never fought before, not for anything. Fighting was not a lady's way.

Nonetheless, she moved in the direction of the sound, careful not to get to distracted by her surroundings, which she could see with perfect clarity. Her senses prickled with the sound of worms crawling through the dirt and the preening of birds in the trees. She gritted her teeth, allowing her senses to lead her in the right direction.

After walking for only a moment, a sound like no other called to her from the south; the sweetest and most horrible sound she had ever heard, a fading rhythm, the base of the drum. She moved quicker, desperation leading her by the bellybutton. There was a break in the trees, and she stepped over the threshold and into a large clearing. Moonlight and the smell of blood swam between the leaves of hemlock and wildflowers. The smell might have knocked her to the ground if she were not so overcome with desire that everything else ceased to exist. She heard nothing, smelled nothing, knew nothing but blood.

Her surroundings zipped by in her peripheral vision, but a single bleeding doe approached her with perfect clarity as she ran. Its tail twitched nervously, clinging to life with fragmented snorts from its rounded snout. Elena fell to her knees softly, placing her hand against the firm muscles of its neck. Its pulse raged beneath her fingers, reverberating up her arm and into her chest. The doe wildly bucked against her touch as if it could sense its impending fate, but settled when it caught her eyes. For a moment, they were harmoniously connected, a single soul bound by a single pulse. A burst of pain shot through her mouth and a set of new teeth slid uneasily from their sockets, forming razor sharp points. A wave of anticipatory pleasure ran through the veins beneath her eyes and saliva filled her mouth.

The blood was warm and bitter like tea without sugar. It filled her mouth willingly and exceedingly, spreading a warmth unlike any she had ever felt into every corner of her body. Her muscles swelled with unfounded strength. She fed until the doe's veins were dry, sucking buckshot through her teeth and spitting onto the dirt beside her.

Footsteps approached from outside of the clearing just as she dropped the still-warm carcass back to the ground. Human voices drifted to her new ears from beyond the treeline, and she felt a swell of relief. Someone had come to save her. She froze, listening to two, no four, pairs of boots coming closer by the second.

Their voices broke into the clearing seconds before they emerged into view. Her newfound senses told her wrong; three men, not four, walked towards her, their guns raised in her direction.

She looked barely human; she crouched like an animal before them, her hair knotted and tangled with leave and grass. Blood, the same color as her eyes, dripped down her chin and onto her frayed and overlarge clothing.

"What the hell is that?" one of the men whispered.

Her head jerked to the side at the sound, so much louder and clearer than any voice she had ever heard. Words were lost to her. "Please," she croaked. It was all she could make out.

The man in the center cocked the hammer of his pistol, raising it just slightly. Elena snarled in defense, an instinct she had never felt before, and the sound ripped out of her throat without permission.

"Demon!" the first man hissed.

Their weapons went off all at once, and Elena was so horrified that she moved a second too late. Their bullets hit her like fiery raindrops, tearing through flesh and bone with ease. One strayed to her mouth, knocking her front teeth out and leaving the sockets vibrating. Another lodged in her sternum, just above her left lung. She yelped, falling backwards to the ground. Though she was stronger, she still felt pain. Blood leaked from her wounds, still warm and smelling just as the doe's had.

Most painful was the hunger, as her veins drained onto the forest floor. Her vision went black, and she was filled with the smell of blood. "Drink," a voice whispered softly. "You will feel better." The voice was Damon's, calling her from a distant memory.

She listened as the men's footsteps approached her carefully. "What'll we do with it?" someone said.

"Bury it on the belly," another suggested. "When it wakes up and tries to claw out of its grave, it'll dig deeper instead."

Someone reached down to grab her by the bleeding arm, and the fire of her rage burned with his touch. She grabbed him by the throat, her grasp so strong that she felt a snap beneath her fingers. His limp body fell forward and she tore into his neck with more fervor than she had ever done anything before.

Her wounds began healing quicker, and she was on her feet before the other man could raise their weapons again. She tackled the taller one, awkwardly pulling him to the ground and snaring herself around him like a great snake. When she bit into him, his quickened pulse forced the blood into her mouth with ease. The last man had already ran when she was done, but he had not gotten very far. She was at his back within seconds, clamping down on his neck before he even knew she was there.

This blood had a different affect on her than the doe's. Almost as though she had too much champagne, she felt giddy and reckless and strong. Power flowed through her fingertips and she laughed out loud. She dragged the dead man by the ankles back to the clearing. Five, she thought, looking down at the men side by side. Five people were dead, their ghosts living inside of her.

She stripped the smallest man of his clothes, blushing as she removed his trousers. She left Noah's clothes in a pile on the ground beside her victims. She followed the sound of trickling water far away, trailing naked and bloody through the forest until she found a brook cutting through the grass. Her new apparel was far too big, but with the blood washed from her body in the stream, she felt human again.

The sky had turned from black to dusty blue without her realizing. Her eyes throbbed at the sight, but she moved along anyway. Circling back, the men's scent led her towards the edge of the forest. She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally caught sight of a beam of light breaking through the trees ahead. Her pace quickened, and she erupted onto a dirt road with a squeal of elation. Her smile quickly disappeared when her skin grew angry and red. The sun bearing down upon her felt like hellfire. The smell of burnt flesh invaded her nose. She screamed in pain, barreling back into the trees. Even there, the light had grown too powerful.

She looked around desperately, but daylight had broken through the canopy nearly everywhere. She fell to her knees, clawing at the dirt with her newfound speed and strength. Her back burned under the heavy wool of the man's coat. She burrowed into the ground like a badger, pulling the cool dirt on top of her until the sun's light could no longer be felt.

Dirt was in her nose and mouth, and she had to force herself to stop breathing just to make it bearable. The soil was loud with creeping and crawling terrors, nothing like what she imagined before. Surely, she once thought, the dead were lucky to lay in the peaceful Earth. She was wrong. Tears poured from her eyes and sobs from her mouth. Never before had she felt more scared or hopeless.

Why is this happening to me? she lamented.

As if to answer her own question, the smell of saltwater filled her nose. I am dead, she remembered. Just like Katherine. Just like Damon. The memory of her death was so real, too real, and filled her with another wave of despair.

She thought back to Emily's confession. Katherine killed her mother and her father too. She had never met her grandparents, not on her mother's side. They must have died by Katherine's hands too.

Every tragedy in my life was the result of her wickedness, she thought.

She thought of Damon, wondered where he could be. She tried to remember their last moments together, but the memory was shrouded in darkness. Damon came to the room. He sat on her on the bed. She saw his mouth moving, but no sound came forth. The feeling of the memory changed; her agitation dissipated as he silently spoke. She remembered laying with him, feeling suddenly content. Still silent, he raised an arm to his mouth. She was drinking his blood.

She blanched, thinking back to the doe's blood and how it slid down her throat for the first time. No experience had ever been more unforgettable. How could she not remember drinking his blood? Katherine always got her way, she remembered. Just a few murmured words and she could open the gates of heaven. Compulsion, Damon called it. Now Elena understood; Damon compelled her.

She realized upon hours of sitting in the dirt that Katherine compelled her too. Memory after memory reappeared, some of Katherine, some of Damon. Each of them would look into her eyes, their pupils dilating, and speak to her. Forget this conversation. Tell no one. Do not be scared. Eat something. Do not cry. Half of her memories were wrong or imagined. Months had gone by and she had never even suspected.

Damon was feeding on her too. That was a harder awareness to bear. The memories were so real that it scared her. He made her forget it all: his betrayal, her fear, and mostly, the pain.

She felt invaded, stupid. All along she thought Damon was the one person who would never hurt her. She was wrong.

There was something else she was missing, something big. A dark cloud hung over her memories, bigger than all the rest. It had been compelled so far from her thoughts that no matter how deep she searched, she could not find what it was.

She clawed her way out of her makeshift grave still thinking about it. The sun had gone down, and Elena knew that it was just one more thing she would never see again. Dirt stuck to her face and under her nose from her tears. She rubbed her sleeve across her nose with one final sob, then followed her own scent back to the road she found earlier.

The first town she came upon was small. A tavern sat on the outskirts, lit up and loud with voices. She remembered how Stefan struggled in public places, and she feared what would happen if she walked inside. Hovering in the shadows, she deliberated the beating hearts coming from within. Her own heart felt heavy, she decided, and she was tired from carrying it around. Sucking in a breath and holding it captive in her bosom, she entered.

The bar was full of men and women, laughing and drinking. Surprisingly, she was not the dirtiest person there, and nobody paid her hardly any mind. Even the bartender failed to look up upon her approach.

"I need a room," she muttered, struggling against the sounds of hearts beating all around her. "Please."

He hardly glanced up from his work. "You got any coin?"

She pushed her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket, hoping to find money waiting for her. There was nothing but crumbs.

The keeper finally looked up, an annoyed grimace on his face. "Ain' runnin' a charity, ya know."

She thought back to the times she had watched Katherine, Stefan, and Damon rent rooms. Money never exchanged hands. They simply spoke to the innkeeper, and he handed them a key.

Elena pursed her lips and squared her shoulders. "I said I would like a room."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are ya deaf, boy? No coin, no room!"

She felt tears coming to her eyes. How did they do it? Was she broken? "Please," she begged, her eyes trying to find any kindness in his. "I need a room just for a night."

His face went blank and he reached for something below the counter. He returned with a key, and an empty nod. "Room three," was all he said.

She snatched the key and hurried off, careful to move slow enough to avoid any suspicion. Room three was small and bare. A bed, dresser, and basin were all shoved into the same corner. She shut the door behind her and ripped a blanket from the bed in one swift tug, holding it to her face before breathing again. Though it was no longer necessary, breathing comforted her in some way. It made her feel human.

Three days passed with Elena's head buried in her pillow, only coming out when the innkeeper came looking to remove her. It was easier to compel him the second time. Day by day, it became harder to ignore the collective pulse. Within a week, the walls felt like they were moving.

She waited until it was dark, sweeping through the tavern and out into the fresh air with bated breath. A few people lingered on the dark streets, and she wondered how she was supposed to pick one. A woman passed. She was plain with flushed cheeks. A little smile sat on her face and her heart fluttered with excitement. Elena ducked her head guiltily as she passed. The girl was too lively, too young. Then there was a woman hunched over a cane. She was too fragile, too old.

The next was a man so familiar that she had to look twice. Hair like a raven's feathers, skin white like ivory. She turned to follow him, her feet moving silently across the dirt. She grabbed his arm as he passed the butcher, pulling him with ease to the back of the building. She held him by the face, disappointment welling up in her stomach when she saw it was not him. Everything about him was weak: his chin, his brow, his voice.

"Can I help you?" he squeaked.

Damon's face replaced his. "Just forget all of this," he said.

"What?" Elena's voice cracked. It was days since she had last spoken.

The man spoke, but Damon's voice came from his mouth. "I love you. Don't scream."

She ripped into his neck, relishing his screams of pain until they turned into her own. She heard them in her memories. Stop. Please. It hurts, Damon.

Her jaw tightened.

Drink, she heard him say. It will heal you. It will heal the baby.

Her eyes opened. The man stopped moving. She dropped him to the ground.

Baby?

She stumbled away, blood rushing to her cheeks. She tried to recall any babies they had come across since leaving Mystic Falls. None came to mind. She found another man to feed on, then another.

She spent days like that: hiding away during the day and feeding recklessly at night. By the end of the week, the small town looked much like Mystic Falls did so long ago. The streets were empty and totally quiet. Blood became harder to find.

She moved on to the next town, and then one more. As she grew used to her new body and the power it possessed, she also became graceful. She could move faster than light, her fingers cut through the air like warm milk, and her powerful muscles were only hindered by grace. She was never plagued by illness or physical pain. She was also graced with new capacity for wisdom. A face was never forgotten, nor a sentence or a name.

Her human memories were more difficult to access, however. If she found herself thinking of Emily, her limp body covered in gravel, she would forget her name. She forgot her favorite hymn from church. Her stolen memories were even slower to come to her. She spent most of her days inside, trying to remember what Damon was hiding from her. It felt like spending a long day staring at a plain white wall. Baby repeated in her mind, a piano's song playing out of tune.

The memory struck like lightning, sending electric currents down her spine. First, it was the picture of her torso: round breasts peaking over the lace of her bodice and a round belly looming just below. Her own hands wrapped around it with tender caution. She was pregnant, or so it appeared, but where had the child gone? That memory took more time to remember. It broke into her mind with a flash of red staining her skirt, running onto the floor, dripping in between her toes.

Gone, the words rang out. Gone. My child is gone.