There is the sound of feet scuffling towards her on the cold-stone floor. She has been heard— and she doesn't know if that brings her relief or terrifies her. When she called out, it wasn't for help: it was to face whoever is on the outside of the cell she's locked in. She cradles herself on the cot, and even though it hurts she brushes her fingertips over the blistered patterns that have finally appeared. Entwining, raw, painful-looking lines depicting flowers, butterflies, and sprawling expanses of nature ghost her once bare skin. The inflicted pain by her touch is a self-hating reminder she is still alive. Perhaps, she should be relieved they've shown up, but she's angry.
The footsteps stop at the door of her cell and she glances up to see a man staring back at her. His eyes are startlingly ice blue and so intense she suddenly feels cold all over and shivers. He narrows them at her curiously before his lips quirk upwards into a smirk and she hates how her heart beats faster.
She's never seen a man so unashamedly handsome. Gripping at herself tighter, she just wants to hide.
"You're awake." She shrinks under his gaze. "Now you can tell me what the hell you were doing passed out in the middle of the road."
She doesn't answer and looks away.
"Hm." The man clicks his tongue. "Please don't make this harder than it already is, sweetheart. I already made a mess for myself by peeling your sorry self off the double-yellow lines."
God, she's tired of it. Tired of dealing with vampires. She rolls over onto her side on the cot so she doesn't have to look at him.
"Oh, now that's just rude," he scoffs to himself. "And when I've been such a reasonable host for the circumstances!" She curls into a tighter ball, hoping he'll go away now that she knows who is keeping her in here.
The latch clicks and the heavy door creaks open. Trying not to startle at the noise, she soothingly rubs her hands on her arms, the slight sting from the still-raw marks keeping her grounded. He takes a few steps towards her and then drags the nearby wooden stool in front of her, so he can sit.
There's a few beats of silence. Her eyes are heavy so she closes them and listens to her breath, wrangling with the fact that he's probably not going anywhere.
"So, you're going to tell me what the hell you are."
She cracks open her eyelids with a sigh and flips over to face him on the cot, her face contorting with discomfort. Her voice comes out soft, she can't spare the energy: "I won't. You're a vampire."
That gets his attention. He bites the inside of his cheek, a muscle in his jaw flexes. "This vampire happened to save your life and didn't leave you for roadkill. Think about that."
She doesn't say anything back. There's a sudden influx in the burning of her skin and she winces, but it calms again.
The man seems to get the hint that he won't get any more information out of her and pushes up on his knees to stand. He kicks the stool away with his foot.
"I'm Damon. And I'll be waiting for those answers."
A pit settles in her stomach at the pressure of putting words to anything that has happened, especially to a stranger. She wishes he left her passed out on the road. Damon swings shut the heavy door behind him, and she lets her eyes droop again, her body struggling too much for her to think about it any longer.
When she wakes up sometime later, it's to the sound of Damon opening and closing the door to her cell. Oh, to still be blissfully asleep. Groggily, she sits up on the cot and massages at the tender skin of her dark circles. He's holding a tray with a glass of water and a sandwich.
"Ready to talk?" He asks, smirking down at her.
She exhales a slow breath out through her nostrils. There's no sense of time down in the basement with the light constantly on, and it feels like they were just talking. No reprieve.
"It's been few hours," he offers her the information, setting the tray on her lap. Damon raises his eyebrows at her bristling when he gets closer and returns to the stool. She's starving and her mouth feels like a desert in a drought but she doesn't reach for the food. "You slept most of the day away after we talked this morning."
His gaze flicks down to her arms at the markings there. "Those have healed up." It's true. In a matter of hours, the once raw, seared flesh has healed over to crisp, white lines. She didn't even realize the lack of pain because of Damon's threatening presence. "Hard to believe you're dangerous when you've got flowers and butterflies all over you." He flashes his upper canines. "Actually, scratch that. I've met some college girls who were inked-up like you who were terrors."
Picking up the turkey sandwich, she observes the plush bread beneath her fingers for a moment before biting into it. The flavor of fresh turkey paired with lettuce and tomato is delicious, but she doesn't tell him that. Damon seems almost surprised to see her eat. She's not dumb enough to refuse food when she can get it— she takes a sip of water between bites.
The water has vervain in it, and of course, it does nothing. She's halfway through the food when Damon speaks again.
"So tell me what you are."
She brushes some crumbs off her hands, chewing as she pretends he's not there at all to keep her sanity. Damon's patience wears thinner.
"Can I at least get a name? Throw a dog a bone." His pale blue eyes have a sheen to them that suggests he's entertained by this game of cat and mouse.
She thinks to herself, decides to give him at least that.
"Lily," She says. Tilting her head up she empties her glass, setting the tray on the floor next to her.
"Okay, flower power," Damon begins, obviously referring to the name and the marks, "you and I are going to have to build some trust here." He keeps one eye on her and he picks up her discarded tray. "And by trust, I mean loathing. You are going to hate me and this cell so much you will be jumping at the chance to tell me in hopes you'll get out of here."
Lily expected this. All vampires have proven to be the same. Cruel, cold creatures always looking for leverage and free, sickening entertainment. He's found a non-human with promising abilities and as expected, he plans to take full advantage.
Lily doesn't respond as Damon steps out of the cell with her tray and leaves her again to the silence of the basement. She doesn't want to fight back as that only plays into his satisfaction of having a supernatural prisoner. The main goal is to not let Damon know how afraid of him she is.
She shifts on the cot, thinking. After wringing her hands for a moment or two, and when she's sure Damon's gone, Lily pulls at her dress sleeve so it falls off of her shoulder, exposing the crest of her bare shoulder and the marks that have wound up there. She keeps pulling until the upper half of her dress is no longer covering one shoulder blade. She cranes her neck back as far as she can, eyes straining to see what main pattern has stretched itself across her back.
All she can see is a wing. A bird of some kind. She pulls the sleeve back up and covers herself again. Tapping a finger on her thigh, processing this information, Lily stands up, her bare feet freezing on the basement's stone. There is the slight sound of the skin of her soles sticking to the rock as she approaches the tiny barred window on the cell's door, pressing her face against it to see beyond as much as possible. To her right, she can make out a small window that must lead outside. It's dark out. Perfect.
Lily takes a step back from the door. Can she do this? She isn't sure. This is the moment where she uses magic for the first time and accepts she'll inch closer to her mother's legacy. But even though it hurts her to the core, she doesn't have a choice.
Despite the anxiety and fear that jumps at her, she does her best to clear her head— and then she's at her safe space, a river in her mind's eye that carries her thoughts downstream and away, unneeded for now. She closes her eyes and focuses on channeling her energy to the cell door's latch.
A sudden rush of thrumming energy spreads out of her veins like a plant's roots extending into soil. Behind the blackness of her eyelids, a sudden pervasive, blue light causes Lily to curiously open her eyes.
Her marks are glowing. Bright, sky blue streaks of light that illuminate and chase away the shadows of the cell. She watches as a butterfly on her arm becomes alive, parting from her skin on bright blue wings, and flies over to the latch that clicks unlocked. Her tattoos fade back to white as she stops tapping into her new magic, her butterfly fades back onto the designated spot on her forearm.
Lily dabs at her waterline as she realizes she's crying, her fingertips coming back wet. Her whole body is shaking but she can't dwell on this now. She has to get out while she has the chance.
She pushes on the now unlocked door just enough for her to slip past but it squeals open: she winces at the sound, scared Damon will stop her. As quick as possible, she heads towards the basement window and fiddles with the lock, prying it open. Using the table beneath her to give her a boost, Lily nudges aside the objects strewn on it to get a foothold and slips out the window. Making it to the other side headfirst wasn't ideal, but she catches herself in the dirt on her hands and breaks into a run, leaving the vampire that kept her captive in the dust.
Trees whip past her as she heads for the woods, dark leaves getting crushed beneath her bare feet. Years of growing up out in nature have made the callouses on her soles thick enough to manage this frantic trek. Lily needs to find home. As soon as she gets home, she can regroup and prepare herself for surviving this... or not.
Oak, pine, and cedar trees stretch towards the sky in dark, shadowy pillars. Her feet catch on some roots and sharp rocks, but she accepts the sting as she can't stop now. Once she finds the cabin she can hopefully find a pair of useable shoes. Lily comes across a creek, water babbling under the sound of crickets. She knows this creek: she used to come here as a little girl to cool off and catch frogs during the summer months. If she heads west she'll find a road that she can follow— from there it's a straight shot to her house.
Stepping across the river and getting a chill at the cold water trickling over her toes, she heads west and slows down a little to catch her breath. Her conscious nags at her that Damon will come after her, she always has been a bit of a worrywart. The challenge is to try to let the feeling go for now.
After about ten more minutes of hiking, she comes to the road that passes right by her mom's cabin. Lily skirts the treeline and keeps out of the road, not wanting to be seen. A hunk of machinery zips past her, a blur of bright lights and she startles, falling back on her haunches, clutching her chest. What in the world was that?
Lily takes a few shaky breaths and pulls herself to her feet. Her knees wobble beneath her but she must keep going. A lot has changed around her, and until she learns about her new world, it's undoubtedly going to be scary. She walks with her hands clutching at the fabric of her dress.
An owl hoots and soars silently above her in a blur, it takes her a second to recognize it. It's starting to get chillier, the true distinction that summer has ended and fall is taking its place. As soon as she's finally there she's going to start a fire. The good news is it's not far away now.
Another ten minutes later she gasps in shock as her home comes into view. The cabin is in shambles. Brush and vines have invaded and strangled its exterior, it looks like the death of livelihood.
It was the death of hers a long time ago.
She walks on the rock path through their once beautiful garden, bountiful with fruits, vegetables, and flowers. They are now shadowy patches of twisted, dead stalks on a wood-rotted garden bed. Lily ends up near their chicken coop that flanks the house. The wire is rusted and falling apart from years of rain. Inside is centuries-old feathers and soiled hay: and it's filled with chicken skeletons, still assembled like the chickens lied down when they got too hungry and starved there. Lily gasps and covers her face, trembling fingers trying to hold in her grief. Steeling herself, she rounds to the front of the cabin, to their single horse stable. The tears flow down her face at finding the bones of their prized mare, Nutmeg.
Horrified, she wants to turn around and never come back. Sadness and grief are quickly turning to anger. Her mother did this, all of this, with her selfish, deluded agenda. For a moment she wishes she remembers when she woke up and fled this cabin and ended up on that road: just to savor and remember leaving so she didn't have to venture back in the first place.
The front wood door gives under her weight and lunges open, stirring up a cloud of dirt and dust. It practically falls off its hinges as it slams against the wall behind it. Lily closes it behind her and wipes at her nose runny from crying. Everything is where they left it, frozen in time from 1864 but now ancient and decrepit. She can see Mother's teacup from the day she died sitting on the counter, cracked from the cold.
Wood is still stacked up by the woodstove and she tosses it inside on top of the cobwebs and shuts the iron door. For a moment the room fills with a bluish glow as she uses her powers to light the tinder. Fire crackles to life, flickering warm light that starts to warm her cold bones, but she feels sicker, not better after using her magic again. She watches a mouse dart across the floorboards and into a hole in the wall.
Even though it's disgusting she sits down on the floor, pressing her palms into her eyes, swallowing the bile when she has a sudden need to vomit. She tries to focus on the feeling of the fire. That's right, she survived this, she supposes she can survive more. It's over. Sniffling, she stands again, looking around for anything she can salvage.
She's hesitant to see her bedroom but enters before she can think twice. Like the front room, it's got a thick layer of dust that makes her eyes water. Her bed and blankets have been decimated by rodents, they had chewed through her mattress to assumedly make a nest. Lily opens her wardrobe, but her clothes, too, are either destroyed by mice or moths. In the very back she finds a hooded cloak that while damaged still seems usable for the cold. She drapes it over her, it desperately needs a wash but at least it's warm. And she needs some shoes.
Unfortunately, the best she can find is her pair of old leather moccasins. But when she puts them on, they are warmer than she remembers, the fur-lining soothing on her aching feet. Now, to get what she mainly came for. On her dresser is the silver ring. Mother left it for her on a piece of white cloth. She's never seen it before— Mother had only told her about it and she should wear it to balance her unstable energies. She had hoped she would have never woken up to use it.
Lily slips it on. The metal looks like a wooden branch that winds around her finger, a cubic zirconia white flower abloom on it. It's pretty, but she feels uneasy wearing it as she will probably never take it off again.
Sighing, she wraps the cloak more tightly around herself and heads back towards the woodstove. The fire is crackling hungrily. She picks up a nearby lantern and brushes it off, the candle and wax inside are still useable. Opening the woodstove, she lights a stick in the woodpile on fire and holds it to the wick. The candle is lit and she shuts the lantern door and discards the stick to the flames. She doesn't want to be without light when she goes beneath the house. Lily sets the lantern on the ground and pushes against the ratty couch. It scrapes across the floor and reveals the trapdoor down to the cellar. Flinging the hatch open, she tests the creaky stairs before heading down them.
The cellar is damper than she remembers but their preserves lie on the shelves where they left them. Lily tries to breathe through the anxiety building in her stomach. She's almost truly back. Heading over to the closest preserves shelf, she heaves and pushes it aside. Touching the flat wall behind it, her tattoos glow and the wall shifts back and out of place, revealing the stone, damp hallway.
Lily whips around at the sound of movement behind her.
"So... this is where your secrets are."