Dark Side.
Chapter 19: Memory Lane. Part I.
"Caught in the moment.
Tangled up in your sheets.
When you broke my heart,
Said you only wanted half of me.
My imagination's too creative.
They see demon.
I see angel.
Without a halo, wingless angel."
—In My Head. Ariana Grande.
The Mystic Grill is busy with citizens, an unsurprising fact for a Saturday morning. The inside of the restaurant turned bar turned generalized hanging place is loud with lively chatter, the earthy smell of fresh-brewed coffee, eggs and bacon. And blood. Not out in the open, cooling, but running through the veins of forty-something human habitués. At just the right temperature. It's delicious, like an all you can eat buffet. Damon walks inside, absentmindedly choosing a possible victim regardless of the fact he no longer drinks straight from the vein. Reaching the waiters' station near the main entrance, he gives the young hostess there the most charming smile he can manage.
"Hi! What can I do for you?" she asks.
Her lips stretch into a smile that is not forced, sweet and breezy. Her cheeks pink up. She's pretty, around twenty-two years old. Brunette, with a cluster of dark freckles sprawled across her nose and forehead, and dark hazel eyes.
"I ordered one of your amazingly delicious peach cobblers," Damon explains. His tone lowers into the one that's all insinuation and sex. The one that never fails. "I'm here to pick it up…" he trails off. His eyes travel from her face to her neck, visualize the bulging carotid artery, and continue down to her chest, where a nametag is. "Emily."
Emily's smile widens as she casually leans forward into the desk. Her stance becomes flirtier, more confident.
"What name is it under?" she questions.
"Damon Salvatore." Damon takes a step closer to her.
"Ooh," Emily teases, no attempt at looking up his reservation. "A Founder."
Damon allows a laugh, shrugging. He goes to speak—sure, he no longer drinks from humans, but that doesn't mean he can't have a little fun—when something stops him. A voice that's just as familiar as his brother's, clear through the busy, at times overexcited, background of whole families having breakfast, prepubescents having what little fun is available on Mystic Falls Weekends, and the staff trying to go about their work. All that blends into the distance, quietens, until all Damon can hear is her, with as much clarity as if she were next to him, without him even having to focus.
"Elena. Elena."
Damon turns around, unwilling, like his body has a mind of its own.
Near the back, right by the stage where the pool tables sit, Elena and Cassandra have commandeered a table for themselves. Elena has her back to him, so all he can see from this angle is her hair cascading down her back. She's hunched over the table, focused. Cassandra is scowling in her direction, hands sprawled over a notebook, sheets of paper, and two thick text books. When seconds pass and Elena doesn't even glance at her, her eyebrows rise until they almost blend with her hairline.
"Seriously? Are you even listening to me?"
"I'm trying to read." Elena doesn't bother looking up.
"You don't speak Bulgarian." Cassandra rolls her eyes with her whole head. Damon feels his lips twitching into a half smile. Clearly, he's rubbing off on her. "Elena!" she protests again, harsh enough that Elena finally looks up, startled. "Remember Algebra?"
Damon hears Elena sigh; her shoulders rise and fall with the motion. Wordlessly, she reaches for something under the book she's reading. It's a practice sheet, he assumes as Elena hands it over to an expecting Cassandra. Immediately, she goes back to reading.
Damon settles for watching the only girl he has a clear view of. Cassandra stares blankly at the paper in front of her, eyes scanning past numbers. Her hair is straightened, the front strands pulled back by a simple grey headband. That's one thing he has yet to get used to. In his mind, she still has curly hair. She also still wears corsets and hoop skirts, so memory isn't the most reliable in this case. Today, she wears a light blue turtle-neck sweater, and through the table's legs Damon can see the obstructed outline of black wide-legged pants. At least that's one thing that hasn't changed; Cassie very seldom wears anything casual.
His eyes go back to her face. Her full attention is still on the practice sheet in her hands. The more she studies, the more she frowns. Her eyebrows inch towards each other, her lips purse, her nose scrunches slightly at the bridge. She looks adorably disappointed.
"Mr. Salvatore?" Emily's hesitant tone brings him back to where he is. He turns back towards the waitress, to her raised eyebrows. "I was saying your pie will be a few minutes."
"I'll be over there." He nods.
Without waiting for an answer, Damon moves towards the pool tables. More exact, he moves towards the girls' table. Cassie's the first one to notice him. Or, he thinks she's the first one to acknowledge his presence. After all, if he was able to hear her, then she was able to hear him, probably since the second he stepped a foot inside. Nevertheless, she looks up the moment he steps towards them, and sends him a small, close-lipped smile, eyes momentarily jumping to Elena before she goes back to examining the mathematical equations before her.
Ignoring the way his heart starts to feel lighter than usual inside his chest, he surreptitiously slides into the free seat between both girls. Elena jumps slightly. She scrambles, pulls the thick book closer to her chest in a protective motion. It's the Petrova book, Damon notices.
"Hi," Cassandra says.
When she smiles at him then, it's a wider smile than before. Her eyes are brighter than the last time he saw her. It's a relief. She'd been nothing but tense and sad at Duke. He's spent the last five days doing everything to try and forget that, to try and stop wondering.
"Hey," he says back.
"What do you want?" Elena snaps.
The hostility in her tones makes Damon turn to her with a little difficulty. For more reasons than one. Elena scowls at him, eyes sending daggers towards him. Her face is half-disgust, half-hatred. And, yet, she looks beautiful. The sight of her sends a sting of pain straight through his chest.
"So, this is where you spend your time when you're not stabbing people in the back." Damon comments, sarcastic.
To his right, Cassandra allows a tiny sound in the back of her throat, quiet but annoyed. She chooses to say nothing, simply grabs a pen and begins circling what seems to be Elena's mediocre attempts at math. To his left, Elena scoffs. His eyes go back to her in time to see her slamming the Petrova book close.
"I tricked you into telling me the truth." She rises to her feet. "That's not stabbing you in the back, it's using your own tactics against you." She adds with a tight, sardonic smile.
"Where are you going?" Damon asks, relaxed.
"I made myself clear, Damon. I want nothing to do with you."
"Okay." He shrugs, seemingly unbothered. It's a lie, of course. The reminder of Elena's apparent hatred for him bites. "See you at Jenna's barbecue."
His passing comment halts Elena dead in her tracks. Instead of turning to him, however, she pivots until she's facing Cassandra fully, an outraged expression well in place.
"You told him?" Elena interrogates.
Cassandra simply looks up, front teeth still biting into her bottom lip. She looks surprised to be brought into the conversation.
"No." Cassie scoffs.
Her tone suggest Elena is dumb for even asking. Briefly, Damon wonders if she's been avoiding him as much as he's been avoiding her.
"How did you know about Jenna's barbecue?" Elena asks him, curious.
"It was my idea." He brags. In front of him, Elena lowers the book in front of her until it meets her hip. Her eyebrows rise up her forehead. "Jenna went to high school with Mason Lockwood so I figured a social gathering would be a good way to get to know the guy. So, I told Ric to tell Jenna and..." he trails off, shrugging.
"Does Jenna know that you're going to be there? Because she's not exactly a fan of yours." Elena points out.
Cassandra hums softly, a mere acknowledgement more than anything. Out of his peripheral vision, he notices she's no longer checking Elena's mathematical skills. She leans an elbow atop the math books, hand tucked behind her ear as she watches the interaction, inquisitive. Just then, the waitress appears with a white cardboard box, handing it to him with no other word but a flirty smile.
"Perfect. Thank you." Damon winks at a retreating Emily, before turning back to Elena, box balanced on his hands. "I'm hoping this peach cobbler will pave the way."
"What are you up to?" Elena rolls her eyes.
Her hands lift the book up again, like it's a shield between herself and Damon. Elena glances at Cassandra before looking back at him, annoyance and distrust seeping into her features. Because he's Damon and, of course, he's about to mess up.
"I'm gonna put some silver into Mason Lockwood and prove he is a werewolf." He declares, dropping the carefree act for one second just to prove he's serious.
He expects understanding, at the very least. After all, Elena was the one terrified over the fact that Stefan was alone in Mystic Falls with a werewolf on the loose. Instead, Elena eyes him up and down before scoffing, and walking away without so much as another word. Damon slumps back on his seat, releasing a breath. Well, that didn't turn out like he thought it would.
"Wow, your ability to clear a room is outstanding!" Cassandra giggles.
"Shut up, Cassie." He grumbles, facing her.
She seems unbothered by his animosity. If anything, it seems to amuse her even more. Her lips stretch into a wide, toothy smile, hand splayed against the side of her face as she tilts her head to the right. Her knee knocks against his thigh; her hair catches the one stream of light filtering through the back window. Like this, Cassie looks like a painting.
"She needs space, Damon." Cassandra lifts one shoulder up. "Give it to her."
"Whatever, I don't wanna talk about it." He shakes his head. Then, an idea occurs to him. "Hey, you wanna be my plus-one to this barbeque?" he leans forward, eyes hooded with a suggestion he's not entirely sure he wants her to take.
"Hmm—" her eyes narrow as she pretends to think about it before copying him. Her hand drops back to the table when she leans closer, a dangerously tempting spark in her eyes. "No."
For some reason, that one word is more disappointing than Elena's clear dislike towards him.
"Why not?"
"First of all, I've already been invited." Cassandra leans back on her chair, returning to Elena's algebra homework once more. "Second of all, I'm not going."
"Why the hell not?" he protests, only then realizing how much he actually wants her to be there.
"Because I have no desire in being part of this weird obsession you have with the Lockwoods." Her voice adopts a lecturing tone. Absently, her thumb plays with the ring on her index finger, other hand crossing over numbers in Elena's homework with enough strength to dent the paper. "I don't see the point! You already know Mason's a werewolf."
"But he doesn't know I know."
She shoots him a look. A withering look that has him reconsidering for the smallest of seconds.
"So?" Cassandra challenges. Her face softens. "I know what you're doing and while I'm all about healing… pissing off a werewolf is not the way to do it."
"I'm not doing anything." He grumbles, sitting back on his chair.
He is not talking about it. Not about the harsh truth that he wasted the better part of his life devoted to a woman who saw him as nothing but a nuisance. Not about the fact that he idiotically pursued who he considers a very close friend in the irrational hope that she'd be interested, solely because he could not deal with the possibility that he was incapable of being wanted. A possibility she then proceeded to prove.
His eyes stick to the paper in front of Cassandra, to the glaring red Xs next to results and the quickly written right ways to solve the equations below them. It's not interesting, High School level Algebra, but the obstinate fervor with which she's grading the piece of homework serves as an excellent distraction from his thoughts. It lifts his mood a little.
"Damon, I mean it." He looks up, mostly due to the sudden veiled-desperation to her voice. Her eyes are wide, and big green irises stare up at him with worry. Cassie opens her mouth, hesitant, before closing it again. Two beats pass before she speaks: "I don't want to have to bury you."
It surprises him, the fierce honesty to her words. It reminds him of her words what feels like eternity ago. In reality, only weeks have passed. She assured him the only reason she disappeared without a trace was to protect him from what sounded like certain death. That she wanted him safe, and that was the only way she knew how. Looking at her now, Damon realizes with a start that Cassie—in all her secretive, unpredictable, stubborn, fascinating ways—has once more become the most important person in his life.
"You won't." he reassures her.
It's a secret promise. Her frown eases away, replaced in turn by a blinding smile that lights up her entire face. Her hand gives his a tight squeeze before she returns to the paper in front of her. She picks up the red pen once more, and goes back to correcting, having to go so far as to draw big arrows towards the paper's edge where she has enough space to compose some sort of explanation as to why what Elena did is wrong.
"What are you doing anyway?" Damon asks, amused.
"Elena is going to fail. She's too focused on Katherine and vampire drama to work on what matters."
"High School?" A chuckle slips past his lips at the exasperated gasp that leaves her.
"Yes!" Cassie exclaims. "How is she going to attend a good college if she fails? Or if her GPA drops?"
"We'll compel her in." Damon dismisses, failing to see why this is so important.
Especially considering they'll end up turning Elena into a vampire. An inevitability. It's simply a matter of time.
"Absolutely not." She protests, crossed. "We compel her in without her having at least attempted to work on homework and study, she won't have the knowledge needed to understand what's going on in her lectures. She fails, and then she doesn't become a legitimate…"
Cassandra standstills mid-sentence, mouth hanging open like she expects the words to continue without her forming them. She hunches back on her seat, red pen forgotten. It rolls across the table's sticky surface until it comes to a stop beside Damon's elbow.
"Oh, I actually have no idea what she wants to do with her life," she finally says with a disappointed half-pout.
"Why is this so important to you?" he asks.
Because it is; he can see it in her eyes. For some bizarre reason, Elena making the most of her High School experience, excelling, and studying in a good college is important to her. Cassandra observes him, silent. After a minute, her eyes travel down to the exercise sheet again. She bites into the inside of her cheek, mulling something over.
"Fuck it!" She declares. She pushes the practice sheet across the table, producing instead a new one from underneath the thickest math book of the two. "I'm copying her homework."
Reaching into the deep blue pencil case by the other side of the table, right across Damon, she procures a 2B yellow pencil, and delves into the exercise sheet, solving the first equation without having to think hard about it. The only reason she slows down, Damon notices, is because she's trying to get Elena's handwriting down to a T. Clearly, math comes easy to her.
Instead of pressing the subject Cassandra is so clearly evading, Damon leans back on his chair, observing quietly as she works. The concentrated furrow of her mouth, the exhilaration that flashes across her face when she finishes and double-checks her work before moving on to the next question, brings a small smile to his face. For some strange reason he doesn't claim to understand, watching Cassie solve somewhat complex math equations is as mesmeric as watching her play the piano.
Mystic Falls, 1864.
The Founder's Celebration turned out to be nothing but an excuse for the elite families of young Mystic Falls to flaunt their finest clothing, tell their most entertaining and scandalous tales, and drink copious amounts of liquor. Cassandra, who had apposite experience with the politics and whims of the bourgeoisie, found the afternoon trivial despite all the niceties. Music flowed through the building, twinkling piano swimming through the waves of a violin. Couples danced together in the main room, twirled and met to the soft melody. Food was passed around in large silver trays, drinks delivered to guests on command.
Cassandra stood by the foyer, silently observing the festivities. It was a silly occasion, but one the people of Mystic Falls, Virginia seemed to enjoy greatly. Well, not only them.
Katherine danced with Stefan. Smiling, Stefan twirled her around, hands touching but for a moment while she laughed, head tilted back, chocolate curls bouncing on their way down her back. People around glanced at them with judgement, whispers uttered behind gloved hands and folding fans. Stefan, oblivious to the comments, brought Katherine closer, attempting to steal a kiss. Katherine laughed again, finger pressing to Stefan's lip as a frail attempt to restrain him.
Cassandra scowled. Their behavior was improper, unacceptable. Regardless of the fact that their lives were not bound by society's rules, there was such a thing as pretense. At this rate, they would need not be exposed as vampires for the town to persecute them.
A close "Miss Woodhouse," turned Cassandra on the spot. Henry walked towards her, a nervous glint to his eyes as his hands wrung together. "May I have a word?"
"Certainly, Henry." She nodded, looking on with interest.
Henry paused. His dark eyes darted around the busying crowd, he stepped closer when Honoria Fell forced her way behind him, aiming for a disappearing tray of cold meats, and regarded her with a glance that meant nothing but secrecy. He tilted his head to the left, and she followed him past drunken, usually-respectable gentlemen with sordid hands on women, both willing and unwilling. They walked past the dancing area and sneaked past the side of the building roped off from the gathering.
"I looked into the attacks from the other night, as you wished," said Henry. His voice lowered until it resembled a panicked whisper. "No vampire did that. At least, no sane vampire."
"That's good, Henry." Cassandra reassured him.
"All due respect, Miss, it is not." Henry contested. "Those folks were ripped apart like I have never seen."
His account caught her attention. Tearing her wandering gaze from Damon Salvatore's champagne-drinking form, Cassandra focused on her current companion's worried frown. Whatever Henry had seen shook him to his core. She could see it, in the way his chest seemed to concave, the depth of his dark eyes, the nervous energy expelling from his body. Only a few creatures could rip a person beyond recognition, some were non-supernatural. Still, she had a fair idea of what had destroyed those soldiers and slaves until they resembled porridge. She had seen plenty of it, in her time.
"Are you certain?" she questioned.
Henry exhaled, seemingly relieved to be taken seriously.
"Yes, Miss. I—I beheld the corpses myself." He nodded, fingers intertwining together until the seams of his gloves threatened to give.
Cassandra looked out into the gathering. Through a horde of townspeople, vampires cohabitating with humans, prey with predator, her eyes landed on George, as a magnet inevitably beaconed metal. He stood in the center of the room, Mr. Fell and Mr. Gilbert laughing around him as he retold some tale from the war. Champagne glass in one hand, hair combed back, suit in perfect state, George resembled the epitome of the modern society man: rich, handsome, charming. With the darkest secret known to man behind his alluring eyes and perfect smile.
"Were you able to discern any distinct marks on the bodies?" she wondered, eyes still firm on George.
"Miss?" Henry hesitated.
His tongue wetted his lips, eyes widened as his mind worked on the ostensibly outrageous inquiry. Cassandra leveled her eyes with his, the only answer Henry would receive.
"The coroner asserted—there seemed to be some serrated puncture wounds that went deep into the bones, which would explain how the muscle was—how it was so—" Henry managed with difficulty, pausing at times to swallow, eyes avoiding hers as he scuffled his feet.
Henry, a true man of his time, unable to find dignified words with which to explain the atrocities he had seen to Cassandra, a lady above all, stumbled through the same sentence thrice. She lifted one hand in the air; Henry halted mid-sentence. She needn't hear more. Wolves had jagged molars. As did werewolves.
"Notify Katherine," she ordered. "But keep this between us. No one shall know, Henry."
"But, Miss, what I witnessed was not the travail of a beast." Henry protested. "It will not be long until this is investigated. Surely, it'd be safer if—"
"I give the orders." Cassandra interrupted with a frosty tone. "You follow them. Do as you're told. No one must know." She took a step closer, delicately placed a hand on Henry's chest. He breathed in deep, eyes stuck to her face. With a sweet smile, she added: "Don't disappoint me, Henry."
"Of course not, Cass." Henry agreed. His hand went up to cover her own. Her smile widened as she tilted her head to one side. "I'll do as you ask."
"Perfect!"
Giggling, she furtively glanced around them, assuring they were not seen, and lifted herself until her lips brushed his cheek. A meaningless gesture turned into a loving touch. Henry's breath wavered. Feigning a blush, she pulled away and walked back towards the gathering, spying a glance back as she retreated. She cared not for Henry in that way, but she was beautiful, and sometimes the only way to gain what one desired was through a man's heart. And, well, a lady had to do what she could to get ahead in this world.
The start of the barbeque was understandably awkward, mostly because, Cassandra figures, she is painfully aware of the subtext. Something neither Jenna nor Caroline seem to know. Jenna welcomed Caroline and Cass into the home as soon as they knocked on the door, swept them inside, and proceeded to introduce them to Mason. Mason, who Cass already knows. They are not friends, most definitely not, merely acquaintances. Thankfully, Mason seems to love Katherine enough to do as she requested. When Jenna lead Cass and Caroline into the kitchen with a bright smile and said: "Cass, this is Mason, Tyler's uncle, he just recently got back in town," Mason sent her a polite, albeit flirtier than Cass would have liked, smile, and didn't hint at the fact that they knew each other.
Which was excellent, considering Damon was standing right next to him, tequila shot halfway up to his mouth. He didn't say anything, simply sent her a look that screamed satisfaction. Because she proclaimed at breakfast that she was most certainly not attending the barbeque, and yet here she is. Instead of saying anything, she simply grabbed a glass of water, and asked Jenna if it was okay for them to go be with Elena out front. Not like she wouldn't go, in the rare case that Jenna wanted her to socialize with the adults, as far as Jenna is concerned she is seventeen, but she guessed that's what a polite teenager would do. Ugh, playing human is exhausting.
So, she sits on the porch swing, listening to Caroline and Elena talk, both on large rattan chairs. She sits, idly swaying back and forth on the porch that's too high for her heeled boots to reach the wood boards—she is not short—cool spring breeze sending wisps of hair into her lip-gloss. She sits and realizes she was infinitely wrong: Caroline is a terrible spy.
"I am starving!" Caroline exclaims to an Elena that is full of sympathetic curiosity. "Stefan says it's a great way to sublimate the hunger. I mean—" she swallows a particularly big mouthful of sea-salted chips. "Cass has been really helpful as well, but when it comes to fighting the ever-present urge to drink someone dry, her methods just don't work as well as Stefan's." At this, Caroline turns on her spot to face Cassandra, faux-innocent expression to her features. "Maybe it's because you're technically half-human, so surely your body is different."
Her tone suggests it's a way to excuse her for not teaching her a better method. Like it's not her fault she's defective. Cassandra simply raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Caroline shrugs before turning back to Elena, too calm a vibe to her for this to be normal. Her words are scripted. The playwright: Katherine Pierce. No way Caroline would be able to know what being a natural half-witch really means. Not unless someone told her what Cass's Achilles' Heel is, just in case.
"Yeah, Stefan really hates that part about himself." Elena nods.
The words leave her with difficulty and Cassandra can't decipher whether that is because she's still not comfortable with the ugly truth of vampirism, or because she realized Caroline's words were a dig at Cass.
"Yeah, and he hates that you're a constant temptation." Caroline chirps.
A handful of chips makes its way into her mouth as she looks at Elena with too wide eyes. Elena straightens up in her seat, a mixture between hurt and guilt making her eyes dim.
"Caroline…" Cassandra warns.
"What?" the blonde protests, once more swirling on the spot so she can look at Cass while she talks. "You know it's true."
"Bloodlust gets easier to deal with the older you get." Cassandra explains to Elena. "Stefan is simply a special case, but he's getting better."
"Didn't you almost rip Damon's throat off the first time you were together?" Caroline scoffs, sinking down into her chair to hold the bowl of chips closer to her. Elena's mouth hangs open. "And you were like… what, three hundred and something years old already? No way it gets easier with age."
"That's not what happened." Cassandra denies, reaching the point of boredom.
Maybe it's the fact that she knows Katherine's tactics like the back of her hand now, or the fact that she and Damon already cleared this up years ago, a piece of information Katherine herself was never privy to, but Caroline's slight feels like the most uninteresting thing ever.
"Okay, I might have exaggerated." Caroline concedes. Her left shoulder lifts. "But the point remains! Temptation is always going to be an issue around humans."
Silence follows Caroline's proud declaration. Elena's eyes travel from Caroline to Cassandra, looking for confirmation that Caroline is not right. Except the oldest vampire can't give her what she wants, because fresh blood is like one's favorite dessert and Christmas dinner and a proper Sunday roast served with a bottle of finest Scotch and silken sheets wrapped around one's self. No matter how old one is, sometimes blood is just too damn good to resist. Sometimes one is just too damn tired of resisting.
"I—I'm getting some water." Elena excuses herself.
Cassandra waits until Elena's footsteps recede far enough into the house to reach over and slap Caroline over the head with the back of her hand. Caroline yelps, jumping until she turns to face her.
"What are you doing?" Cassandra demands.
"Nothing!" Caroline denies quickly. Her voice adopts the same breathy tone it does whenever she's nervous.
"Uh-huh. I didn't tell you that. In fact, I never even told you Damon and I slept together."
Caroline dips her chin into her shoulder as her fingers play with a nonexistent thread in her cardigan's hem. She's the picture of abashed. Casandra doesn't buy it.
"I read it in your witch-diary," Caroline says.
"Really? That's impressive." Cassandra raises her eyebrows.
Her wonder is fake. The difference between Caroline and Cassandra, however, is that the latter has more experience, and she knows how to manipulate her body and voice until the most feigned of expressions seems genuine.
"Why?" Caroline asks, eyeing her with growing distrust.
At least she's smart, Cassandra thinks.
"I didn't know you could read Medieval Latin."
A beat follows her deadpanned statement. Caroline's face drops, dismayed at the fact she just got caught red-handed for spying.
"Okay, Katherine told me." She rushes. She moves until her torso is hallway over the rattan chair's armrest, angled towards Cass. "And she said to—"
"Find a way to plant the seed of doubt in Elena while… let me guess…" Cassandra trails off. "Making me feel exposed?"
"How did you know that?" Caroline's eyes widen.
"It's not my first rodeo." Cassandra dismisses.
So, Katherine is mad at her. More that she originally thought, it seems. In front of her, Caroline bites her bottom lip, worried. Cassandra sighs and decides to take pity.
"Okay, rule one, when you got ammo against someone, you don't fire it all out at once!" Cass points out the obvious. Katherine gave Caroline two points against Cassandra that could have been expertly delivered to ensure maximum damage and, yet, Caroline wasted them. "You'd think you'd know that, being Mystic Falls designated mean girl and all."
Caroline looks down at her tucked in feet.
"And two, I'm on your side."
Caroline gasps, quickly looking up at her. Her mouth forms a perfect O.
"But Katherine said—"
"I haven't mentioned Katherine." Cassandra interrupts. "Now, stop this before you make an enemy of the wrong people." She warns the young vampire. When Caroline still looks unconvinced, she adds: "Be sensible, Caroline."
"Are you going to tell on me?" Caroline asks, timid.
"Not if you stop," Cassandra says, even though she knows the walls have ears and Damon and Alaric's conversation halted mid-topic a while ago.
"Is what she said true?" Caroline asks instead of agreeing to Cassandra's terms. "About you?"
Cassandra sits back, absently tracing the red slivers in the ring's stone on her finger. Trust Katherine to throw her fully under the bus, and probably exaggerate while she's at it.
"She's probably making it a bigger deal than it is." Cassandra comforts a Caroline that now looks even more troubled.
"But—"
"That's enough." She insists.
Mostly because Elena's trip to the kitchen and back just came to an end. The brunette opens the door just as Caroline's mouth drops shut. And mostly because she doesn't want Damon finding out that her being half-witch basically makes her half-human. It changes nothing. She still gets stronger the older she gets, her magic still makes her more powerful and more dangerous than the regular vampire. Just because sometimes it takes her longer to heal doesn't mean she's defective… Okay, so that's not the only thing that makes her different from a normal vampire, but that is a secret she's taking to the grave if she can help it.
"Um… food is ready." Elena lets them know.
"Oh, finally!" Caroline chirps like the previous conversation never happened. She rises to her feet, prancing into the house with a simple, "I'm starving!"
Cassandra rises to her feet, sending Elena the most comforting smile she can muster, hand squeezing her arm. Elena returns the smile. Together, they enter the Gilbert home.
UPDATED: 16/01/2020