Title: Incipit Vita Nova

Chapter: 3/6

Section: The Circumference of Mortality and Morality (I - Neither a Worthless Animal Nor Man, but Certainly Damned.)

Plot: Damon considers how he became a vampire at the hands of the radiant and sinister Katherine and how he became indoctrinated, unwillingly, into the vampire way of life by his younger brother, Stefan. After centuries of carnage trying to retrieve Katherine from the tomb, only to discover she never cared; defining crucial moments mark the return of his humanity, such as his meeting with the exquisite Elena, who has a passion, will and intelligence that intrigues him. He falls in love with her, wanting not to hurt but to comfort her with the last breaths of humanity he has inside.

But, with the return of the maniacal Katherine, Damon and Elena find themselves wrought in present dangers they scarcely imagined.

Set directly after Founder's Day, the Season One Finale.

Author's Note:

As it turned out, everyone wanted me to break the chapters up, hence so I could update faster, so here you go! Your wish is my command. :)

I began to speak to him so: 'Lord of nobility, why do you weep?' And he said these words to me:

'Ego tanquam centrum circuli, cui simili modo se hadent circumferentiae partes: tu autem non sic: I am as the centre of a circle, to which the parts of the circumference have a similar relation: you however are not so.'

Elena Gilbert. That was the name of his brother's current nostalgic infatuation. She was eighteen or nineteen, judging by her narrow frame and the way she sauntered across the sidewalk on her way to whatever store or shop she was currently visiting; completely unburdened by any extra weight on her shoulders, no loss of innocence or extraordinary pain had penetrated deep enough to puncture her carefree standing. Or, maybe she was just a very good actress. She drove a plum Saturn coupe that appeared as though it had seen better days, and a bumper sticker that screamed BREATHE in bold lettering and all capitals. It always seemed surprising to Damon just how much you could learn about a person from a distance, translate their character or spirit even, taken aback by the impressions that you formed. He had been tailing her for the past 24 hours, since he had recognized how she was the only thing to direct Stefan's eye, when he had arrived to his hometown on Thursday. Watching her from afar, it had raised so many questions. He was curious about her now. And then there was a special wonder that emanated beneath the mounds of white plastic and brash metal that bound a certain switch, what she would look like up close.

When he had been up close, Damon could make out the darker roots of her hair that had been treated to look almost like a honey brown, though it was naturally probably closer to black. She would sit with a leather bound book at the foot of her twin graves of her parent's, never really here nor there, she seemed caught up in a rut between space and time. She would usually rub her booties together and tug her legs all the way up to her chest when she got chilly, her shoulders would bunch, and her arms crossed high on her chest. And Damon would stand there behind the statue of the archangel Gabriel, wiping a mustache of sweat off his upper lip. You had a couple glances. Your flirtation with danger, you got that out of your system. Now, GET OUT. And then he would shuffle his feet, needing to leave. Never making up his mind. And, then he met her face to face several days later. Observing her as a means to get to Stefan was one thing, but actually talking to her, that threw a monkey wrench of uncertainty Damon's way, because he had begun to regard Elena Gilbert as more than a pawn. And now he was fucked.

Lying curled up on the maroon cushions which embellished the oriental sofa that stretched along the span of half the wall which was lacquered in a rustic brown wallpaper, Damon's eyes rolled back under his closed eyelids, the haze of sleep still wearing ever so slowly off. Opening his eyes slowly, only the whites exposed as his pupils lingered off in the back of his cranium, Damon swung his legs unto the floor and then looked at himself in the mirror that was so conveniently placed right on the other wall in front of him. He felt the switch's effectiveness wearing off, disobeying him. The film over his eyes dissolved, and all Damon could see was a mess of thick black hair and the mask of a face without a purpose, encasing a bout of bubbling chaos.

Fucking trash.

Pulling himself away from his reverie of self -loathing, Damon saw Katherine's reflection in the mirror, her form appearing through the slit of a closed door leading to the master bedroom, lounging on the white mattress.

She looked straight at him. "Come in here."

Stepping up from the couch, Damon moved unto Katherine's white tile landing. He entered the room non-chalantly, not looking at her, refusing to be reduced to nothing more than an adoring puppy before ten in the morning. "Kick of your shoes," she said, all business, pointing him ahead to the vast bathroom. "Hang your jacket in the shower."

In damp socks, Damon padded over to the cream-carpeted bathroom and then to the front of the shower, isolated by a square of black tile surrounding it.

"Don't judge," Katherine's voice traveled from the bedroom "I got the place for cheap. The rates are pathetic, which is good considering that I didn't have to kill anyone to move in, even though this slum is an insult to my tastes. Oh, well. Must not draw to much attention to ourselves…"

Damon didn't say anything. He peeled of his jacket and draped it over the curtain rod, the black shower curtain billowing, the sash of the frosted glass window clinking and crackling as Damon turned the knob and the shower head spurted out a flow of water which hit the glass and tile with lazy precision. Katherine came in from the bedroom, and made a move to toss him a clean, mocha colored towel- then held back, holding it hostage. "… But you learned all that from me haven't you?" She stated, finishing her explanation from before of keeping a low profile.

"I suppose so." Damon made a lounge for the towel; effectively grabbing it's fuzzy warmth from her. "Now," he said before she could get in anything else edge-wise, "Get out."

Katherine looked at him for a moment. A beat. Then, she calmly brushed a piece of hair behind her ear and made her way to the door as Damon pulled his shirt up over his head. She was pissed. And he couldn't bring himself to care. She would probably find a way to make him pay, later.

"Just so you know," Katherine called back, "We are going out later. I'm in the mood for a little show tonight." And, as the water hit him square with harsh force on his bare back, Damon smiled to himself.

That's you, always hardwired for action.

Grabbing the container of soap from it's perch on a slab of white tile lodged into the side of the shower, Damon squirted a quarter's worth of it into his hand, and then washed himself with such a ferocity as the slosh of residue ran down into the drain, as if he were trying to shed his own criminal skin.

I know, I know it is crazy short. But, it seemed logical to end this section at this point. Next entry will be much, much longer. Promise. :)

Now, go and feed my muse by clicking that review button and giving me some critical feedback! It always helps the plot bunnies and does wonderful things for my ego. lol ;)