1864.
"Have you seen my mother?"
Katherine paused, her hands over a small leather box. She smiled, opened the box and procured an exquisite glass bottle filled with perfume. Written on the elegant label was the name "Molinard," and below that in a smaller font was the word, "Jasmin." Katherine removed the glass stopper, its long glass stem dipped into the bottle, and pressed it to her neck. It was a gift from Damon. A lovely bottle of perfume from a perfumery in Grasse, France, he had said. It was equal parts floral and animalic. The heady scent of jasmine flooded her nostrils and she smiled again. She turned in her vanity stool towards the sound of the voice. Towards Anna.
Anna was Pearl's daughter and also a fellow vampire. She was beautiful. Her dark hair, pale skin and lovely eyes made her a vision of loveliness. She also had an innocent glow about her that struck Katherine—like a cat that'd just caught sight of a mouse.
"Yes," she said finally. "Jonathan Gilbert asked her to accompany him on a horseback ride through Mystic Falls."
"Oh," Anna said shortly.
"Do come in," she gestured beside her.
Katherine took a sidelong glance at her handmaiden, Emily, who sat in the corner, mending a rip in a lavender dress. Emily sighed quietly, gathering the garment in her arms and quietly taking leave.
Anna walked into the room, turning back at the door as Emily closed it behind her.
Katherine looked up at Anna and smiled.
"So how do you like it here," she asked. "Are you adjusting?"
"It's fine…if a bit dull. But mother seems to like it…"
"Mmmyes." Katherine tapped absently at the glass stem against the perfume bottle.
Anna stood with her hands clasped in front of her. Being alone with Katherine was unusual. It almost made her nervous. In fact, she was quite sure that her mother did whatever was in her power to steer her away from Katherine. She never could understand why. Anna, although, found Katherine quite delightful. She was like a solitary rose in the bush. Beautiful, captivating and quite out of reach.
"What is that there," she asked, gesturing to the bottle that sat innocently on Katherine's vanity.
Katherine looked down at the bottle and smiled.
"It's a present from the charming Damon Salvatore," she said sweetly. "Perfume from France."
Anna moved forward for a better look.
"What a luxury," Anna said, "We've barely begun to get tea and sugar again and here Damon Salvatore is bequeathing you with exotic gifts."
"Very unexpected," Katherine bemused. She dipped the stopper back into the bottle.
"Come here," she smiled, "Let us put a luxury on that lovely neck of yours."
Anna blushed and moved forward, gathering her skirts and sitting at Katherine's feet. Her dress was a modest dress in a dark shade of garnet.
Katherine turned in her chair and leaned towards Anna. She wore a pale pink gown of chiffon. Its neckline dipping low with a ruby brooch settled in center of her breasts. The front of her hair was pulled back and held together with flowered pins—dark ringlets of hair spilled around her like curled chocolate.
"Now close your eyes," Katherine said sweetly.
Anna obliged.
Katherine removed the stem from the bottle and slid the cool glass from the back of Anna's ear and curled it down her neck. Her finger touched the tip of Anna's chin and she turned her face before running the stem along the other side of her neck. She leaned in towards her neck. Although she had no breath, Katherine, like other vampires, had the capability of interpreting scent in its purest form. Her nose, just barely, grazed against her skin.
Electricity flowed through Anna's veins suddenly and she shivered.
"Lovely," Katherine whispered.
Just then, a light tread was heard on the stairs and the door of Katherine's room flung open. Katherine looked up lazily while Anna turned suddenly.
Pearl stood at the door, her hands clenched into fists.
"Anna," she said shortly, "you are needed at home. Begin your studies until I arrive."
"But, mother, Katherine was just showing me-"
"Anna," she warned.
Anna cast her eyes down for a moment before standing.
"Yes, mother," she turned to Katherine, "Thank you for sharing your perfume."
"My pleasure, mon cher," Katherine purred carelessly as Anna walked out of the room.
Pearl's eyes were blazing. Twin pools of dark fire. She slammed the door behind Anna, leaving her and Katherine alone.
"Not my daughter, Katherine," she said sternly.
Katherine batted her lashes.
"I was just being a generous host to the lovely daughter of my best friend, Pearl. Do calm yourself. You look pained."
"Not my daughter," she repeated, almost pleading. She fell at Katherine's feet and grabbed her hands urgently.
Katherine rolled her eyes.
"She isn't really your daughter," Katherine said lazily.
"She is in every way that counts. I've cared for her, nursed her."
"Oh yes. Little Anna. Your redemption," Katherine spat, pulling her hands away from Pearl. "And get up. You know begging doesn't work with me."
"She's all I have," Pearl's voice was hollow.
"And she will always be yours."
"No. Not after you are done with her. When will it stop? You've recruited people from Beijing to Rome. Phuket to Athens. What are you doing? Creating a global harem? What are you searching for? When will you be appeased with what you have?"
"Never," she said coldly. "Never."
1 ½ years ago.
Elena sat in the basement of the Salvatore Mansion. Her hand was chained to the wall, her head bowed. Her cries were weak, desperate. She had seen the woman in the cell, her head bleeding and her eyes glassy. And reality was a crushing wave. Stefan. His name struck fear in her breast so suddenly that she found herself shaking. Stefan's hand had come from behind her, clasping over her mouth. He chained her to the wall. His eyes were murderous, hungry. And the moment that he bit her, he recoiled with clarity. Sickened.
Stefan had gone. He begged her forgiveness and ran. Perhaps in his fear or perhaps intentionally, he left Elena down there. She screamed. She cried. She pulled helplessly at the heavy chain attached to her wrist. And she watched helplessly as the woman at her feet gurgled on her own blood. She shut her eyes as she began to convulse and she banged her head against the wall as the woman gasped her final breaths.
"Stefan…" She whispered, conflicted in her love and disgust. Blood poured slowly out of her neck and she fell into a torturous sleep.
She dreamt of Stefan. Of Damon. Of being carried. Of bright lights and IVs.
When she woke, before she even opened her eyes, she felt that she was not alone.
Damon was slumped in a chair against the wall, watching her attentively.
Elena opened her eyes, blinking against the light. Hospital lights.
"Good morning," he said dully.
Elena struggled to sit up. Damon was at her side in a flash, pushing her back into the bed.
"Relax," he said.
"Stefan," she asked sorely, looking up.
"Gone."
"Gone?"
"Yes. And he isn't coming back. Not for a very long time."
Elena turned her face away into the pillow and felt her throat close. And when she turned back around, Damon, too, was gone.
Across the ocean, Stefan Salvatore placed his two feet onto Italian soil. His homeland. The afternoon sun shone brightly in the sky as he left the airport terminal and hailed a taxi. The drive the the Tuscan valley was a quiet one. His driver said little and Stefan wasn't inclined to engage him into conversation. In fact, the man's pulse was screaming in his ears and it took every shred of strength he had not to leap over the seat and kill him. Instead he concentrated on the round hills, the fields of flowers…anything and everything but blood and Elena.
When he reached Sant'Antimo Abbey, it was well into the afternoon. The sun hung low in the sky and the humidity was so thick that Stefan could taste it. The abbey was beautiful. It was made of a dusky brick, each stone carefully and artfully placed. Stefan stood outside the taxi, his eyes squinting as he looked at the Romanesque structure. He looked upward at the belltower as the wooden door of the chapel opened and a friar walked out into the day. He was dressed in a dark robe, his face cloaked from the sun with a large hood. Stefan watched as he came near, his adam's apple bobbing nervously. The friar reached his pale arm out and pulled down his hood.
The man's features were Nordic, harsh. He could be called beautiful if his features remained serene. His eyes were crystal blue, almost like ice. His hair was closed clipped but his beard and mustache were long and ragged.
"Klaus," Stefan said softly.
The man's smile was easy, calm. His soul was old. His knowledge surpassed anything Stefan could have possibly dreamed of. Stefan feared him. Loved him. In essence, he was his grandfather. Klaus. The vampire who sired Katherine.
"I knew you'd come," he placed his hand on Stefan's shoulder and led him into the abbey.