Something's wrong, shut the light, heavy thoughts tonight;and they aren't of snow white.Dreams of war,dreams of lies, dreams of dragon's fire,and of things that will bite.

-Enter Sandman

"Please," Elena whimpered, "just let me go…" she knew her words would have no affect on the demon holding her captive, but she figured she'd try anyway; what did she have to lose?

"Aw, now what fun would that be, Elena?" Damon snickered and raised a black eyebrow at his human victim. If he actually had a heart, he'd probably feel bad for Elena in her current state. There were gashes dragged across her face, most of them still dripping tidbits of her blood, and black and blue marks were beginning to form on her arms. None of these battle scars were directly inflicted by Damon. Elena had done this to herself, because of the nightmare he had trapped her in for numerous hours. The thrill the vampire had gotten from watching her destructive terror was still pulsating through his dead body.

"You're a sick bastard," she muttered bitterly in reply, too frozen in pain to turn her head away from Damon. Elena's hair was matted, annoyingly clinging to her neck with sweat. The brown locks were no longer their usual straight, but rather the tight curls she always tried to hide with a straightener. She'd given up on understanding why Damon had such a torturous death wish for her, but at the same time was very far from accepting his actions.

"Ouch, that can really hurt such a benevolent man, such as myself." His lips curled into a viciously wicked grin, and his bright blue eyes darkened to an almost pitch black. He was truly the devil in Elena's mind, and the house she was locked in was more akin to a dreary castle of sadistic intentions, fueled by the blood of the victims. Elena wanted to cry, but she was too badly aching to even move her face from its limp position.

"You are the farthest thing from that, and you know it," she seethed, and clenched her jaw tightly.

"Oh, get off of your high horse, Elena," Damon drawled, "there's no definite line between good and evil. The view of what action constitutes as good or evil is left up to interpretation. Your view obviously differs greatly from mine."

"Then explain it to me," Elena returned softly, "tell me how in the world what you're doing to me is good. I want to understand. How is torturing someone not evil?" Elena lifted her head to get a better view of Damon's face. There was no solid emotion on his face, just a jumbled mess of feelings that seemed to be internalized for millenniums.

Damon sighed. This girl was going to be the death of him, and he knew it. But was that necessarily a bad thing? Of course it was. For centuries, he had embodied everything that his father hadn't wanted him to be. He was a ruthless killer, full of lust, and envy, and hate—he was not the good little soldier his father had raised him to be. Maybe it was finally time to return to the old ways; to what his father would have wanted him to be. There was something in Elena's eyes that was different than what the other descendents of Amica had had. There wasn't solely fear, or disgust, or even resentment; Elena seemed to care. Care about his reasons, his intentions, and maybe even deep down, Elena even cared about him.

"You wouldn't understand," he muttered, more softly than he had ever spoken in years. Damon felt dangerously close to being human, but he couldn't be positive about that. It had been so long since he had let the human instinct and nature he still possessed to show through. He had suffocated it for the sake of his reputation; for his safety; for Klaus. But had he done it for himself? The obvious answer was no. In repelling the human inside of him, Damon had tortured himself for hundreds upon thousands of years, for what? A few cries of terror, and a few mentions in girls' slumber party horror stories? It sickened him.

"You have to give me something," Elena replied in tense simplicity. She knew Damon was capable of very dark and malicious actions, but she believed everyone had the right to prove themselves; even Damon.

"I don't have to give you anything," Damon shot back in reply, rising from his seat and beginning to pace around Elena. Fire seething in his chest, and oily sadism dripping from his long since shriveled veins; he whipped his pale face in the girl's direction.

Elena opted out of a reply, and tried her best to look at everything but Damon.

"So now you won't even look at me?" He asked her darkly, "you really are a hypocrite." Walking up closely to Elena, he knelt down with the power of his legs, and his evil eyes hovered around her face. Her tears glistened, even with the very minimal light in the room, and Damon wanted to tear the sweet innocence right from Elena's heart. Staring at her intensely, he raised a hand whipped it across Elena's face.

The burn was terribly painful; it was a searing freeze on her skin that Elena could not even begin to describe. Damon hadn't held back, and used his inhuman strength to its fullest. Elena was almost positive she was bleeding. What kind of slap could make someone bleed? Elena didn't even want to know.

"Never do that again," Damon hissed, and left Elena alone, still chained to the wall, and still bleeding from numerous places on her body.

Again I apologize for being so sporadic with these updates. My inspiration comes and goes with it. So I really need ideas! Also, I've been kind of disheartened by how few reviews I've been getting. I hate to try to convince people to submit feedback, but I really do need it. So please, take a quick moment and tell me what you think… I really do appreciate it.

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