****REWRITING IN PROCESS****
A thousand years ago, seven stars sat illuminated in the night sky, surrounded by the moon, wrapped around its comfort and loving embrace, secured in the safety net that always provided them protection.
Too soon, it all...
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*Strong language*
Enjoy! 💜
(Damon, third POV)
"Come on. There's gotta be another way." Damon said frustrated, locking his glare onto Bree who was behind the bar serving drinks.
"After all these years, it's still only Katherine. How do you know even know she's alive?" Bree's gaze flickered behind Damon. Whilst he was draining another Bourbon, she mimed cloaking a spell.
Before the Salvatore vampire step foot inside the bar with his dark-haired friend, she sensed a magical aura surrounding the Protectress, definitely no witch. No, but one has placed a binding spell upon her. It reeks of ancient opaque magic. Its chains wrapped tight, enclosing the girl with a blazing shield. Her core tingled to delve inside the girl's psyche and seek what was so special about her. Whatever it was, she was going to find out.
"What about your little friend? Not enough of a distraction for you?" She jabbed, her incentive probing causing Damon to snap his head up, glare turning into slits.
"Don't drag her into this. Darcy is not to get involved."
"With you around, she'll get burned."
He waved his hand, brushing away the matter. "Then, I'll deal with it... Now, you help me into that tomb, and we'll find out." He finished, bringing back the critical topic.
"I already did. Twenty years ago, remember? Three easy steps. Comet. Crystal. Spell."
"There's a little problem with number two. I don't have the crystal." His jaw ticked.
"That's it, Damon. There is no other way. It's Emily's spell."
"What about a new spell, with a new crystal that overrides Emily's spell?" He suggests, arms flying around.
"It doesn't work that way, baby. Emily's spell is absolute. You can't get into that tomb." Bree paused, turning away to deal with a customer further down the bar.
While Damon's frustration grew, slamming his clenched fists down on the bar, the witch scrutinised him with cautious eyes before subtly looking over Darcy and Elena in the car park. She disregarded the whispered warnings and imitated unknown verses, akin to Latin. The whispers grew louder as she attempted to poke into Darcy's mind, pushing them away. She continued to dig deeper only to gasp in pain, clutching her head as she hit a concrete wall, barricaded tight with iron shackles. Growing more determined, she ploughed on attempting to pry, melt away the heavy chains, wincing as the sensation of flames licked her arms. Whispers raised to chants; warning consequences will pay the price for meddling.
Damon's head turned to the side, picking up Elena's panicked voice, and then he smelled it. Blood. Not any blood. Darcy's. An intoxicating fragrance: Clean and pure with a sprinkle of sweet candy. Should be appetising, right? Imagine his and Stefan's surprise when they have no desire to sink their fangs into her flesh. Instead, they would rather luxuriate in the comforting aroma and flush out the reek unpleasantry of other humans roaming the world.
