****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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She awakens as if there is an emergency as if sleeping had become a hazardous factor. Her heart beats rapid, and there is a pulsating throb in her brain, and together they are as fright with jump-leads. Only now her brain is a flat battery, the previous night's toils being a gruelling of intermittent problem-solving. And so, this day will pass as if she is hungover, not from drink, but from the nightmares that demand solutions.
Darcy sits upright in the bed, heart racing a mile a minute, harsh breaths ousting, the pain in her head throbs with no remorse. One by one, her five senses come alive; the dry foul taste in her throat makes her retch, her nose captures the fragrance of leather and expensive cologne, her ears catch the slight movements of footsteps travelling across the creaky floorboards. The bed dips under another's weight, causing her to feel her hands and feet caressing the silk sheets covering her body. She frowns, her smooth untamed hairs flying askew as she jerks her head to the right, meeting icy blue eyes.
Darcy lets out a scream, her arm rearing up and socking them in the jaw, causing them to groan and drop back on the mattress whilst she scatters off the bed, backing away to the door.
"What a lovely morning greeting. Take her to your home; she may be more comfortable, they say. Oh, but they didn't mention, I'd get punched in the jaw for the welcome," his voice drips with sarcasm as he sits up and leans against the headboard, eyes narrowing on Darcy as he rubs his jaw.
"Well, who said to park your face right by mine? Don't you know the meaning of personal space?" she spoke, her tone matching his. Her arms fly up, coming back down with a slap against her thighs. "Oh, wait, I forgot you're Damon Salvatore. That explains it all. Damon and personal space don't mix at all."
"My, my, someone's extra spunky this morning," Damon quips, standing up from the bed. He crosses the room on silent feet. Although his mere presence should be urging her to flee, it does the opposite. A wave of calming energy doses over her, stronger and robust with each step he takes, and she's almost afraid to meet his eyes. Still, she can't help it. Her gaze slides up from her feet up his body to lock on his vigorous gaze.
Darcy feels a shover raking down her spine as his eyes flash with concern, roaming over her figure. Analysing her jerky form, tracing the miraculously healed welts on her cheeks, albeit no feeding her of the vampire's blood was supplied. Her shoulder's slump like she's carrying the whole universe. Damon watches as her eyes flit around the room, her hands twist and turn, clutching onto one another, and the way how her feet are pointing towards the door as if she would flee at a moment's notice.
He begins to question; do they really know who Darcella is under the covers?
Darcy frowns, pushing all thoughts and feelings out of her mind and looks around the room, large eyes taking in the large queen-sized bed, covered with blue and purple checked sheets, moving across the chestnut walls and wooden floor panels. Turning to her left, she can see the dark tiled walls matching its flooring that envelopes the open en-suite bathroom. Spinning back around, she traces the large drapes covering the expanse of the windows, only a slither of sunlight creeps through the slip gap in the centre. A few feet from the bed on the other side of the room is a brick fireplace, roaring to life, basking the room in a warm auburn glow.
