"Good guys and bad guys. One side of the same coin or different entirely? Who or what determines if you are the hero or the villain? Can you be both, or is there only either or? Can someone who is believed to be evil, be the victim in the story or w...
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You wake up to the sound of blood rushing through your head. You look around in panic, vision still laid with a filter of darkness. You see nothing but trees beyond trees as the restrains in your arm burn your delicate skin.
Vervain no doubt.
"Ah, you're awake. Finally." Heavy boots land on small, brittle branches, breaking them in half with their weight, as the familiar voice echoes in the endless woods.
Not a moment later you come face to face with the last person you expected to be visiting Mystic Falls.
Her.
Monterey, California 1912
You catch a glimpse of him through a broken set of windows, the wind howling through the cracked openings. The flickering street light illuminates the blood splattered, wet with rain cobblestone.
Stefan bites into the exposed and neck of his victim while another one is already headless on the floor.
You've been following him for the last weeks, witnessing his uncontrollable ripper need. He already made a name for himself as the Ripper of Monterey in the short time he's been murdering his way through town.
He lets his victim fall to the ground, head in his hand, carelessly walking away, leaving his mess behind.
You follow him, hidden in the shadows for a few miles under the night sky as a melody catches your attention. Out of whatever reason, it draws you in, the carefully arranged notes and words pleasing you so much you decide to follow it.
You can catch up with Stefan later. The trail of bodies will easily lead you to him.
You reach a busy parallel street, surrounded by numerous of houses down the road. Some resident has placed their Grammophon near an open window, the sound of the muffled singer's voice draining out of it, onto the street. You hum along to the soft tunes of a fairly new song.
To your left clicking heels on the cobblestone are heard, and a woman rounds to the corner of a nearby house, her beaded, crimson dress flashing in the streetlights momentarily as she passes under them.
A couple, dressed in evening clothes passes her, going to great lengths to avoid her at any cost, whispering and glancing at her. They seem terrified.
Who is she?
She scoffs at them, shaking the weird looks off like she's done it a thousand times. As she comes nearer you can make out her tanned skin, shimmering with the slightest golden tone, as well as her dark hair, cut in a much shorter style than it is fashionable right now.
Your eyes cross and she stops, turning her head to where the music comes from.
"Oh, what a delightful tune. Sadly it will be forgotten in the generations to come. What a shame. Mortals are so fickle." "She says, her fiery eyes, illuminated by the streetlamp above.
