she does not look at her & see a monster.
but she should.
she should.
but she does not see a MONSTER.
instead, an earthquake. she shakes from within her bones.
a lioness with claws sharp enough to tear. with teeth sharp enough to maim.
but what is more humane than survival?
for so long, she had simply wanted to survive.
{ or so she tells them, because nothing else is acceptable. }
she knows this. she knows.
the lion only wants to survive.
& who is elena gilbert to deny her this?
no one. she is no one.
a predator can be satisfied with any form of prey
if she does not love them.
she is no different.
far be it from elena gilbert to present this as some grand farce.
call me prey, she should say.
i can't.
if she's prey, she can.
she might call herself a
victim if victims did not
lie beneath tomb stones.
she might call herself a
a survivor if she had any
idea how to put air in the
lungs she's torn apart.
two sides of the same coin.
it’s all a matter of perception.
heads tails
predator. prey.
her head turns away from the lioness in shame.
you want to escape, a more reasonable voice says.
i dont, her own answers. i don't.
the lion frees her wrists, for just a moment---
& her broken hands turn over and over against the floor
her abdomen glides across the cold bloodied wooden floor
palms against it,
she pushes.
she tries to push herself up------
her breath becomes ragged with the effort------
& then the lion's hands come down.
she b r e a k s so easily.
the straw that breaks the camel's back, they say.
and the earthquake rattles her bones to their core
they split beneath her hands.
she screams.
her frail form crumples to the floor.
the wood cries out in protest.
her ribs collapse from the pressure
faintly, she feels them puncture her lungs
a sob tears its way through her bloodied lips.
she can’t——— she can't---------
these must be klaus's teeth
these must be kol's hands
rebekah's last ditch effort must be holding her beneath water
but it is airiana who drowns within her
it is airiana.
airiana's hands break bone after bone
and airiana's teeth find solace in her throat.
airiana's lips curve into the brightest of
smiles against the blood painting
her collarbone like a white blank canvas.
she stops fighting.
she tells herself it's because her bones
are too broken to take any shape and call it their own.
she tells herself it's because she's running
out of blood and her heart beat is slowing
& airiana's hands have moved to tug
the thin veil of protection disguised as
thick brown locks away---away----
she reveals the mangled flesh like a body of water
{ she stops fighting.
because maybe she wants to drown, too. }
a faint whimper leaves her lips
as airiana wears her blood on her tongue.
soon, she makes no sound at all.
she goes quiet.
play dead, a voice says. & she does.
a cold pries its way into her chest cavity
suddenly, she feels as if she is soaking.
whether in water, or her own blood,
she does not know.
this is what it means to not be dead.
she is not dead.
{ she never gets to be dead. }
caroline is never picked, she knows.
she is not everyone's choice.
no one tries to die for caroline forbes.
the girl who runs with wolves.
she does not know that in this game
ELENA GILBERT is a card never drawn.
she does not get picked.
she is not chosen.
even now,
she will live.
and live.
and live.
and live.
and live.
and live.
and live.
for eternity, she will live.
make it about me, she wants to say.
this isn't all about me.
when has it fucking not been about you?
don't look at me like that, she wants to tell her.
and if the lioness dared ask-----
like you're in love with me.
but she says nothing.
does not have the strength to.
her lips have grown numb.
{ the lioness is not in love with her. she does not love the prey.
she loves the feed. she loves the revelation. nothing more. nothing else. }
but elena does.
she loves the predator.
she does.
and she loves airiana.
she does.
for a moment, she thinks it's because
her blood as run out, and she is no
longer of any use to her.
but the lioness is shaking.
where the curve of her throat was once supported by airiana's opposite hand
it has now grown cold.
her body is on fire. but she is cold.
pain radiates through every limb and tendon and artery and vein
but she feels nothing.
her body hits the floor without
airiana's hands to prop her up.
her cheek presses against the
wood and her body folds
within itself so perfectly she
instantaneously becomes smaller.
her eyes close.
the darkness is nice. peaceful.
she'd like to rest in it, for awhile.
she'd like to rest.
she hears her name on airiana's lips.
she tries to find her, within the darkness.
she can tell she's crying without looking at her,
because, well, she's elena, and she's airiana
and that's just, well, them.
there's nothing worse to see airiana cry.
elena,
elena,
elena—
she hears her name over and over again, and tries to make sense of the word.
of the way she's touching her.
she's so gentle. her hands softly make their way through her hair,
and she fixes the broken, and all is right in the world
all is right in the world.
she fills up the silence in her hands.
she doesn’t know how to tell her,
that she's beautiful like this.
airiana will never FORGIVE her now
now that she's betrayed her like this.
her hands travel over her face, gentle, so gentle----
and she'll never forgive her... she'll never forgive her....
the thought itself is suffocating.
{ she's never felt more real. }
she can't move her hands and she thinks she's fading
and her lungs are struggling to fill with air
but her eyes open, they open, finally, they open---
"it's okay," she whispers, "it's okay."
she remembers when she used to want
to ask damon, if he missed her, if he missed--
do you miss her? she'd ask, katherine?
i used to, he'd reply, like he didn't
like he didn't
expect her to
believe him.
she believed him.
sometimes she missed
herself, too. sometimes
she missed the mirror.
sometimes, she felt
nothing at all.
nothing at all.
"it's okay," she chokes out between bloodied lips.
"it's okay. you're okay. you're okay----"
i'm okay.
"you stopped," she tries uselessly. "you stopped."
she's lost too much blood to heal properly, but
still her bones try, heal in all the wrong shapes, heal
broken
heal, not so okay at all
{ she's so proud of her. }
"you can't hurt me," she says in invitation.
she'd let her push her head below water, if that was what she wanted.
a shaky hand splays over her throat, it taking everything she has
to lift the small weight of bone. blood coats it.
she looks at it in sickened fascination.
"i can't die," she tells her.
you could do it,
over,
and over,
and over again.
i would let you.
she would let her.
"i can never die again."
she's too much like damon for her own good.
she would erase her to set her free.
she would invite her in if only
to teach her how to turn the key.
you could learn like this.
"it's okay," she tells her again.
"i'll teach you. i'll teach you."
if she were strong enough, she'd turn her head, let her
see the prize that lies under too thin skin.
but she can't move.
"don't cry," she says too gently. "please don't cry."
"you're safe now. this is a safe place."
no place safer than a noose around your neck when you can't die.
