The Thing With Feathers

Author's note: The title is taken from the poem by Emily Dickinson that begins "Hope is the thing with feathers...".

Opportunity. It sings through my veins as I watch Stefan behind that witch barrier. Locked in with Katherine - our beloved, devious, ruinous Katherine.

There's no denying she's beloved to both of us, as much as Stefan wishes it weren't so. And as much as I wish it. But he's in there with her…and I'm out here, looking in.

I'm always outside looking in at her somehow, unable to reach her.

I remember her face when Stefan first confessed his love for her all those years ago, the shock and wonder that chased across her eyes that night. And I remember how, in that moment, I knew that it wasn't me that she wanted. And perhaps it had never been me.

But that didn't stop me from wanting her desperately. From loving her desperately. I hated myself for it, but I couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop.

I felt things then, when I was human - deep, tumultuous, monstrously potent things. And I liked feeling them. I liked being swept away by destructive passion.

When I lost Katherine the night of the fire, and then after when Stefan wouldn't let me be the romantic martyr…well, I simply turned the passion part off and embraced the destruction.

I've been good at it, too. A century and a half of doing my best impersonation of Katherine – cold and wanton and eminently practical.

Until I got to know Elena, of course. Impossible as it was, she was Katherine – a Katherine that cared, that looked at me with those big dark eyes and saw something better than I was...I suppose it isn't all that surprising that my passion switched itself right back on, traitorous feeling that it is.

I could pretend I don't love Elena, that seeing her look to me after we rescued her from Elijah didn't cause a fierce joy to flood through me. I could pretend that realizing her look of hope and longing and relief was for Stefan didn't cause a ripping ache in my chest.

But I've spent a century and a half pretending. Let's pretend is getting damned old.

My love for Katherine is a poisonous thing, as ruinous as Katherine herself. But Elena….loving her feels better, cleaner. Even though watching her with Stefan has been torturous – to watch him have what I want again and again and again. Surely fate couldn't be that cruel? But it has been, until now.

Until now. With Stefan locked away with Katherine, I can't imagine Katherine won't take the opportunity to…reconnect. Katherine may be a ruthless conniving bitch, but she's a ruthless conniving bitch who is in love with my little brother, and she can be thoroughly persuasive.

Which leaves me to take care of Elena. How tragic.

I make my promise to Stefan to protect her. Of course I'll protect her.

She's my heart, she's what has made me walk among the living and feel again. I will not lose that. Not again. Never again.

And if she should realize that Stefan and Katherine have reacquainted themselves, as they inevitably will, well…whoever will she turn to in her time of hurt and bitterness and betrayal?

I know a little something about those feelings. And I can be very comforting.

I feel a wicked little smile quirk my lips as I leave the darkness of the tomb.