Twenty years ago - almost a lifetime ago - my brother and I escaped Mystic Falls on a train headed for New Orleans. We were baby vampires ourselves then. Damon was confused and searching, and I was blood-drunk and ready for action.
Now our roles had reversed. And yet, whether bound by a shared history or loyalty or even by blood - that mysterious, vexing, life-giving -
substance - we were together.
We didn't trust each other. We didn't like each other. But we were each other, reflecting our shadow, secret selves in the other's identity. We were running from a small-town mob that was after me, toward an entire city that believed Damon to be the deadliest murderer in history. We were in it together.
And we deserved each other.
As much as I tried to hide it, I had a deadly dark side. And I saw, in Damon's concerned glances toward Cora and the gentle way he'd cradled Oliver's body as he brought him to me for burial, that Damon had a deeply feeling, human side. But could the two ever exist in tandem? And how many more humans would be killed before we could live in peace as vampires?
I didn't know the answer. But I knew there would be many more deaths. All I could hope was that they wouldn't be by my own hand. . . .