“You said you knew the perfect place to run to. A place that was empty of people, and buildings, and far, far away. A place covered in blood-red earth and sleeping life. A place longing to come alive again. It's a place for disappearing, you'd said, a place for getting lost... and for getting found.
I'll take you there, you'd said.
And I could say that I agreed.”
Rose had died, he’d held her when she’d passed into the light. This was all too much for him; maybe she was here to lecture him about breaking up with Elena. It had only been ten minutes since he’d broken her heart. He stared at the bourbon in his hand and back to her. Maybe someone had slipped something into his drink, maybe he was being experimented on and had hallucinated all of this. “You’re not real,” he confirmed with a sip of his drink.
An inhalation, a once blank slate soon painted with bewilderment before gaze tilted downwards. “Believe you me, I’m just as surprised.” Delighted to be back? Only for Damon’s sake. Being able to talk without going through the middle man was a perk, something that seemed to counterbalance a series of worries; the reasoning and cause behind her resurrection. “Look,” she paused, taking a shaky exhale before proceeding, “you could always go to my grave if you’re that persistent.” Needless to say, he’d only find an upturned area of dirt with no corpse.
