The last thing I remember is the smug look on Stefan's face as he handed me that drink. I knew he was up to something, but I didn't care; I had more important matters to focus on tonight. The Founders Party had been predictable, with the usual crowd of polished faces hiding secrets darker than their fine suits. But one thing—or rather, one person—had managed to catch my attention all evening: Amara.
Even now, her image lingered in my mind—her, standing across the room in that navy dress with a hint of red sparkles. The color played with the soft waves of her dark hair, giving her an almost ethereal glow under the dim lights. But it was that blue streak, the rebellious flash in her hair, that made her stand out. Made her feel... different. Different from Elena, different from anyone in this town, really.
"Goodnight, Blue Bell," I'd murmured to her when I passed by. The look she shot me was somewhere between annoyance and intrigue, exactly the reaction I'd hoped for. It only made me want to push her buttons more. But then, of course, my brilliant brother showed up with his little drink.
I remember a faint bitterness that tingled on my tongue, the almost-sweet burn of vervain as it took hold. And then—darkness.
---
When I open my eyes, I'm met with the cold, damp stone walls of our basement cell. A flickering light bulb swings slightly above me, casting sharp, shifting shadows around the room. My wrists ache, bound by chains that dig into my skin. Leave it to Stefan to go the extra mile.
"Good morning, sunshine," I mutter to myself, my voice rough and quiet in the thick silence.
The door creaks open, and in steps my dear brother, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
"Sleeping well?" Stefan's voice drips with that calm superiority he thinks he's mastered over the years. I roll my eyes.
"Oh, I was having the loveliest dream, actually. Right up until your vervain-laced cocktail ruined it." I shift against the chains, the metal biting into my wrists. "You just couldn't let me have one night, could you?"
"One night to cause chaos? I don't think so." He crosses his arms, staying a safe distance away. "You're not going to hurt Elena, Damon. Or anyone else in this town."
I laugh, a low chuckle that echoes in the cell. "Elena, huh? Tell me, is that all you think I'm here for?"
Stefan's expression hardens, his jaw clenching just slightly. "You have a knack for destruction, Damon. This town doesn't need it."
"Maybe this town does need it." I shrug, feeling the weight of the chains pull against me. "You know as well as I do that everyone here is hiding something. All their little secrets—hypocrisy in high heels and neckties."
He sighs, shaking his head. "So you've got a new vendetta against the Founders Council?"
I tilt my head, smirking up at him. "Vendetta is a strong word. I just like stirring things up. Keeps life interesting. But let's be real, Stefan. You don't care about what I do with everyone else. This is about Elena. Isn't it always?"
Stefan shifts his gaze, just for a fraction of a second, but I catch it. Bingo.
"What can I say? You're predictable." I lean back, doing my best to look relaxed, despite the chains. "Though I can't help but notice that Elena isn't the only interesting Gilbert."
That gets his attention. His eyes narrow. "Amara has nothing to do with this."
"Oh, but she does," I say, my tone lighter, taunting. "She's got that edge, that little spark of something… rebellious. Reminds me of me." I grin at him, knowing how much that'll get under his skin. "And I know you're not thrilled about that."
"Stay away from her, Damon."
"Or what?" I tilt my head. "You're going to keep me locked up down here? Not exactly sustainable."
He walks over to me, his face close enough that I can see the frustration and resolve mixed in his eyes. "I'm warning you, Damon. If you go near her, you'll regret it."
"Noted," I reply with a smile that's all teeth, completely unphased. "But here's the thing, little brother—Amara can handle herself. She's not the same fragile little flower you think Elena is. Besides…" I trail off, a smug grin spreading across my face. "I think she likes me. Just a little."
Stefan's jaw clenches harder, and I can see his patience wearing thin. "This is a warning. Don't underestimate her."
"The prophecy," I say, and his face falls, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as clear as day. "You think chaining me up changes anything? You think hiding me down here stops fate from happening? The only person you're fooling is yourself."
The prophecy—those whispered words spoken by witches centuries ago, linking Amara and me. Words that echo louder now, as if fate itself is laughing at us both. *The dark meets the light, the eternal locked with the brave. Her spirit's call, the tethered flame. Together, bound to stand or fall, in shadow or light.*
I see the discomfort in Stefan's eyes, the reluctance he tries so hard to bury. He wants to deny it, to write it off as some ancient legend, but he can't. He feels it, the same pull I do—like threads woven too tightly to unravel.
"Amara has nothing to do with you," Stefan says, but his voice lacks conviction.
"Don't kid yourself, brother," I say, leaning forward, chains rattling. "You feel it too. She's different. There's something about her—something more than what you want her to be. And no matter how hard you try to deny it, we're connected. You can fight fate all you want, but it's already set in motion."
Stefan's jaw clenches, and for a second, I see that familiar flicker of fear. He knows the prophecy, knows what it means for me—and for her. Amara's name was whispered among witches, alongside mine, as part of a story that's older than either of us. No one knows what it truly means, but that's part of the draw. And Amara, with her midnight-blue dress and that striking blue streak of hair, fits the prophecy like a missing piece.
"You think some ancient story ties you to her?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Prophecies can be broken, Damon. You don't have to drag her into this."
"Oh, I'm not dragging her into anything," I say, smirking. "You see, Amara... she's already drawn. You saw her tonight. She isn't just Elena's shadow, she's her own person. A fierce, brilliant, stubborn force. You think that kind of fire just shows up by accident?"
Stefan's silence is all the answer I need.
"The prophecy isn't some fairytale, Stefan," I continue, my tone low and sharp. "It's a warning. One that even you can't ignore. I mean, why else would the witches have linked us, huh? There's a reason why every instinct I have is pulling me towards her. And you, no matter how many vervain cocktails you hand out, can't stop it."
Stefan looks away, but I see the tension in his shoulders. He hates that there's any truth in my words. Hates that I have any connection to Amara, hates the prophecy, hates that he can't control it.
"Stay away from her, Damon," he says, voice low and full of warning.
"Or what?" I tilt my head, smiling despite the ache in my wrists. "You're going to keep me locked up down here forever? Good luck with that."
Stefan leans in close, and I can see the anger in his eyes, that little spark of desperation that's always there when he talks about Amara and Elena. "If you go near her, you'll regret it."
I just laugh, a soft chuckle that echoes around the cell. "You really don't get it, do you? You're not in control here. None of us are."
With that, Stefan storms out, the door slamming shut behind him. I sit in silence, listening to the faint echo, savoring the triumph in my chest. Stefan may think he can keep me down here, but he's fooling himself. The prophecy has already started to unfold, and he knows it as much as I do.
And Amara? I don't think she even realizes it yet, but she feels the pull. She's caught in this web just as much as I am, no matter how hard Stefan tries to keep us apart.