#* ˖ ·ﾟ STEFAN SALVATORE ╱ open starter ❣

[dcmoniism]

OPEN STARTER : 1864 - STEFAN SALVATORE.

ragged breathing echoed throughout the old boarding house. heavy footsteps sounded throughout the wooden floorboards as he moved. pearl white canines stained with crimson red, as this one trickled down his chin to stain his ironed, and once pristine, white button-up shirt. stefan's eyes wandered — searching for anything, anyone that moved and dared to cross his murderous path. stefan was no longer the innocent, rejected, abandoned boy they had left behind. no. he was no longer the boy that hid away from giuseppe when this one got one drop too many of his favourite alcoholic beverages. he was no longer the boy that cried himself to sleep wondering why his mother had left him with two careless, cold men with whomst he was to learn to live with. he was no longer the family's good-for-nothing, disgrace of a child.

“ wait, please, no!— ” and then, all that echoed were blood curdling, spine chilling screams. the agony, the horror, the fear were palpable. the terror stefan salvatore spread was unimaginable. how? how could such a sweet boy tear them apart limb for limb? before the loss of control, before the pain, there was sorrow. there was a never-ending 'why me' that never obtained an answer. there was a boy who was wronged, abandoned by those he needed most, abused in all the ways one could be. the young salvatore's emotions ran at the very surface of his being after his transition into a creature of the night — one he had not asked for, but could not complain about given the power it provided him. stefan gained the power to turn his life around, to make a name, a reputation for himself away from the salvatore family name. away from giuseppe, away from damon.

katherine had provided a way out for a boy that had been caged all his life. she unleashed his deepest and darkest thoughts, made them a reality. his reality. the next sound echoing throughout the house is the sound of something heavy dropping to the wooden floorboards. his sleeve drags along his mouth, attempting to wipe away the remnants of his father's blood from his lips. his mind was clear, empty, blank. stefan did not have the capacity to understand what he had done in that moment, nor did he want to. what he knew was that, now, there was a chance for freedom. whatever that word meant.

instead of fleeing the scene, stefan reaches for his wrist and drags him across the floor from the office to the living room, in front of the fireplace. his gaze is fixated on him for a few moments, before he back steps his way to the couch, and sits there. it takes hours for stefan's gaze to return to its beautiful emerald colour, but they never leave giuseppe's deceased figure. their blood still sits on his chin, now dry. that was payback, for all that he had to endure, for the pain of the belt he still felt against his skin, the agony of the daily blame for the loss of lillian, the sleepless nights wondering where he had gone wrong, what he had done wrong. it ended then, or so, stefan thought.

“ stefan? ” the call of his name has his ears twitching, but he does not move to respond to the caller nor their call. if he looks away, will he get up from the ground and charge at him? was he actually gone? stefan did not buy it — how could he when even the end of the bottle, day in day out, did not take him down?