I was in the mood for putting up something new and I've had this in the works for a while but need some feedback/motivation to get writing on it again. I'm about halfway through writing the story I want to tell, which is 17 000 words, so make of that what you will about how many chapters there might be (I haven't decided yet). This is just a teaser, by the way, the rest of the chapters will be far longer.

If you're interested in this, please let me know!

Enjoy :)

Klaus finished doing his tie then smirked, looking at the blonde staring at herself in the mirror.

She'd been standing in front of it for the past five minutes, making sounds of irritation and muttering to herself.

"What's wrong, love?"

She jumped a little, clearly having momentarily forgotten that he was in the room.

Then she pulled a face.

"I can't decide if I should put my hair up or down," she pouted, gesturing toward the dress bag lying across their bed. "It's halterneck – either look would work."

There were tiny worried creases between her eyes and though he found them adorable it also caused concern.

Crossing the room to her, he placed his hands on her hips from behind. She smiled a little, lifting her chin to look at him in the mirror.


He looked at her pointedly. "You're nervous."

He watched her open her mouth to protest, then she quickly seemed to change tactics.

"Aren't you?"

He thought about it.

All of her friends and some of her family were on their way, invited here for the purpose of determining their stance on Caroline's change of lifestyle; lover. All had accepted – yet, the hybrid thought, rather tentatively.

He felt the whole evening would be a test, some sort of run-through that would either justify or mystify Caroline's decision.

The test, as it was, didn't matter all that much to him – Caroline had made it clear that her decision existed independently of tonight. However, it was his fear that something would go wrong and it would upset her – Damon had always had a large and uninhibited mouth. In turn he feared reacting, which would all inevitably lead to chaos.

Thus the entire evening passing without even a single hitch was of paramount importance. Unfortunately he was well aware of the multitudes of very large hitches which followed her friends around as if magnetically, causing him slightly less confidence than would've been preferable.

"Perhaps a tad… apprehensive," he allowed.

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and he had no doubt she was trying to follow the line of thought he'd just gone on.

He smiled. "As for the hair, I enjoy the access up allows me."

With that he laid several tender kisses down the line of shoulder then back up into her neck, enjoying her soft unique scent and the silky smoothness of her skin.

"You know you can't do that around my mom, right?" she giggled.

But, when he turned away to finish dressing, she began pinning up her hair.

Her eyes open.

They stutter, as if badly glued together, but they open.

Panic rises in her throat like a breath and she has no idea why until it registers in her mind that she's in a coffin.

She's banging on the roof desperately before she can think to scream and it isn't long before it's lifted, but it feels like a million years before her prison is opened and she looks up into familiar ocean eyes.

For a second her heart hurts, literally it aches, and she feels sick as her gaze seems to shift for a second. She sees another pair of those eyes above her – a bad superimposition.

Then it's gone and so is the fist in her stomach.

She wants to speak but her throat feels like she hasn't spoken in a million years.

She's struggling to get past the cotton wool of her oesophagus when he speaks.


The look on his face is hopeful and relieved and she has no idea what it means.

"Come on, love," he says, reaching a hand towards her.

There's a tone in his voice that she can't quite place and it scares her.

Nothing she can see looks familiar.

After a second she takes his hand, terrified to stay in the coffin for even a second longer.

She clears her throat numerously as he helps her climb out.

"Two questions," she says, her voice scratchy as she pulls her hand from his. "Where am I and why the hell was I in a coffin? Preferably the latter first."

Her brow is arched and Klaus' expression is such a mix of emotions that she's finding it impossible to read.

His hand lands on her wrist and it sends tingles everywhere. Not the good kind of tingles.

"Caroline, are you alright?"

"Do I seem alright? What the hell is going on? Where am I? Why are you touching me?"

Instantly his hand retracts. He takes a small step back.

"Our New York home."

It's as if he's speaking a language that means different things to the speaker and listener.

He seems to think what he's saying makes perfect sense. She cannot comprehend a single word of it.

"Our home? What are you talking about?"

He takes another step back, a full one this time, and she watches something dawn on his face that scares her.

"You've suffered memory loss."

It's a statement and the way he says it is hopeless; his eyes dead.

She frowns. "What? No, I haven't."


It's so sombre that she meets his eyes solidly and he holds hers for a moment before speaking.

"It's January 2050."