Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
May 11th, 1994
My eyes widened, while he stared down at me.
The smile that previously was painted on his face... it's gone, now he looks like he wants to gut me alive.
"Here's the thing, you will help me," he tilts his head, grabbing my forearms, "whether you like it or not."
"How." I say, trying to not show the fact I was scared shitless to him directly.
"You're a witch. I could sense it the second you handed me the very first drink... our fingers brushed and voila." he says, as if it's supposed to magically impress me and make me become a willing participant in whatever sick twisted fantasy he had.
"You're psycho."
"Am I?" he's taunting me now, letting go of my arms and knowing I would hopelessly stay in place.
Now he's slowly pacing in front of me, eyes trained on my every breath, every move and... every thought.
Predator like.
"Vampire..."
"Ding, ding, ding!" he sarcastically claps his hands once, but the silence that follows sends shivers directly up my spine.
"What do you want from me..."
I'm going to die here, aren't i?
Having led a very much pointless and uneventful life. Wow, pathetic.
So fucking pathetic.
In the middle of New York City, where the streets absolutely fucking reek of piss and in my work uniform.
Wow, Amber, you really outdid yourself this time around.
"I need your help finding something..." he takes this time to become serious, "moreso, someone."
Hmm, why wouldn't he just search for them himself? Why involve me?
"Okay... who?"
"Does the name Stefan Salvatore sound familiar?"
Fuck no.
"No." I say, raising an eyebrow and avoiding his gaze.
"That's fine... because you're gonna do a locator spell for me." there's that fake smile again, which is very fucking annoying.
He kinda looks good still...
"I haven't practiced magic, since I was like 17." I admit, but he looks at me incredulously.
"So... your magic just grew legs and walked away? No. Just do the damn spell," he rebutted, shrugging in carelessness.
"It's not that simple," I replied in defense, my voice sounding even more pitiful than my stance. "You're asking me for a favor I'm not capable of," I bluntly say, accepting any sort of repercussions I would get from disagreeing with the raven haired man in front of me.
