Juliette smiled as Stefan littered her with a shower of kisses that left hot a branding on her pale skin, knowing full well that with each touch of their skin he was claiming her as his for all eternity.
But Juliette didn't live for the future like...
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one ~~~~~~~~
Stefan Salvatore, previously known at the Ripper of Monterey had experienced a lot and with such experiences he had grown significantly in his life of immortality. The vampire understood that if he wanted to live peacefully around other people, human people, that he needed to have some sort of discipline. For decades Lexi, Stefan's best friend kept him under control, helping him resist the familiar urge to drain people of their blood.
As time passed, Stefan gained a better handle on his thirst, only preying on animals, their blood tasting like dirt, but it was better than taking an innocent life.
Every once in a while after a meal, Stefan would go to his room at the Salvatore boarding house and read some of the journals he'd written when he was younger. Stories of the struggles of being a vampire, stories of Katherine, stories of being a ripper, and one particular story of her.
Juliette.
Even now, Stefan could remember her brown hair and bright blue eyes, her lips always coated in red lipstick. She was the most beautiful woman Stefan ever had the privilege to lay his eyes on. She was everything he could've asked for, even with his emotional switch flipped he knew there was something special about her.
Juliette was kind and elegant, she had a teasing smile and a free soul. When she spoke, she demanded attention and respect and it was what she received. She was a child of old money, and there was never a moment where she asked for something and didn't receive it. Juliette was spoiled, all she had to do was make a suggestion and a hoard of people rushed to do as she pleased. But underneath that desire to get attention it was because she was neglected at home, not physically, emotionally. Her father was never home, and her mother had passed giving birth to her.
Stefan flipped through the pages, each turn getting slower as his green eyes ran across the pages, skimming the words until he came upon the right one. A page he himself hadn't even written.
February 12, 1864
Dear Stefan, I was originally going to continue your repetitive speech of 'Dear Journal' at the beginning of this entry, but decided that I am far too unique to stick with the norm. I found this little old thing in your dresser. I could apologize for snooping, but then I'd be a liar and my father always raised me to be an honest lady.
In two days, it'll be Valentine's Day, a whole day dedicated to lovers to spend their time exchanging gifts, compliments and kisses. Sickening really, because everyone knows that the real fun begins behind closed doors.
Stefan could hear it as he read, Juliette's voice growing a few notches quieter, dropping down to a taunting whisper. In his ripper days, she was the only one who knew how to bring him down from a blood binge with that same voice. Her short fingers coming up to press against his face, completely unfazed by the crimson red blood that was staining his mouth and chin, droplets making spots on his white dress shirt.
We both know how much you love Valentine's Day. Couples sick with love, falling into abandoned rooms in the most inconvenient times, but you liked that. When they were so distracted with each other, it would give you time to plan. It gave you time to scope out if anyone would see you sneak into that room and kill them. Drinking them dry of their blood, while their wide eyes were filled with tears as you made them watch one another until their lives ended.
At first, I thought you were crazy, but the kill is truly exhilarating. I'd like it if you took me to one of those again, last year was fun but I've thought of some better plans, ways to make the victims blood taste sweeter because of the adrenaline.
"How would you know?" Stefan thought to himself. For a very long time, Juliette and him were an item, but she remained human during their endeavors. She wasn't compelled either so she knew exactly what she was doing when she killed those people. Juliette always talked about how blood tasted, but Stefan Salvatore was one hundred percent sure that she had never tasted blood. Not one single drop.
That's what made her transition so much worse.
I believe I have hematomania. An obsession for blood. I can't explain it, but something about that beautiful shade of red makes me that happiest girl alive.
