💘( Captured By You! )✨

ONE

[ The Cell ]

( 🧙‍♀️🗡🧛‍♀️⚰️🐺⚜️ )

" They don't call, they don't write. In all fairness, neither do I. "

~ VIVIENNE SALVATORE to JOSEPH SALVATORE

☆《》¤

THE MIDNIGHT AIR HUNG HEAVY AS VIVIENNE'S CAR SPUTTERED TO A STOP, the headlights casting weak beams over the empty stretch of road in McKinley, Virginia. She sighed, frustration bubbling up as she climbed out and lifted the hood, peering into the engine.

"Perfect timing," she muttered, brushing back a loose strand of hair. The only sound was the hum of the cooling engine and the distant rustle of leaves, but something felt...off. Her instincts, sharpened by years of survival, sent a chill down her spine. She felt a presence, unseen but unmistakable, lingering just beyond the reach of the headlights.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught her eye—a shadow slipping behind her, just outside her line of sight. She spun around, her senses sharpening, but saw only darkness. The feeling grew stronger, gnawing at her, like the warning tug of a storm.

"Who's there?" she called, her voice steady, though her heart pounded.

The silence held, stretching on until she could feel its weight pressing against her, until a voice emerged from the shadows, one she hadn't heard in so long. 

"Miss me, Dandelion?"

Her breath caught in her throat, the words striking like a cold blade. She froze, barely able to process what she was hearing. Out of the darkness stepped a figure she thought she'd never see again: Enzo St. John. The memories flickered back to life, as if he'd risen from the ashes of the past, whole and hauntingly familiar.

"Enzo..." she whispered, her voice cracking with disbelief, with guilt. His gaze was dark, unreadable, laced with something she couldn't quite place. Anger? Hurt? She couldn't look away from him, caught between the impossible relief of seeing him alive and the jagged reminder of her own betrayal.

"Surprised?" he asked, his voice hard and edged with something almost vicious. "I suppose it's not every day you see a ghost. Actually, for you, that's not true is it." A taunting smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, sending a chill down Vivienne's smile. 

"I thought...I thought you were dead." Her words came out weak, the weight of years of regret hanging in each syllable. But her explanation, her remorse, felt hollow in the face of his anger.

He took a slow step forward, his eyes never leaving hers, "Funny, isn't it? How easily you left me to burn." The words were calm, but the bitterness cut through her.

"Enzo, I didn't—" she began, but she couldn't finish. How could she explain it? How could she make him understand? He was here, standing before her, yet the memory of flames and fear still lingered between them.

Before she could utter another word, his expression shifted, his jaw tightened, and in a blur of movement, he lunged forward. Her vision went black, his last look seared into her mind like a scar—a mixture of love turned to hate, and betrayal deep enough to drown them both.

Salvatore Boarding House

1953

The creaking of the floorboards echoed through the dimly lit corridors of the boarding house as Vivienne Salvatore stepped inside. A maid bustled about, dusting surfaces and tidying up, when Vivienne interrupted her routine.

"Excuse me," she said politely, leaning against the doorway to the parlour. "I'm looking for Joseph Salvatore."

At that moment, Joseph emerged from the back room, a faint smile breaking across his face, "You found him," he replied, wiping his hands on a towel.

Vivienne took a step closer, her curiosity piqued as she surveyed the room, "Love what you've done with the place. If this whole boarding house thing doesn't pan out, you can always turn it into a high-class brothel." She smirked, a teasing glint in her eyes.

Joseph chuckled, pouring two glasses of bourbon from a crystal decanter, "Glad you got my telegram. I haven't heard from Stefan or Damon yet, but I'm hoping they'll be here soon. When's the last time you three spoke?"

Vivienne moved over to him, her expression shifting to one of nostalgia, "Well, they don't call, they don't write. In all fairness, neither do I. Last I saw Damon was in a pub in 1942. And Stefan and I had a row during World War II—We haven't spoke since."

"Ah, well, there's always time to make amends," Joseph replied, offering her a glass.

"Eh, too much bad blood between us, I'm afraid." Vivienne's gaze drifted momentarily, a shadow crossing her features as memories flooded back.

As she took the drink from Joseph, something flickered in his eyes—a fleeting moment of hesitation before he acted. With a sudden movement, he produced a syringe from the table and stabbed it into her wrist. Vivienne's head spun, dizziness sweeping over her.

"Sorry about the vervain, Vivienne. The money was too good to pass up," Joseph said, the light in his eyes dimming as he stepped back.

Though disoriented, Vivienne's survival instincts kicked in. Summoning her remaining strength, she drove her glass into Joseph's neck. His eyes widened in shock as he groaned, collapsing to the ground.

Before she could catch her breath, the door swung open, revealing an imposing figure. A man dressed in a white coat stepped into the room, his demeanour calm yet predatory, "Well, now I won't have to pay him," Dr. Whitmore remarked, his voice dripping with disdain.

Vivienne struggled to focus, her vision blurring as she leaned against the furniture for support, "Who the hell are you?" she managed to groan.

The man picked up the syringe Joseph had dropped, casually refilling it, "I'll be your doctor from now on."

With a swift motion, he injected the contents into Vivienne's neck. 

"Uhh...What are you doing to me?" she whispered, her strength rapidly fading.

"Just a little vervain," Dr. Whitmore replied, his eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction.

Vivienne's vision dimmed, and she collapsed to the floor, the world around her fading into darkness as the weight of her situation pressed down like a heavy fog.

Vivienne's eyes fluttered open, the sterile light of the room blinding her momentarily. The world around her felt disjointed, a haze of confusion clouding her mind. As her vision adjusted, she saw an unknown man standing over her, a syringe in hand, poised to inject her with the familiar liquid.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" she croaked, her voice hoarse and thick with drowsiness. 

"Vervain. To keep you calm," Dr. Maxfield replied coolly, his demeanour clinical and detached.

The memories rushed back to her in a chaotic wave: Enzo's kiss, the warmth of his embrace, the shock of betrayal, and the dark figure attacking her on the road. Panic rose in her chest as she tried to sit up, but her body felt heavy, restrained, "Enzo?" she asked, still grappling with disbelief. "What have you done to him? Why am I here?" Her words tumbled out, laced with confusion and fear.

Dr. Maxfield's lips curled into a smug smile as he stood up, stepping back from her, "I lost a test subject last night, and you're gonna replace him," he stated with a matter-of-factness that sent a chill down Vivienne's spine. "And don't worry about Enzo; he'll be fine as long as he does what I say."

Vivienne's heart raced, her mind whirling as she processed his words. She struggled against her foggy state, desperate to shake off the effects of the vervain, "You can't do this!" she exclaimed, a surge of anger igniting within her.

But Dr. Maxfield only shrugged, his expression unfazed, "Oh, but I can," he replied, dismissively. He turned on his heel and walked toward the door, the metal clanging as he gripped the handle, "Welcome back, 21051," he added, almost mockingly, before slamming the gate to the cell closed.

The sound echoed in the small space, reverberating through Vivienne's mind as despair washed over her. She was trapped, cut off from the world, from everything she knew. The darkness began to close in around her, and she fought to maintain her grip on reality. Desperation clawed at her throat, and she vowed silently that she wouldn't let this monster take her down without a fight. Not again. 

***

Vivienne sat on the cold stone floor of her cell, her back pressed against the unforgiving wall. The dampness of the space seeped through her clothes, but the chill was nothing compared to the one settling in her heart. She watched Dr. Maxfield, his presence a reminder of her captivity as he scribbled notes on a clipboard from outside the barred gate.

"Just so you know," she said, her voice laced with exhaustion and annoyance, "Didn't end well for the last Augustines. You're inviting bad karma in by holding me here."

Dr. Maxfield looked up, his brow arched in amusement, "Is that what you told Dr. Whitmore?"

Vivienne scoffed, her body aching from the remnants of the vervain, "Dr. Whitmore wasn't much for conversation," she groaned, a wave of pain rolling through her as she recalled the torment of the past experiences conducted on her. 

Dr. Whitmore's Lab

1953

Vivienne lay strapped to a gurney, the cold metal pressing uncomfortably against her skin. The room was sterile, brightly lit, and devoid of warmth. The door creaked open, and Dr. Whitmore stepped in, his expression one of clinical interest.

He approached her, holding a flashlight, and shined it into her eyes, "Let's see how those lovely irises are doing today," he said with a sickly sweet tone. He then moved his hands to her stomach, feeling for something beneath her skin.

"As much as I would like a free check-up," Vivienne retorted, attempting to compel him. "You're gonna let me go."

Dr. Whitmore chuckled, patting her shoulder with condescension, "That's a good try," he said, checking the time on his watch. "But I'm wearing vervain."

Vivienne's annoyance flared, "You know, most people would buy me dinner first."

"This isn't a personal matter," he replied coolly. "It's for the advancement of science."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she shot back, her heart racing.

"Simple," Dr. Whitmore said, a manic glint in his eye. "You're a vampire. Your blood heals others, your body heals itself. You'll regenerate parts of internal organs..." He picked up a scalpel, the metal glinting ominously under the fluorescent lights. "...After I remove them."

"Listen," Vivienne began, trying to maintain her composure. "How I got this amazing body has nothing to do with science, so running—"

Her words were abruptly cut off as Dr. Whitmore lunged forward, stabbing the scalpel into her eye. The world exploded into agony, and she screamed, the sound echoing through the sterile room.

"You talk too much," he said coldly as he unstrapped her, watching her crumple to the floor in a heap of pain and fear. 

The memories faded, leaving Vivienne gasping for breath in her cell. Dr. Maxfield continued to observe her with a keen eye, taking notes as if she were a mere specimen, a curiosity to dissect.

"So, you Augustine freaks are still at it, eye exams and that sort of thing?" Vivienne snapped, her defiance rising like a phoenix from the ashes of her despair.

Dr. Maxfield's smile widened, "Last night I found proof that my research goes far beyond that." He leaned closer, the excitement practically radiating from him. "I trained a vampire to crave vampire blood instead of human blood. Now, I'm ready to take my research to the next level."

Vivienne felt a chill run down her spine, a mix of dread igniting within her, "What have you done to Enzo?" she demanded, her voice sharp as a blade. "Where is he?"

Dr. Maxfield paused, a flicker of amusement crossing his features, "Oh, your precious Enzo? He's...cooperating. For now."

Vivienne's heart raced as anger bubbled to the surface, "Cooperating? You think I'm going to sit here and let you use him like some lab rat?!" 

"Use him? Hardly," Dr. Maxfield replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "He's quite valuable to my research. But don't worry, as long as he behaves, he'll be just fine."

"Behaves?" Vivienne echoed incredulously. "You think you can control him? You have no idea who you're dealing with."

"Perhaps," Dr. Maxfield mused, glancing at his notes. "But I have more than enough means to ensure compliance. And you, my dear Vivienne, are part of that plan."

Vivienne's eyes narrowed, her heart pounding in her chest, "You won't get away with this," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "You can't break what's already been shattered."

Dr. Maxfield merely chuckled, his gaze fixed on her with curiosity, "Oh, Vivienne," he replied. "This is just the beginning."

***

Vivienne lay on the cold, hard floor of her cell, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of her memories pressing down on her. Shadows danced around her as the flickering light from the hallway cast an eerie glow. She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of movement in the adjacent cell. Her heart raced as she squinted to see a familiar figure lying on the floor, seemingly lifeless.

"Come on, brother. Wake up," she murmured to herself, hope battling against despair.

Damon groaned softly, his body shifting as he slowly regained consciousness. He opened his eyes, blinking in confusion as he scanned his surroundings. When his gaze landed on her, his eyes widened in shock, "Viv?! What are you doing here?" His voice was hoarse, filled with disbelief.

Vivienne sat up, a teasing smile playing on her lips despite the grim circumstances, "Fancy seeing you here."

Damon shook his head, disbelief still etched across his features, "I thought you were in New Orleans living it up with Klaus."

She shrugged nonchalantly, "What can I say? I missed my pain-in-the-ass big brothers. What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied, still trying to shake off the fog in his mind. "I was questioning Wes about a few things when he escaped and sprayed vervain down from the ceiling at me."

Vivienne's lips curled into a teasing smirk, "Outsmarted you, huh?" She earned an annoyed glare from Damon. "Maybe when it wears off, we'll be able to—" She grabbed the cell's bars and tried to shake them, groaning as she struggled against their unyielding grip. "Break through these."

Damon shifted into a seated position, concern washing over his face, "What the hell is going on? Why are you here? Why am I here?"

Vivienne took a deep breath, the memories flooding back, "Dr. Jerk-off is carrying out the grand Augustine tradition. Getting his kicks off vampire torture."

"Did he tell you that?"

Vivienne shook her head, the light in her eyes dimming, "He didn't have to. I've been here before."

Damon's expression shifted to one of deep concern, confusion settling in as he processed her words, "What do you mean?"

"Someone in our lovely family sold me out to the Augustines in 1953," she revealed, her voice low and haunted. "Every day, this nutjob Dr. Whitmore tortured us, cut into us, took pieces of our eyes out, pushed us to every limit he could imagine—and he had quite the imagination."

Dr. Whitmore's Lab

1953

The air thick with the metallic scent of blood and antiseptic. The flickering fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows across various instruments laid out meticulously on a stainless steel table.

Vivienne laid strapped to a cold, steel gurney, her eyes wide with terror. Dr. Whitmore stood over her, a cold smile on his lips, holding a scalpel glistening under the harsh lights.

"Just a small incision, my dear," Dr. Whitmore said, his voice smooth, almost soothing, which sent a chill through Vivienne's body. "We need to see how your body works."

He plunged the scalpel into her abdomen. Vivienne screamed, her body thrashing against the restraints. 

***

Dr. Whitmore, gloved hands, expertly peeled back layers of Vivienne's skin. He pulled out her kidney and held it up for inspection.

"Fascinating!" Dr. Whitmore said enthusiastically. "Your regeneration abilities are truly remarkable."

Vivienne's cries of agony filled the room, blending with the sound of the heart monitor beeping erratically.

***

Dr. Whitmore stood to the side, an assistant preparing a tray of various instruments. Vivienne was unconscious, her body pale and slick with sweat.

The assistant gently lifted Vivienne's arm, revealing her forearm where Dr. Whitmore prepares to make a cut. He began to carve into her flesh with precision.

***

Vivienne stirred awake, her eyes filled with panic. She watched helplessly as Dr. Whitmore removed a piece of her intestine, placing it into a small glass jar labelled 'Test Subject 21051'. 

"Please..." Vivienne begged, her voice shaky. "Stop. You can't do this!" Her eyes glistered with unshed tears, the pain was unbearable. 

Dr. Whitmore merely chuckled, a chilling sound echoing in sterile lab. He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with a twisted fascination, "Oh, but I can, 21051. You see,  I'm seeking out the smallest indivisible unit of your biological makeup, and once I can understand you from a cellular level, I can put you to use. Your pain is merely a stepping stone in progress."

He shifted back to his work, pulling out a lung, while Vivienne's body convulses in anguish. But this didn't stop Dr. Whitmore, he continued his rapid cuts of Vivienne's body, extracting various organs; her stomach, her spleen. Her desperate pleas for mercy were all ignored as he continued with his experiments. 

Vivienne's face was stained with dried tears and glistening with sweat. But her eyes showed the fire of resilience, the determination not to let Dr. Whitmore break her spirit, "You won't get away with this, you monster. I will survive this, and when I do, I'll rip your throat out with my teeth," she hissed, baring her fangs as she fought against her restrains. 

The dim light flickered above them, casting long shadows in the cramped cells of Augustine. Vivienne leaned back against the cold stone wall, her heart heavy with the memories she had just recounted. 

Damon's eyes darkened, his usual smirk nowhere to be found as he slid closer to the bars, reaching out instinctively, though he knew there was no way to comfort her from his cell, "They did what to you?" he hissed through gritted teeth. 

Vivienne let out a dry, humourless laugh, the sound echoing harshly in the confined space, "Nice to know you care, Day." 

"Viv, of course, I care," he shot back, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Why didn't you ever tell us?"

She shrugged, a gesture that seemed to dismiss the weight of her experiences but didn't quite hide the pain in her eyes. Leaning back against the wall, she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the memories to wash over her again, "You and Stefan weren't exactly around back then. Besides, what would it have changed? I got out eventually...but it left a few scars. What's a few more, right?" She sent her brother a side glance. 

Damon clenched his fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface as he struggled with the knowledge of what she had endured. He couldn't fathom the depths of her pain, the terror she had faced alone, and it fuelled a rage within him that he couldn't contain, "How long were you here?"

Vivienne's gaze drifted to the back wall of her cell, "Five years, give or take."

Damon's heart ached for his sister, as he leaned in closer, urgency evident in his posture, "Viv, how did you not go crazy?"

Vivienne chuckled softly, a sound laced with both irony and sadness. She turned her gaze to him, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips as she remembered the unlikely solace she had found in her darkest hours, "Believe it or not, I fell in love."

Damon's eyebrows furrowed, the weight of her words settling heavily in the air between them. His mind raced, trying to understand the implications. You would think in a twisted place like this, love would have been a strange, almost foreign concept, "Love?" he scoffed in amusement and disbelief. "In a place like this?"

Vivienne nodded, her expression shifting from bitterness to something softer, more vulnerable, "His name was Enzo." 

Augustine Cells 

1953

Enzo paced his cell, a routine that kept him just barely tethered to sanity in the cold, sterile confines of Augustine. Time had become meaningless—there were only brief flashes of pain and long stretches of silence. Then, one day, the silence was broken.

From down the corridor, heavy footsteps echoed, followed by the unmistakable sound of a cell gate creaking open. Enzo paused, his senses sharpening as he watched the guards roughly shove a woman into the cell across from him. Her wrists were bound, her shoulders hunched, and her face half-hidden by the fall of her red hair. She stumbled, catching herself on the cold stone floor, and looked up, her eyes blazing despite the heavy drug-induced haze.

It was the first thing Enzo noticed: her eyes. They were defiant, stormy, and carrying a fire he hadn't seen in anyone for a long time.

The cell door clanged shut, and as the guards walked away, Enzo found himself drawn to her, unable to look away, "Welcome to the Augustine Club," he called out quietly, his voice laced with wry humour. "Membership's exclusive, but the benefits are rubbish."

She turned toward him, her gaze narrowing, scrutinising him in the shadows of her cell. For a second, he wondered if she'd ignore him, but then she tilted her head, the smallest smile curving onto her lips, "Good to know," she replied, her voice smooth despite the rawness of recent pain. "So, which part of hell is this?"

Enzo smirked, stepping a little closer to the bars, "The deepest, I'd say. You new here?"

She gave a small, bitter laugh, "Dragged in from the outside, so yes. I don't suppose there's a way out?"

Enzo shook his head, "Sadly, the only exit is...well, let's just say it's not ideal."

The woman nodded, her expression growing distant. She leaned her back against the cell wall and slid down, resting her head against the cold stone. But her gaze kept drifting back to him, wary but intrigued.

"What's your name?" he asked softly, almost as if he were afraid to break the fragile thread of connection to another soul. 

"Vivienne," she replied, her voice softer now. "And you?"

"Lorenzo," he answered, giving a slight nod. "Lorenzo St. John, at your service. Not much use, but I suppose a friendly face can't hurt."

Vivienne let out a slow, shaky breath, "Friendly faces are better than what I've seen in the last twenty-four hours."

Enzo watched her closely, captivated by her resilience, the fierce spark in her eyes that even Augustine hadn't yet crushed. He'd seen so many prisoners come and go, people broken down to hollow shells. But she—she was different. Even bruised and bound, she held onto something that Augustine couldn't touch.

He found himself smiling despite the circumstances, "Something tells me you won't go down without a fight."

Vivienne gave him a small, sad smile, her eyes flickering with determination, "Guess I'll just have to live up to that."

The cold, damp air of the Augustine cells felt heavier than ever as Vivienne paced the small confines of her space. The distant echoes of footsteps reverberated through the stone hallways, but in this moment, all she could focus on was the memory of Enzo. She turned to Damon, determination etched across her features as she began to share the story that had shaped her past and still haunted her present.

"He was a soldier in Europe during World War II." Vivienne stopped pacing, her voice steady but laced with emotion.

Damon leaned against the bars of his cell, his expression shifting from concern to curiosity. The weight of Vivienne's words hung in the air, each syllable laden with the gravity of history, "How did he end up here?" 

Vivienne took a deep breath, the memories flooding back as she recalled the darkness of Enzo's past, the injustice that had led him to suffer alongside her in Augustine. Her voice trembled slightly, tinged with a mixture of anger and sadness, "Dr. Whitmore was working in a battlefield hospital when he discovered Enzo was a vampire. So, he drugged him, locked him in a coffin to ship him overseas. He'd been here for ten years by the time I joined the party."

Damon's jaw tightened, outrage boiling beneath the surface as he listened, "Ten years? How could anyone survive that long?" 

"He had to. Enzo's strength was incredible. Even in the face of unimaginable pain, he held onto the hope that he would escape. It was that hope that kept him alive, kept us both going." 

Damon could see the flicker of admiration in Vivienne's eyes as she spoke of Enzo, "What was he like? This Enzo?" 

Vivienne paused, a soft smile breaking through the shadows of her memory. She looked away as if picturing him standing right beside her, "He was charming, quick-witted. A bit of a rogue, really. The kind of guy who could make you laugh even when everything felt hopeless. And he had this way of seeing the good in people, even in the worst of situations." 

Damon raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her description. He couldn't help but think that Enzo sounded like the kind of person he would have gotten along with, "Sounds like you really cared about him." 

Vivienne nodded, her voice dropping to a whisper, filled with a mix of affection and sorrow, "I did..." 

Augustine Cells

1953 

The dim light of the Augustine cells cast long shadows across the cold stone walls, creating an oppressive atmosphere that was impossible to escape. Vivienne lay on the floor, her small glass of blood empty beside her, feeling the weight of despair pressing down on her. She took a deep breath, trying to centre herself amidst the chaos around her.

Enzo, in the cell next to hers, caught sight of her posture and frowned, "You're doing it wrong." His voice, though soft, held a commanding presence that cut through the silence. He lifted his own glass, taking a small, measured sip, letting the crimson liquid roll over his tongue before swallowing, "You're living for the moment. You need to live for the future, love." 

Vivienne scoffed, the bitterness curling her lips into a smirk, "What future?" She sat herself up and leaned her head back against the wall, her thoughts spiralling into dark places.

Enzo's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned closer to the bars separating them, a grin breaking across his face, "The one where you get your revenge. For instance, in my future, my revenge will start with killing Whitmore's dog and mailing it to his house postage due." He paused, allowing the imagery to settle, "Go on. Picture your revenge, love. Use that twisted imagination of yours." 

Vivienne felt a surge of energy at his words. She pushed herself up off the floor, a weak but defiant smile dancing on her lips. As her mind began to churn with possibilities, she grabbed a small rock from the floor, its rough edges fitting perfectly in her palm, "I can see it..." With a flick of her wrist, she began to carve into the cell's stone wall, each stroke of the rock igniting her determination. 

Damon nodded slowly, something hardening in his gaze, "This place—" he began. "What they did to you, to both of you—none of it should've happened. I get that revenge is on the table now, Viv. This isn't just about survival anymore."

She glanced at him, surprised, "I thought that if I got out of here, I'd find peace, but..." she trailed off, a sadness to her tone. 

Damon clenched his fists around the bars, jaw set in determination, "We're getting out of here. You hear me? And when we do, Dr. Whitmore and every last Augustine freak who had a hand in this is going to wish they never laid a finger on you."

Vivienne's eyes glistened, and she gave him a small nod, her lips curving into a dark, determined smile, "You'd have liked Enzo," she said, after a moment. "He had that same fire."

Damon returned her gaze, a rare sincerity in his eyes, "Then I'd say you found the right anchor."

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the tightness in her chest loosened just a little. Damon's resolve became her own, and their shared promise whispered across the cell bars. 

***

Vivienne's eyes drifted closed as the cell walls blurred into memories of her past imprisonment. The cold stone pressed against her head was too familiar; it was as though she went back in time, trapped in the web of horrors spun by Dr. Whitmore.

A flood of images came to her unbidden—Dr. Whitmore's dark figure looming over her, his hands cold and methodical as he strapped her down, injecting vervain into her veins. The burn of it was seared into her memory, the fire spreading under her skin until it left her gasping, too weak to resist. She could still hear his voice, calm and clinical, talking about her as though she were no more than an experiment.

"Your endurance levels are remarkable, 21051," he'd remarked once, not even looking at her as he recorded his notes. Then he'd tightened the restraints until she couldn't move a muscle, each tug of the leather cuffs cut into her skin, "But let's see how you fare when we push those limits further."

She remembered the brutal days that followed—the searing cuts, the needles piercing her flesh, and worst of all, the hollow look in his eyes that reminded her she was nothing more than an object in his twisted pursuit of knowledge.

Vivienne shifted, pressing her head harder against the stone, as if she could draw strength from it to withstand the onslaught of memories. But amidst the darkness, a soft warmth flickered to life.

Enzo. He was there too, in those cells, and somehow he had managed to become her lifeline. She could almost see him now, in her mind's eye—his face, tired but ever defiant, peering at her from the neighbouring cell. His voice, rich with that unbreakable spirit, became her lullaby against the horrors.

"Close your eyes, Dandelion," he whispered to her one night with that familiar, mischievous spark in his eyes. "Picture it: we're in a beautiful car, maybe a vintage Bentley I may or may not have borrowed..." he flashed her a wink. "...And the top's down, the wind's catching your hair just right. It's a quiet Sunday, and we're flying down a winding road, sun setting behind us. No walls, no cells, just you and me, free as anything. Hold onto that, love. One day, we're making that drive together. Because a drive like that is worth waiting for."

In that hell, he had become her only solace, her only comfort. He'd made her laugh, pulling her out of her despair, weaving stories of the world outside—the world they would see again. She clung to every word, building a reality from his dreams, even if they both knew it was nothing more than a mirage. Enzo had been her anchor, the one person who made her feel human amidst the suffering, and she had loved him for it in a way she could never fully explain.

A low groan beside her broke her out of her trance like state, pulling her from her thoughts like a bucket of cold water. Blinking, she saw Damon standing in his cell, arms stretched through the bars, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that startled her. 

"Lost in thought, Viv?" he murmured, his voice gentler than usual, softened by something close to sympathy.

Vivienne managed a weak smile, wiping at her eyes and straightening her posture, "Nothing worth remembering," she tried to brush off, her voice thick with emotion as she forced herself back to the present. She ran her fingers along the stone wall, finding it impossibly cool despite the warmth of her hand.

Augustine Cells

1953

Vivienne sat curled up in the far corner of her cell, shivering from the lingering effects of vervain coursing through her veins. The pain pulsed and radiated in waves, making her every breath sharp and agonising. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself away from this grim reality.

"Hey," his voice cut through the silence, smooth but touched with concern. "If you keep hiding like that, you'll miss my best performance as a tortured prisoner."

Vivienne opened her eyes, seeing Enzo watching her from the cell opposite hers, his expression an odd mixture of mischief and sympathy, "Right, because sarcasm and terrible jokes make up for, oh, I don't know...agonising pain and torture," she said with a sigh, her attempt at humor barely carrying.

Enzo leaned against the bars, pretending to be deeply offended, "Careful there. Sarcasm is an art form. Besides, what's life without a bit of humour, eh?"

She cracked a faint smile, "You're...oddly upbeat, considering the circumstances."

He shrugged, flashing her a crooked smile, "You'd be surprised what humour can get you through. Anyway, talking's better than silence. And I'm willing to bet there's more to you than just a pretty face and a killer right hook." 

Enzo remembered vividly the day Dr. Whitmore had come for Vivienne, his usual smug smirk in place as he unlocked her cell, eager to drag her to the lab for another round of torturous experimentation.

But Vivienne wasn't having it. The moment his fingers closed around her arm, she'd swung her fist up, connecting right with his jaw. The crack of impact had echoed through the hallway, and Whitmore stumbled back, blood blooming from his split lip as he glared at her in utter shock. She stood there, chest heaving, defiant fire in her eyes, her chin tilted proudly even as she was thrown back in her cell.

Enzo could still feel the rush of pride that had filled him as he watched her that day, his admiration solidifying into something far stronger. In that moment, he knew. She was fearless, fierce, a warrior to the core—brave enough to fight back, even when the odds were impossible. And he was hopelessly, utterly captivated.

Vivienne smirked, though her voice softened, "I guess you have some time to kill."

"That I do," Enzo replied, then settled himself against the bars as though preparing for a conversation that could go on indefinitely. "So, tell me, what's your story, Dandelion? Where did they pull you from?"

Vivienne quirked an eyebrow at the nickname, but didn't address it, "Not sure where to start. I guess...I had a family once, but it was complicated. My stepfather wasn't exactly the loving kind, and I ended up in more places like this than I care to remember. Psychiatric facilities. Apparently, seeing ghosts isn't considered a 'normal' talent." She forced a laugh, though the hurt was clear.

"Ghosts?" Enzo raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Now you've got me intrigued."

A genuine smile crossed Vivienne's face at his response, "Most people hear me say ghosts and instantly think I'm crazy." 

Enzo returned the smile, although it was more of a smirk, "I'm a vampire, love. Nothing surprises me anymore. So, you, uh...actually see them?"

"It's not as thrilling as it sounds. Mostly, it's just sad. You start realising people leave so much unfinished, so much unsaid." Her gaze drifted, "And my stepfather thought it meant I was crazy, so he threw me in those places and allowed them to run crazy tests and treatments on me." 

Enzo's expression softened, but he didn't press. Instead, he switched topics, sensing the pain those memories caused her, "Well, you've got me beat there. Ghosts are a hard act to follow. My childhood wasn't exactly grand either, though."

She looked up at him, her curiosity now sparking through the exhaustion, "What do you mean?"

"Well..." he began, relaxing against his cell wall as though it were a comfortable chair. "I grew up in an orphanage. You know, the classic Dickens tale of woe, minus the musical numbers. Never knew my parents, and my baby brother got adopted, leaving me behind."

Vivienne's face fell, "I'm so sorry, Enzo."

He shrugged it off, "Such is life. But before I got dragged into all this..." he gestured around the cell with a weary smile. "...I actually learned that my brother had been searching for me."

Enzo's voice grew quieter, tinged with something vulnerable, "I didn't believe it at first. I mean, he was supposed to have died years ago, but apparently, he didn't. He turned. Became like us. I'd just started looking for him when...well, when I ended up here."

Vivienne's expression softened, "You think he's still out there, looking for you?"

Enzo's gaze dropped, his fingers tracing the rough stone of his cell, "I'd like to think so. Not much else to hold on to down here. But hey, now I've got you," he added, giving her a playful smile. "As far as Augustine captives go, I'd say I hit the jackpot."

Vivienne chuckled, a real laugh this time, and Enzo's face lit up at the sound. 

He continued, seizing the moment to keep her spirits up, "Alright, your turn. Enough of the tragic backstory. What did you do for fun before you got here?"

"Before this? I guess I liked reading," she said thoughtfully. "And I spent time near the sea whenever I could. It was the one place I felt at peace."

He nodded, an appreciative smile on his face, "You know, when we're out of here, I'd like to see the coast. Let's just say my travels took a sudden detour before I got the chance."

"Deal," she murmured softly. "We'll escape this place, find the coast, and...we'll just be free."

Their eyes met across the dim hallway, and for a brief moment, the stone walls and iron bars faded away, replaced by a quiet understanding and the fragile glimmer of hope. In that silence, they knew that somehow, they were each other's best chance at finding freedom again—even if it was only a dream. 

Damon's eyes softened as he leaned against the cool bars, his gaze locked on Vivienne, who was lost in thought, her hand tracing an invisible pattern on the cell floor. For a moment, he didn't speak, as though giving her the silence she needed to pull herself back from memories that ran far too deep.

"Viv," he said quietly. "How did you survive all those years?"

Vivienne let out a slow, almost shaky breath, her fingers pausing their movement as she looked up at him, eyes distant and worn, "Enzo kept me alive. He was...he was my anchor in this hellhole. We shared everything; our fears, our hopes, our dreams of escaping. I never thought I could feel so much for someone in a place like this, but he...he made me believe in life again." 

Augustine Cells 

1955

The flickering fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows in the dimly lit hallway of the Augustine facility. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the low hum of machinery, amplifying the sense of dread that filled the cells. Vivienne sat slumped against the wall, her strength waning under the effects of the vervain coursing through her veins. She could barely keep her eyes open, each blink feeling like a monumental effort.

Just then, the heavy door swung open, and Dr. Whitmore strode in, a clipboard in hand and a predatory gleam in his eyes. He was here to collect his next subject for experimentation, and his gaze quickly settled on Vivienne, still vulnerable and weak on the floor.

"Ah, 21051," he said with a smirk, stepping closer. "It seems you're not looking too well. Perfect timing for my next procedure."

Vivienne's heart raced as she realised what he intended to do. She could feel panic rising in her chest, her instincts screaming for her to fight back, but the vervain had her too weak to respond. 

Just as the doctor reached for her, Enzo, still weak from his own previous tortures, suddenly shouted from his cell, his voice desperate and hoarse, "Hey! Over here!"

Dr. Whitmore turned, his attention caught by Enzo's call, "What is it?" he asked, annoyance creeping into his tone as he glanced back at Vivienne.

"I'm still here, you know!" Enzo shouted, a mix of fear and determination fueling his voice. "If you're looking for a test subject, why not take me instead? I'm still good for your little experiments."

Dr. Whitmore raised an eyebrow, intrigued, "And why would I want you when I have such a lovely specimen right here?" He gestured dismissively toward Vivienne, who looked at Enzo with wide eyes, the gravity of his sacrifice sinking in.

"Because I'm stronger than she is right now! You need someone who can withstand your tests, don't you?" Enzo pressed, desperation lacing his words. "I'll survive whatever you throw at me. Just leave her alone!"

Vivienne could feel the swell of dread in her chest as she watched the doctor contemplate Enzo's offer. The last thing she wanted was for Enzo to put himself in harm's way for her sake, "Enzo, no—" she started weakly, but he silenced her with a look.

Dr. Whitmore's smirk widened, clearly enjoying the game, "Well, well, it seems we have a volunteer," he said, turning fully towards Enzo, abandoning his previous interest in Vivienne. "You're willing to take her place? How noble of you."

"Just leave her alone," Enzo repeated, his voice steady even as fear threatened to overwhelm him.

"Fine," the doctor replied, stepping back toward Enzo's cell. "You want to be the brave knight? Let's see just how brave you really are."

With a swift motion, Dr. Whitmore opened Enzo's cell door and grabbed him roughly by the arm, pulling him out. Enzo shot a glance back at Vivienne, their eyes locking for a brief moment. In that exchange, a silent understanding passed between them—he was willing to endure whatever horrors awaited him to protect her.

"Enzo! No!" she shouted, her voice trembling. "Let him go!" Tears stung her eyes as she fought against the bars, trying to reach him. "Enzo, please!" she cried, but it was too late. Dr. Whitmore shoved him further down the small cooridor. Her heart shattered at the sight. She banged her fists against the bars, desperate and helpless, "No! Don't do this! Please!"

As he was dragged up the stairs, his gaze lingered on Vivienne, filled with a mix of determination and love that made her heart ache, "I'll be okay, Dandelion," he promised, but the words felt hollow in the air.

***

The cold, metallic clang of a cell door echoed through the corridor, snapping Vivienne's attention to the entrance. She had been listening in horror to Enzo's screams for what felt like an eternity, every agonised cry tearing through her. Now, as Dr. Whitmore emerged and carelessly tossed Enzo's limp form into the cage across from hers, she felt a surge of both anger and relief.

The doctor shot her a mocking smile, amused by the distress on her face, "How touching," he sneered, voice dripping with contempt. "You creatures with all the power in the world, yet still shackled by something so pitifully human—love." He chuckled, eyes glinting with twisted satisfaction, "A weakness that, ironically, makes you easier to break."

Vivienne didn't respond to him; her eyes locked on Enzo, who lay barely conscious, his face pale and twisted with pain, fresh blood staining his clothes. As Dr. Whitmore left, slamming the gate behind him with finality, Vivienne rushed over to Enzo, pressing her hands against the bars separating their cells.

"Enzo," she whispered, her voice thick with worry. "What were you thinking?" Her tone shifted, a blend of fear and anger slipping through. "You didn't have to do that. I could've handled it. I—I never wanted you to get hurt for me."

With effort, Enzo opened his eyes, a ghost of his familiar smirk forming on his lips, "You know me, love...always the gentleman." He let out a weak, raspy chuckle, but it quickly turned into a wince as the pain surged through him.

"Don't joke, Enzo," she scolded, her voice trembling. "This isn't some grand gesture. It's reckless, and I can't stand to watch you suffer like this."

Enzo lifted his gaze, meeting hers with a softness that caught her off guard. His voice was low, each word tinged with exhaustion but filled with sincerity, "I'd rather go through hell than let you suffer...You're the only thing keeping me going in this place, Viv."

She stared at him, a wave of emotion crashing over her, "You shouldn't..." she started, but her words trailed off, her voice barely a whisper.

A small smile crept onto his lips, strained but genuine, "Too late for that, love." He sucked in a shallow breath, gathering what little strength he had, "I... I can't help it. You make me feel...human again."

Vivienne shook her head, feeling tears prick at her eyes, "You're an idiot, Enzo. Brave...stupid...wonderful idiot."

A weak chuckle left his lips, "I love you, too," he murmured, his eyelids heavy.

Her hand pressed against the bars, fingers curling as if she could somehow reach him through the cold metal, "You have to promise me...no more of this. No more getting hurt for my sake. I don't want you to suffer because of me."

He weakly shook his head, his voice nearly a whisper, "I will do no such thing. I will always protect you, Dandelion." 

The rawness in his words settled between them, and despite the bleakness of their prison, a spark of hope flickered. They were trapped, bruised, and broken, but as long as they had each other, there was still a piece of light in the darkness.

A silence stretched over them as Damon tried to picture her experience. He had rarely seen this side of his sister—a vulnerability that felt all too raw, a life so scarred by darkness she rarely let anyone see it.

Vivienne carried her heart like a well-guarded secret. Outwardly, she was all sharp edges and biting remarks, a mask of resilience she wore to protect herself—and, perhaps more so, to protect the ones she loved. Like Damon, she hid her pain behind a practiced smirk, quick to deflect with sarcasm rather than let anyone see her break. Yet beneath that hardened shell, she had a tenderness that surprised even her at times. She cared deeply, seeing the good in people the way Stefan always did, searching for a spark of redemption even in the darkest souls. But where Stefan wore his compassion openly, Vivienne guarded hers like a fragile flame, shielding it with every ounce of strength she had.

She'd give anything to keep her friends and family from seeing her vulnerabilities, to let them believe she was unbreakable. The truth, though, was more complicated. There were moments—when she was alone or when memories of loss caught up to her—that her defences crumbled, and her pain surfaced like old scars reopening. In those moments, she was raw, achingly human. But as soon as she felt anyone's gaze, the mask returned, the vulnerability buried deep. Vivienne's strength, she believed, was in how she could suffer quietly and still stand strong, giving her loved ones courage even when her own heart ached.

"He really got to you, didn't he?" Damon said with a faint smirk, trying to break the tension.

Vivienne met his gaze, a sad but amused glint in her eyes, "He had this way of making me forget where we were, as though none of it mattered when we were together. I don't know how he did it. He just had a gift I suppose." Her voice softened, almost inaudible, "He gave me the strength to hold on."

Augustine Cells 

1956

Vivienne sat slumped against the cold stone wall of her cell, her shoulders shaking as silent tears rolled down her face. Her body ached from the endless days of torment, and her mind was drowning in waves of suffering she could barely hold back anymore. She clutched her arms, pressing her hands into her skin as though she could push the pain away, but it lingered, clawing at her—relentless.

From the cell beside her, Enzo watched her in silence for a moment, before he pressed against the bars, his voice soft and gentle, "Dandelion..."

At the sound of his voice, she looked up, her tear-filled eyes meeting his, vulnerability shining in her gaze. She tried to steady herself, to put on the brave face she always did, but tonight, the weight was too much, "Enzo, I..." she choked, pressing a trembling hand to her face. "I can't keep going like this. It hurts too much."

He slid his hand through the bars, reaching as far as he could, his fingers brushing against hers, "I know, love. I know. But you're stronger than this place...stronger than any of them."

Vivienne shook her head, fresh tears spilling over, "I just...I want...I want you to hold me, baby. I want to feel safe in your arms." She took in a deep, shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper, "I want you to take me dancing, to spin me around until I forget everything. And I want to kiss you...I want to know how your lips feel against mine." 

His face softened, his own expression aching as he watched her, helpless but desperate to reach her, "Vivienne, I swear, once we're out of here, I'll do all that and more." His voice was low and steady, a promise threading through each word. "I'll hold you close, take you to every dance we've missed, and I'll kiss you so deeply that every second we spent here fades into nothing."

She clutched his fingers tightly, her eyes locked onto his, searching for the strength to believe, "Promise me, Enzo. Promise me we'll make it out of here."

"I promise," he whispered, leaning his forehead against the cold metal bars, so close to her, yet so far. "Whatever it takes, we'll make it, Vivienne. I'll be right there with you...I'm not leaving you."

She nodded, her tears slowing as his words washed over her, giving her something to cling to amidst the despair. In that dark cell, with Enzo's hand just barely in her grasp, she felt a sliver of hope—enough to keep her going.

Damon's grip on the bars tightened as Vivienne's words sank in, a weight settling over him that felt heavier than any physical chains could have, "Okay," he said, swallowing down his own guilt, trying to keep his voice steady. "Stefan is gonna figure this out. When I don't come home and no one hears from me, he will—he will find us."

Vivienne's lips twisted into a faint, cynical smile, "Points for optimism." She let out a bitter laugh, her gaze falling to the floor, "It's funny—back in the first year, I thought that, too. That my charming, reckless big brother would come bursting through the doors, all smirks and swagger, to save the day." Her voice dropped, eyes dimming. "But you never did."

Damon flinched, her words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. He didn't know if it was the years of her suffering he was hearing, or the shadow of her trust he'd unknowingly broken. He found himself struggling to meet her gaze, the weight of his absence in her life twisting like a knife.

"Viv, I—" He hesitated, fumbling for an explanation. "We didn't know. I didn't know you were here. We'd been so...scattered—" 

Vivienne's expression softened for a moment, though there was still a hint of doubt in her eyes, "You really didn't know?"

Damon took a deep breath, his voice rough with guilt, "I would've turned the whole world upside down to find you, Viv. You think I would've let you rot here if I'd known?"

Her eyes searched his, the anger melting away as she took in the regret on his face, "I wanted to believe that," she said, softer now, almost to herself. "Every time Whitmore dragged me out of my cell, I'd tell myself, 'Damon will come. Just hold on'." 

Damon closed his eyes for a second, feeling the full weight of her words, "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have been there for you more." 

Vivienne sighed, a strange sense of resignation and relief washing over her. She swallowed hard, looking away, her fingers grazing the scars on arm caused by her stepfather absentmindedly, "You're here now, so maybe that means...maybe that means this time will be different..." 

Augustine Cells

1956

In the dim, flickering light of their cells, Vivienne sat against the cold stone wall, her gaze fixed on Enzo, who lay sprawled in the opposite cage. Despite their surroundings, his eyes held that familiar spark, a mix of determination and something else she'd never been able to shake.

She was quiet, watching him as he leaned his head back, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Finally, she broke the silence, "Do you ever wonder what life would be like outside of here?"

Enzo gave a low chuckle, his eyes still closed, "Every bloody second."

Her lips quirked into a soft smile, one she couldn't hide, "Then what would you do? Say we're out of here. Free. What would you do first?"

He opened one eye, his smirk widening as he glanced her way, "You want honesty?"

"Don't hold back on my account," she teased, crossing her arms as if bracing herself for his answer.

Enzo shifted, sitting up and moving closer to the bars that separated them. His expression softened, his voice dropping to a low murmur, "Well, first thing I'd do if these bars weren't here...I'd show you exactly how much I love you." 

Vivienne felt her breath hitch, his words stirring something deep inside her. For a moment, she let herself imagine it—no cold metal between them, no harsh lights or the ever-looming threat of Dr. Whitmore returning. Just the two of them, free to be near each other without barriers.

"Is that so?" she managed, attempting to keep her tone light, though her heart pounded fiercely in her chest.

He nodded slowly, his gaze locked on hers with an intensity that made her shiver. "I'd take you somewhere far from here, where nobody could touch us. Where we wouldn't be caged like animals." His voice dropped lower, a hint of something darker slipping through. "I'd take my time. Slow, unrushed, like we had all the hours in the world. I'd make sure you felt every touch, every kiss, until all you knew was me. And then, once I had you memorised, I'd do it all over again—again and again—just to hear the way you'd say my name. One day, love. When we're free, I'll show you what it's like to be loved without fear, without walls, and with all the time we could ever need." 

Her heart felt like it might burst, the weight of his words wrapping around her. For a brief, fleeting moment, she forgot about the bars, the pain, and the darkness surrounding them. All that mattered was the man on the other side of the cage, "One day, baby," she whispered, unable to hide the hope that laced her voice.

"Hold onto that hope, Dandelion," he murmured. "Because the day I get out of here, there won't be anything stopping me from showing you just how much you mean to me."

In that silent promise, amidst the bleakness of their imprisonment, they found a fragile sense of freedom—one that, even if only for a moment, made them both feel alive.

Damon's gaze remained fixed on Vivienne, his jaw clenched, "How did you do it?" he asked, voice low and controlled. "Escape?"

Vivienne's eyes grew distant, drifting to memories she hadn't touched in decades, "They let us out of the basement once a year..." Her voice faded as the memory overtook her.

Augustine Party 

New Year's '57

The room was festive, filled with wealthy Augustine patrons mingling, laughing, and sipping champagne as the music swelled around them. Near the back, enclosed in a heavy iron cage, Vivienne and Enzo sat, Vivienne's head rested on Enzo's shoulder as he had his arm wrapped around her, and his lips pressed against her forehead, enjoying the warmth of each other, something they only got to experience once a year. Their eyes were dark with loathing as they watched the scene before them. 

"Every New Year's Eve, the Augustine people had a little cocktail party with a vampire buffet on the side," Vivienne explained to Damon. "We were weak from vervain injections, half-starved from living on a glass of blood a day, chained up like animals."

Vivienne's hands clenched Enzo's shirt as the cage door swung open, and Dr. Whitmore appeared, wearing a satisfied smirk. He reached in and grabbed Enzo, pulling him roughly to his feet.

Enzo's eyes caught Vivienne's terrified ones as he was yanked away from her and out of the cage. 

"Enzo!" she cried out, reaching out to him with her chained hands. 

He gave her a tight smile and small nod, a silent reassurance he always offered in these moments, as though to remind her that they were still together in this nightmare.

Dr. Whitmore's voice echoed over the crowd, "As I'm sure you're all aware, our studies this year have brought us closer to understanding the unique properties of vampire blood," he announced with pride. He held Enzo's wrist in one hand, a gleaming silver blade in the other.

Vivienne looked away as the knife sliced deep into Enzo's wrist, watching instead the rapturous expressions on the guests' faces, their fascination bordering on delight. She knew this was all they were to these people: exhibits, playthings for their curiosity.

The blood from Enzo's wound flowed freely into a crystal glass, and Dr. Whitmore held it up to the nearest guest, "Tonight, Mrs. Fell has kindly offered to participate in our demonstration. If you'll all observe closely," he said, nodding to Mrs. Fell as he handed her the glass.

Mrs. Fell looked nervously between Dr. Whitmore and the glass before taking a tentative sip. Whitmore quickly took her hand, pulling it forward for the crowd to see, and pressed the blade across her palm. Blood welled up from the cut, but as soon as the vampire blood took effect, the skin knitted back together.

Vivienne clenched her jaw, forcing herself to look at Enzo, who was being pushed back into the cage. His face was paler than usual, his eyes glassy from blood loss and pain, yet he met her gaze with a genuine smile, "Hello, gorgeous. Come here often?" 

"You bloody idiot," she said, gripping his shirt and pulled him into a brief but passionate kiss. 

"This little annual shindig is where Dr. Whitmore got to show all of his Augustine friends what he'd found in his research," she recited. "He let his guests drink from us to demonstrate the healing power of vampire blood." 

The crowd erupted in applause as Mrs. Fell marveled at her healed hand, turning it this way and that for the delighted audience. Dr. Whitmore beamed, basking in the adulation as though he were some great humanitarian, rather than a monster parading his victims.

Vivienne's heart hammered in her chest as the crowd continued to watch them like specimens. She could barely feel Enzo's hand gripping hers, but she held on, needing the connection.

In a hoarse whisper, he spoke, his voice barely above a murmur, "This...This will end, Viv. We'll get out of here."

Vivienne stared at him, the weariness and hopelessness weighing on her. She wanted to believe him, but after years of torment, escape felt like a fantasy, "You keep saying that."

"Because I'm going to get you out here. I have a plan," he replied, his voice steady with a conviction she envied.

Vivienne leaned against the cold wall of her cell, her eyes distant as the memories lingered like ghosts, "But on the plus side, that's how Enzo came up with his plan..."

Augustine Cells

1957

Enzo held up his daily ration of blood—a meager amount that barely kept them alive. He eyed it thoughtfully, then looked over at Vivienne, "The thing about our daily ration," he began, lifting the glass. "Is that it's barely enough for one vampire to survive on, but if one vampire were to drink two rations every day for the next year, they'd be strong enough. Strong enough that by the time New Year's Eve comes round again, that one vampire will be ready to fight."

Vivienne looked at him, hope flickering in her weary gaze, "Are you sure that will work?"

Enzo's eyes sparkled with determination, "I'm sure I can only try—with your help. But we've got to choose between us."

For a moment, they stared at each other, the reality of the decision heavy between them. Then Vivienne set her glass down, nodding. 

Enzo's expression softened, "All right, Dandelion," he said, his voice almost playful. "We're gonna play scissor, paper, stone to decide."

Vivienne managed a weak smile, "You know I'm going to win, right?"

"We'll see," he replied with a smirk.

They played three tense rounds, and in the final one, Vivienne drew paper, while Enzo held out his fist for rock.

Vivienne's smirk returned, a glint of triumph in her eyes, "Paper covers rock. Sorry, baby."

Enzo gave her a mock look of resignation, "All right then, a win's a win." He raised his glass to her in a toast, "You'll lead the way, love. Here's my ration. Now, we've got 364 days to get you ready for the party."

Vivienne watched as he passed the blood between the bars, the weight of his trust settling over her. She took the glass carefully, "Cheers," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she lifted the glass to her lips and drank, the warmth of the blood filling her with a glimmer of strength.

Damon's eyes were fixed on his sister, his face tense, "So, did it work?"

Vivienne's expression grew sad and distant, shadows crossing her face, "More or less."

Damon stepped closer to the bars, his gaze hard, "How did you get out?"

She looked away, her hand slipping from the cold iron bars as she turned her back to him, "It doesn't matter, Damon. I got strong, I got out. It wasn't pretty. That's all you need to know."

Damon studied her for a moment, sensing the weight of everything left unsaid. But Vivienne didn't offer more. She walked slowly to the back of her cell, settling into the shadows with a resigned silence, leaving Damon to lean against the wall, the echo of her words hanging heavy in the air between them.

Augustine Cells 

1957

Vivienne pressed her hands against the cold bars, her heart racing as she strained to hear any sign of life. The sound of Enzo's tortured screams had echoed through the Augustine halls for hours, each one a dagger in her heart. And then, just as abruptly as it started, it stopped, leaving only a dreadful silence.

Dr. Whitmore dumped his limp body on the floor of the cell beside hers, barely sparing a glance at his bloodied form before walking away. Vivienne's throat tightened as she watched him lie still, weak from the lack of blood. His skin even greyer tone. 

"Enzo!" Her voice cracked as she called out to him, her fingers wrapping around the iron bars, knuckles white. When he didn't stir, a tear slipped down her cheek, "Please, baby," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Come on, answer me. I need you."

The silence stretched on, and she felt herself start to panic, her breaths coming faster. But then, a faint groan escaped his lips, and slowly, and painfully, he opened his eyes.

He shifted slightly, turning his head just enough to see her face, and his expression softened at the sight of her concern, "Dandelion," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why the tears, love? You're going to ruin that pretty face of yours. We got a party to attend, remember?" 

A shaky laugh escaped her, though it was threaded with relief and heartache. She wiped at her eyes, gripping the bars tighter as if that would pull him closer, "Don't you dare joke right now," she murmured, her voice thick. "I thought...I thought I'd lost you."

He managed a weak smile, wincing as he tried to sit up, "I'm a vampire, remember? It'll take a hell of a lot more than a man in a white coat shuffling around in intestines to keep me away from you," he whispered, reaching his hand toward the bars. She slipped her fingers through, holding onto him as tightly as she could.

"Every time they take you, I feel like I can't breathe," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "I can't stand seeing you like this."

Enzo's gaze softened, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, "Viv, as long as I know you're here waiting for me, I can endure anything he throws at me." 

But Vivienne wasn't buying it. He was on the verge of desiccating. She glanced down at her wrist, hesitating only for a moment, before offering it to him, "Here. You need blood."

Enzo's eyes flickered with surprise, then steeled with resistance. He turned his head away, "No," he said firmly. "You need your strength if we're to escape. New Year's Eve is days away; you can't risk losing that edge."

Vivienne's jaw tightened, "You're barely holding on, baby. You don't need much. Just enough to keep you going. You need your strength too." 

He shook his head stubbornly, "If it's a choice between me and you getting out of here, I'm betting on you every time, Dandelion." 

She held his gaze, determination hardening her expression, "I'm not leaving without you," she said, her voice fierce. Before he could argue further, she lifted her wrist to his mouth, pressing it firmly against his lips, "I'm not asking. I'm telling you. Drink." 

Enzo closed his eyes, his resistance wavering as the scent of her blood flooded his senses. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he opened his mouth and allowed his fangs to sink into her wrist.

The moment he began to drink, a warm, tingling rush surged through Vivienne, catching her off guard. The feel of him drinking from her was a deeply intimate connection, and she felt her heart quicken, her breath hitch as she fought to keep herself steady. She could feel the subtle pressure of his lips against her skin, the warmth of his hand as it found her arm to steady himself, and a rush of something dangerously close to euphoria spread through her veins.

Enzo's eyes half-closed as he took a slow, measured pull, clearly fighting to keep himself in control. The taste of her blood stirred something inside him, something beyond survival. He forced himself to stop, reluctantly pulling away after only a few moments, his lips still lingering over her wrist as he let go, breathing heavily.

"Thank you," Enzo whispered, his voice husky, almost reverent. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary, a heat in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat.

Vivienne managed a small, quivering smile, "I can't have you giving up on me," she said softly. "Not when we're so close. We're getting out of here together, baby. No matter what it takes."

He chuckled softly, his strength already returning, though his gaze still held a lingering intensity, "With you by my side, love, I believe it."

They sat, back-to-back, the cold iron bars pressing into their backs. The silence between them was thick, almost suffocating.

"Wes is gonna come back down here, and we'll both be the newest Augustine experiment," Damon said, frustration edging into his voice. "You have to tell me how you got out of here, Viv."

Vivienne didn't respond immediately, turning her face away as if it could hide the raw pain she carried, "I can't," she whispered, her voice thick. "It's the worst thing I've ever done in my entire life."

Damon's tone softened, his words a quiet push, "What? You think I'm gonna judge you? Have you met me?"

She looked at him with a faint, irritated glare, but her resistance crumbled, "All right," she caved. "The Augustines' next party was in 1958."

Augustine Party 

New Year's '58

Vivienne was back in the cage with Enzo, but this year, her eyes shone with a fierce, deadly glint. She'd spent the last year drinking Enzo's rations, just as he had planned, the extra blood building up her strength. Enzo watched her proudly, mouthing the words, "I love you." 

She gave him a small, determined smile.

Dr. Whitmore strode up to the cage, the party's chatter dying down as he addressed his guests, "Ladies and gentlemen, as it's almost midnight, I think it's fitting that we toast the New Year with a glass of vampire blood, wouldn't you agree?" He unlocked the cage and guided Vivienne out, securing Enzo back inside with a click of the lock.

Vivienne clenched her fists, her body thrumming with energy. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. As Dr. Whitmore turned his back to her, she shoved her hand through the cuff, breaking her bones as she twisted free. Her hand healed instantly, and when Dr. Whitmore noticed, it was already too late.

She reached out, grabbing his head with both hands, digging her thumbs into his eyes as he screamed. Blood poured down his face, his cries filling the room as she buried her fangs into his neck, draining him dry. The guests screamed, some stumbling back and tipping over a candelabra, setting the carpet ablaze. 

In the chaos, Vivienne went wild, tearing through the crowd as they tried to escape. She showed no mercy, breaking necks and spilling blood, the flames around her growing as the fire spread.

Enzo watched, admiringly, his gaze fixed on her as she dispatched the last of the guests. But as the fire blazed higher, he yelled, "Viv! We've got to get out of here!" He gripped the bars, only to recoil with a hiss of pain, "Vivienne, now!"

Vivienne ran to his side, grabbing the bars to try to free him, but the vervain burned her skin, forcing her to let go. She tried again and again, her face desperate as the fire closed in on them. But her efforts were futile; the bars wouldn't budge, and her hands smoked from the searing pain of the vervain.

Vivienne's eyes filled with tears, her voice wavering as she spoke, "Enzo trusted me with his life. The fire was out of control, and I knew...if I didn't leave then, I'd either burn or be caught. There was no way I'd get another chance at freedom."

Damon peered closer, stunned at the grief in her eyes. 

"So, I chose to save myself." Her voice cracked, the admission tearing at her.

Augustine Party 

New Year's '58

Vivienne tried one last time to free Enzo, but the pain was unbearable. She backed away, her mind racing as she scanned the burning room. Her heart pounded as she looked back at the man she loved, guilt and fear warring in her expression.

Enzo's voice was desperate, "Viv?"

She shook her head, her face twisted in agony, "I'm sorry, baby," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I-I'm not strong enough." 

"Viv, please," he choked out, reaching through the bars, his fingers outstretched.

She took a step back, her heart breaking. Her resolve hardened as she told herself that she had no choice.

Vivienne's gaze was distant, her eyes rimmed with red, "I knew if I was going to escape, I had to stop caring. I had to stop loving Enzo." She swallowed, her voice hollow, "So, I turned off my emotions."

Damon stared at her, the weight of what she'd just said sinking in.

"I left the love of my life to die," she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. "Just so I could save myself." 

Augustine Party

New Year's '58

Enzo banged on the cage, his desperation mounting as the flames crept closer, "No. Don't—don't leave me here. Don't leave me, Vivienne!"

She turned to face him one last time, expression blank, her heart cold. Without a word, she walked away, shutting the door behind her as his pleas grew faint.

Vivienne closed her eyes, her voice barely a whisper, "Everything was fine after that." She trembled, letting the tears fall freely, "I loved him, and I left him to die." Her voice cracked as she pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face away as her cries filled the small space. 

Damon sat back, speechless, staring at his sister with a mixture of sorrow and understanding. He reached his hand out, his voice low and filled with a rare tenderness, "You did what you had to, Viv. For you."

But she shook her head, meeting his gaze, tears cascading down her cheeks, each one a mark of the guilt she could never escape.

***

Damon paced the small cell, glancing over at Vivienne, who sat on the floor in her cell across from him, looking more troubled than usual. She kept her gaze low, picking at a frayed thread on her sleeve, as if weighing whether to tell him what was really on her mind.

Finally, Damon couldn't take it any longer, "You've got that look on your face. Spill it."

Vivienne sighed, glancing up to meet his eyes, "Enzo's alive."

Damon stopped in his tracks, stunned, "What?!"

She nodded, her voice quieter than usual, "He's the one who brought me here. Attacked me on the side of the road."

Damon's eyes widened, a mixture of disbelief and anger flashing across his face, "Hold on. You're telling me the guy you left behind to die—after you spent years with him, fell for him—is alive and working with Wes?"

Vivienne's expression tightened, as if his words were twisting a knife in her, "I know how it sounds, Damon. But it's not like that. He wouldn't do this willingly. If he's working with them, they must have something on him."

Damon crossed his arms, watching her sceptically, "So, what, you think they're blackmailing him? Torturing him? If he is strong enough to attack you and throw you in here, wouldn't that make him strong enough to...I don't know, kill the guy?!" 

Vivienne shook her head, "I don't know. Maybe they've forced his hand somehow. Enzo's a fighter—he wouldn't just give in. They must have something he can't risk losing."

Damon scoffed, "Right. And maybe he's also holding a big grudge after you left him to rot. People change, Vivienne. Who knows what he went through after you left?"

Her eyes flashed with frustration, "You don't understand. We promised each other we'd never let the Augustine society break us. He was the one person who kept me going when I had nothing left. And if he's here, then I have to believe they're forcing him into this."

Damon studied her, an edge of sarcasm creeping into his voice, "So, what's the plan, then? Free him? Convince him that you're sorry for what happened, and everything's fine now?"

She clenched her fists, her jaw set with determination, "I'm not abandoning him again. If he's working for them, then I'll find a way to break whatever hold they have over him. I owe him that much."

Damon's expression softened slightly, though he didn't seem entirely convinced, "Just don't let your guilt blind you to what he might have become, Vivienne. A lot of time's passed." 

Her gaze hardened as she met his eyes, "You can doubt him if you want. But Enzo saved me once. I won't stop until I do the same for him."

Damon rolled his eyes, leaning back against the bars of his cell, "Fine. Just don't expect me to buy into this whole redemption arc. If history has shown us anything, it is that people from our past tend to come back with scars, Viv." 

Vivienne took a deep breath, pushing back the doubt Damon's words had planted, "I love him, Damon. From the moment I turned my emotions back on, he was the one person I couldn't shake. Enzo...he's the only man I've ever loved. No one else ever even came close." She paused, glancing away briefly, before looking back at Damon with a small, wistful smile, "I've had my share of flings, sure, but with Enzo...He's the only one who knew me in a way no one else ever did, and I'd risk everything for him."

They fell silent, Damon with a smirk of disbelief and Vivienne, determined to prove him wrong. 

***

The door leading to the line of cells creaked open, its rusty hinges echoing through the dim corridor. Damon's head snapped up, and he watched with narrowed eyes as a familiar figure stepped into the harsh light.

Aaron scanned the room, his face twisted in confusion and unease as he took in the bleak, cramped cells. His eyes darted from one shadow to the next, absorbing the cold stone walls and iron bars, "What is this place?" he demanded, voice shaking slightly.

Damon sprung to his feet, feigning enthusiasm as he threw his hands up, "Great! Mini-Wes. Just what we needed."

Vivienne raised an eyebrow, eyeing Aaron with a look of mild curiosity, "Who?" she asked, barely glancing at Damon.

Aaron's gaze flicked nervously between them, "I didn't know what Wes was doing down here," he muttered. "Didn't even know there was a basement."

"Good for you," Damon replied with a dry smile. "Now, open the cage."

Aaron shook his head, fumbling to pull a small pistol from his jacket. He tried to load it with shaky hands, dropping a few wooden bullets to the floor in the process, "No," he said, jaw clenched. "Not until I get the truth."

Vivienne's lips curled into a mocking smile, "Slick hands, cowboy."

Aaron's eyes flared with irritation as he looked up at her, "Yeah?! Well, I've never used a gun before." His gaze shifted to Damon, a bitter edge in his voice, "And I've never killed anyone either—unlike you."

Vivienne furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, "What are you talking about?" 

"Wes said a vampire killed Megan." He raised the gun, aiming it directly at Damon, his hand wavering with the weight of it.

Vivienne turned to Damon with a look of surprise that quickly turned to exasperation, "Who the hell did you kill now?" she asked, throwing her hands up in frustration. 

Damon shrugged, unfazed, "Oh, don't judge me, Little Miss 'Leave-the-Man-I-Love-to-Die.' And this wasn't even me this time."

Aaron's grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles white as he struggled to keep his hand steady, "Wes also said...he said a vampire killed my parents. Maybe that was you too," he suggested, his finger hovering over the trigger. 

Damon's smirk faded, replaced by a steely glare.

But before he could speak, Vivienne rolled her eyes and cut in, her voice sharp and sarcastic, "Damon didn't kill your parents," she said, almost lazily. She tilted her head, meeting Aaron's gaze with a smirk, "That was all me."

The room fell into a stunned silence.

Damon blinked, and Aaron's face went pale as the words sank in. His grip on the gun faltered, and his gaze flickered back to Vivienne, horrified. He lowered the pistol slightly as he took a shaky step forward, his voice barely a whisper, "What did you just say?"

He stepped directly in front of Vivienne's cell, and she only stared back at him, unfazed by the weapon trained on her. If anything, her expression turned colder, her eyes reflecting years of anger and resentment.

"Start talking," Aaron said, his voice cracking with barely contained fury.

"Well," Damon said from behind the bars, his voice low and intrigued. "I'm intrigued."

Vivienne sighed, a hint of weariness in her voice as she spoke, but her gaze remained cold, "In 1958," she began. "After the fire...Enzo was dead, or so I thought. So, I had to take on my revenge plan solo."

Augustine Cells

1953

The dim light in the cell barely illuminated the figures within. Vivienne sat against the damp wall, scratching her initials into the stone with a small rock. She carved in slow, deliberate strokes: V.S. 53.

Enzo leaned against the bars of his own cell, watching her with dark amusement, "What's that for, then?" he asked.

Vivienne didn't look up, her gaze fixed on the wall as she spoke, "I can see it, you know," she murmured, as if lost in thought. "Once I'm done here...after I've taken out every last member of the Augustine Society...I'll finish it off with the Whitmores."

Enzo raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of intrigue and disappointment, "Boo!" he teased. "Where's the imagination, love?"

Vivienne turned to him, her eyes glinting with a dark and dangerous light, "Oh, I'm not done." She shifted, leaning back against the wall, her voice taking on a gleeful edge, "I'll leave one Whitmore alive—just one—to carry on the name. I'll let them grow up, start a family...and then I'll start the whole thing over again. Each generation will have just one survivor." She smiled slowly, a chilling smirk that sent a shiver through the damp, cold air, "And I'll keep it going. One by one. Year after year."

A wide, sadistic, almost proud smirk tugged at the corners of Enzo lips as his eyes darkened with admiration, "Marry me," he murmured, earning a chuckle in response. 

Vivienne's gaze returned to Aaron, her expression unreadable, "And that's exactly what I did," she said, her voice devoid of regret.

Damon stared at her, clearly taken aback, though there was an unmistakable hint of admiration in his eyes. He let out a low whistle, shaking his head, "Jesus," he muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "You're more sadistic than I am. Klaus has definitely rubbed off on you."

Aaron's shoulders trembled as he processed her words, "How many Whitmores...?" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "How many Whitmores have you killed?"

Vivienne shrugged, almost casually, "Since 1958?" she mused, glancing up thoughtfully. "I lost count," she said with a smirk. 

Damon matched her smirk, a glint of pride in his eyes, "Now that's dedication."

Aaron's face contorted with rage, his voice thick with barely-contained fury, "When was the last one?" he demanded.

Vivienne's lips twisted into a smile, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement, "A few months ago. Her name was Sara. Had to go all the way to Charleston to find her." She paused, savouring the shock and anger in Aaron's face, "It was a weekend trip—Klaus came along, actually. Made a road trip out of it."

The words were barely out of her mouth when Aaron's fury erupted. With a cry of rage, he raised the gun and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed in the stone chamber, and Vivienne's body jerked as the bullet struck her head. She crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around her, her eyes closed.

"No!" Damon's voice was a strangled shout as he dropped to his knees beside her. He reached out, his fingers, shaking slightly as he touched her still form, his face a mixture of horror and fury. Slowly, his gaze rose to Aaron, his eyes dark and filled with murderous intent.

In a blink of an eye, Damon's was on his feet, clutching the steel bars, his knuckles turning white as he shook the cage, "I swear to God," he growled, his voice low and venomous. "I'll kill you for that."

New Orleans

2011

The air in the Mikaelson mansion was thick with the scent of aged wood and the lingering aroma of fine bourbon. Vivienne leaned against the marble countertop in the sprawling kitchen, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders as she stared out at the moonlit streets of New Orleans. She could hear Klaus in the next room, his voice low and frustrated as he paced back and forth, drumming his fingers against the table.

"Boredom does not suit you, Nik," she called, smirking as she turned to face him. "You should find something to occupy your time."

Klaus paused, his eyes narrowing in her direction, "And what do you suggest, Vivienne? Shall I redecorate the mansion? Perhaps polish my collection of antique weapons?"

She chuckled, stepping closer, "Actually, I was thinking of a road trip. A little adventure outside these walls. Care to join me?"

His interest piqued, Klaus raised an eyebrow, his curiosity getting the better of him, "A road trip? With you? And where would this little escapade take us?"

Vivienne's lips curled into a sly smile, "There's a girl I want to meet—Sara Whitmore. She's...well, let's just say she's on my list."

Klaus' expression shifted to one of intrigue, his playful demeanour replaced by something darker, "Whitmore? Ah, yes, your little vendetta." 

"Of course," she replied, the edge in her voice sharp as a blade. "It's about that time again to wipe out another generation. I just thought you might want to help me. It's been awhile, figured you were itching to kill something." 

He stepped closer, intrigued by her resolve, "All right then, count me in," he said, grabbing his coat from the back of one of the dining room chairs and heading for the door. 

***

The car hummed along the highway, the glow of the dashboard lighting their faces as they sped through the night. Klaus sat beside Vivienne, who navigated with a determined focus. She felt the thrill of anticipation coursing through her veins, the weight of her plan heavy yet exhilarating.

"What's her story?" Klaus asked, breaking the silence that hung in the air.

"She's been living in Charleston, away from the family drama," Vivienne explained, glancing at him with a predatory smile. "But it's time she faced the consequences of her bloodline."

Klaus' lips curved into a wicked grin, "I must admit, I'm enjoying this little trip more than I expected."

Vivienne shot him a sidelong glance, her heart racing, "You'll enjoy it even more when you see how perfectly it unfolds."

***

Vivienne stood in the shadow of a large oak tree, watching the modest house that belonged to Sara Whitmore. It was nearing dawn, and the early morning air was still and thick with anticipation. Klaus leaned against the tree beside her, arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"She should be here any minute," Vivienne murmured, her voice low, eyes trained on the driveway.

Klaus glanced at her, amusement lighting his gaze, "You've been tracking her for quite some time, haven't you? There's a bit of an obsession here, love." 

She shrugged, her expression unyielding, "Let's just say I have a few old promises to keep." 

Headlights appeared down the street, cutting through the dark, and Vivienne straightened. Sara's car pulled into the driveway, and the woman stepped out, looking tired from her late shift at the hospital. She approached her front door, fumbling with her keys. Vivienne took a step forward, close enough to hear the slight jingle as Sara unlocked her door.

Before Sara could close the door behind her, Vivienne called out, her voice warm and disarmingly friendly, "Excuse me! Sorry, could you help me? Our car broke down just a little ways back."

Sara looked up, surprised, her gaze landing on Vivienne and then flicking to Klaus, standing behind her with a deceptively friendly smile, "Oh, um...sure." She hesitated, glancing at Vivienne. "You, uh...you look familiar."

"Probably just a friendly face," Vivienne replied smoothly. "We'd be grateful for a quick phone call if you don't mind." 

"Sure." Sara nodded, her guard down just enough to step aside. "Come in." 

Once inside, Vivienne's posture shifted, her eyes darkening with that quiet, unyielding determination Klaus had come to admire. Sara looked between them, her exhaustion morphing into apprehension as she caught the predatory glint in Vivienne's eyes.

"What...what do you want?" Sara's voice wavered, her instincts telling her to run.

Vivienne took a slow, deliberate step forward, her voice dropping to a chilling softness, "To finish something I started long ago, actually. Your family has quite the legacy." 

Realisation dawned on Sara, and she scrambled back, bumping against the side table as she tried to reach for the phone. But Vivienne was faster, grabbing her wrist and twisting it just enough to make her drop the phone, which clattered uselessly to the floor.

Klaus watched with an approving gleam in his eye as Vivienne pinned Sara against the wall, "You really have a flair for theatrics," he murmured, amused. "And here I thought you'd make it quick." 

Vivienne flashed him a sly smile, before turning back to Sara, her voice a cold, venomous whisper, "Your family took everything from me, piece by piece," she hissed, her voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around her. "This is for Enzo."

With a swift, practiced motion, she bared her fangs and sank them into Sara's neck. The woman screamed as she struggled briefly, her fingers clawing at Vivienne's arms, but the fight soon faded, her body going limp as Vivienne drank deeply, savouring every second. Klaus leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, clearly impressed as Vivienne drained every drop of blood from the woman's body. 

When Vivienne finally pulled back, her eyes glinted with satisfaction. She wiped the corner of her mouth, glancing at Klaus, who offered an approving nod, "Now that," he said with a low chuckle. "Was beautifully done. You are a true Mikaelson at heart, Vivienne. Ruthless, cunning, and unapologetic."

Vivienne chuckled softly, the thrill of victory pulsing through her veins, "And this is just the start. The Whitmores will learn the hard way that their bloodline will never be safe." With a final glance at the lifeless body, Vivienne turned, her heart racing with the promise of vengeance still to come.

Vivienne lay on the cold, damp floor, the gritty surface biting into her skin as she blinked against the harsh light seeping through the barred window. A throbbing pain pulsed through her head as she groaned, instinctively reaching up to touch the wound that throbbed beneath her fingers.

"Oh..." she murmured, wincing. "Guess I deserved that one."

As she pushed herself up onto her elbows, she glanced around the dimly lit space. The heavy scent of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the musty odour of the cell, "Damon?" she called, her voice strained and uncertain. The silence that followed was deafening.

Panic began to seep into her veins as she pushed herself to her feet, the world spinning momentarily before settling. Her heart raced as she scanned the area, realising the unsettling truth: Damon was gone, "Damon!" she shouted, her voice rising in urgency.

When her gaze landed on his empty cell, a wave of dread washed over her. He should have been there, with that trademark smirk plastered across his face or perhaps a teasing comment about her latest escapade. But the cell was empty, the metal bars cold and unyielding.

"Damon!" she cried out again, her voice echoing in the hollow space. The panic clawed at her throat as she hurried toward his cell, gripping the bars with white-knuckled intensity, "Where are you?"

In that moment of silence, she realised she was utterly alone, and the weight of it pressed heavily on her chest. She was a survivor, but without her brother by her side, the darkness felt insurmountable, "Where are you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible as she leaned against the cold bars. 

***

Words: 15397