Stefan/Elena/Damon
“He always wants what you have, and you know it,” the phantom continued, its translucent lips curving in a
smile. “It’s been true since you were mortals. Remember how he came home from university and stole
Katherine away from you? He used all his charms on her, just because he knew you loved her. Even with the
small things: If you had a toy, he’d take it. If you wanted a horse, he’d ride it. If there was a piece of meat on
the platter between you, he’d take it even if he wasn’t hungry, just so you wouldn’t get it.”
Stefan shook his head slowly from side to side, again feeling too slow, like he had once again missed the
important moment. Damon had been visiting Elena? When he had cried on her shoulder about his fallen
brother, had Elena known Damon was alive?
“But you thought you could trust Elena, didn’t you, Stefan?” Elena turned to stare at him, her cheeks pale
beneath their coating of ash. She looked sick and apprehensive.
“No, Stefan—” Elena started to say, but the phantom went swiftly on, its words soothingly spoken poison.
Stefan knew what it was doing. He wasn’t a fool. Yet he felt himself nodding, agreeing, a slow red anger
rising inside him despite his more rational self’s struggle against it.
“Elena kept his secret from you, Stefan. She knew you were in pain and that knowing Damon was alive
would have eased that suffering, but still she kept silent, because Damon asked her to, and what Damon
wanted was more important than helping you. Elena’s always wanted both of the Salvatore brothers. It’s
funny, really, Stefan, how you’re never quite enough for the women you love. This isn’t the first time Elena’s
chosen Damon over you, is it?”
Elena shook her head, but Stefan could barely see her through the tide of fury and misery rising up inside
him.
“Secrets and lies,” the phantom went on merrily, with an icy tinkling laugh, “and foolish Stefan Salvatore
always a few steps behind. You’ve known all along there was something between Elena and Damon that
you weren’t part of, Stefan, and yet you would never have suspected she’d betray you for him.”
Damon seemed to snap out of his daze, as if suddenly hearing the phantom for the first time. His brows
drew into a heavy frown and he slowly turned his head to stare at it.
He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, something in Stefan broke, and before Damon could
issue whatever denial or taunt was on the tip of his tongue, Stefan lunged forward with a shout of rage,
plunging straight through the chalked diagram.

It was still freezing cold.
“At least I have clothes on this time,” Damon muttered, kicking at a piece of charred wood as he trudged
across the barren surface of the Dark Moon.
The place was beginning to get to him, he had to admit. He had been wandering this desolate landscape
for what felt like days, although the unchanging darkness here made it impossible for him to know for sure
how much time had passed.
When he had awakened, Damon had assumed he would find the little redbird next to him, eager for his
company and protection. But he’d awoken alone, lying on the ground. No phantom, no grateful girl.
He frowned and poked one tentative foot into a heap of ash that might conceal a body, but was
unsurprised to find nothing but mud beneath the ash, smearing more filth onto his once-polished black
boots. After he’d arrived here and started searching for Bonnie, he’d expected that at any moment, he might
stumble across her unconscious body. He’d had a powerful image of what she would look like, pale and
silent in the darkness, long red curls caked with ash. But now he was becoming convinced that, wherever
the phantom had taken Bonnie, she wasn’t here.
He’d come here to be a hero: defeat the phantom, save the girl, and ultimately save his girl. What an
idiot, he thought, curling his lip at his own foolishness.
The phantom hadn’t brought him to wherever it was keeping Bonnie. Alone on this ash heap of the moon,
he felt oddly rejected. Didn’t it want him?
A sudden powerful wind pushed against him, and Damon staggered backward a few steps before
regaining his balance. The wind brought a sound with it: Was that a moan? He altered his course, hunching
his shoulders and heading for where he thought the sound had come from.
Then the sound came again, a sad, sobbing moan echoing behind him.
He turned back, but his footsteps were closer together and less confident than usual. What if he was
wrong and the little witch was hurt and alone somewhere on this godforsaken moon?