There Goes The Neighbourhood

The greyhound bus ground to a stop, breaks creaking. The jerking movement awoke a young woman, who had been slumped against the glass.

“Mystic Falls,” The driver called, and the woman stood, rubbing her eyes as she pulled her duffle bag onto her back. She exited the bus, giving the driver a wave of dismissal as she passed. She stepped out onto the cool concrete, her bare feet slapping against the damp pavement.

The bus croaked and complained as the driver pulled away from the curb, and the woman watched it go. When it disappeared, she sighed, settling her bag better on her shoulders before setting off with some purpose. She’d gotten her bearings, and now knew where she was going.

“My, how you’ve changed,” She murmured as she walked down the town’s main street. She hadn’t been expecting the town to appear so different. Admittedly, she hadn’t been back for what? At least twenty years. But it was a small town – small towns were supposed to stay the same. It was the unspoken rule of towns. At least, she thought it should be.

A light rain peppered the pavement, dusting the woman’s shoulders and hair as she walked. She didn’t mind. She liked the rain – it made her feel alive. And when you’d lived for as long as she had, feeling alive was hard.

This pixie like woman was unlike the norm in Mystic Falls. Just under five seven, with a short pixie cut and a button nose. Her skin was a warm chocolate colour, and her eyes were a brilliant green. She wore a silver ring set with a dark stone, held in place by a snake wrought from silver, a glint of the dark stone forming its eye. She wore another on the same finger of the opposite hand – a skull, carved from bone, with emeralds for eyes, matching hers perfectly.

Her clothes weren’t that out of the ordinary – a ribbed white tank top, an unbuttoned, plaid shirt in faded red and a pair of high-waisted jean shorts, the scuffed hem ending mid-thigh. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, and a gold cross hung on a chain around her neck, along with a second chain, whose pendant disappeared beneath the neck line of her tank. A few bracelets adorned her bony wrists, along with a swirl of a tattoo. From one ear hung an earring in silver, shaped like a feather. A few studs and rings lined the rim of her upper ear. In the other ear was a small diamond and two silver studs. The strange thing was her bare feet – in early autumn, bare feet were never a good idea. But this woman didn’t even seem to notice the chill of the air or the sidewalk. She hummed under her breath, swinging her arms a little as she walked, almost on the brink of skipping.

The whole place was pretty empty – people had taken refuge from the rain in nearby buildings. The only person out was the strange pixie girl, and a small black dog, which pranced along, its tail held like a jaunty little flag. The girl grinned and nodded to it, as though it were a person, an acquaintance even.

Continuing out of town, the girl moseyed along. Her bag was slung casually across her shoulder – militaristic, olivey green in colour. The strap was a faded brown, and cut from scuffed leather. It looked like it’d been through a battle or two – darned in some places, the bottom reinforced with thick, scuffed leather. There didn’t seem to be much in it – it hung loosely, pulled down by the weight in the bottom. It bumped against her back every so often, with a stride that was slightly different to her usual pace – when she stepped over a pot hole, or dodged a puddle. Over Wickery Bridge she went, relaxing a little as the scenery became more familiar.

“At least the old money hasn’t changed,” She muttered to herself, tucking a hand into the pocket of her shorts.

The houses grew more sparsely set as she went, the numbers dwindling, the spaces between growing longer and longer as back yards became small estates and houses became mansions. The ever-present trees grew thicker, until she was walking in near-forest. The road was lit with that dappled greeny light that came of cloudy days shining through leaves. Oak, if she wasn’t mistaken. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she nodded in conformation. Yup, definitely oak. Mingling with the smell of slightly damp earth, there was that unmistakable scent.

“Oh it’s good to be home,” She murmured, a slow grin spreading across her elfin features, as a hand raked through her hair. The road beneath her feet changed from smooth to rough as she entered a clearing – the gravel poked into her soles, but she barely seemed to notice as she cast her eye over a large, gothic-styled manor house.

“And here we are,” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together as she surveyed the house and the surrounding lawns. They were perfectly smooth, a light green colour, edged with trees and bushes. Soft too, she noted, as she stepped onto the flawlessly manicured lawn. She crossed the turf gracefully, stepping over a low hedge and onto the paved path that lead up to the front door. It was a nice door too, just how she’d remembered it – carved from a reddish brown wood, set with glass that had been bordered with lead. She rested a slim hand on the handle for a moment, before turning it. It was locked, and she lifted her other hand, running a finger over the keyhole. She turned it again, and the door swung inwards, revealing a shadowy, but grand, interior.

Stepping over the threshold, the grin once more materialised on her face, and she let the bag slip from her shoulders, her fingers curling around the strap before it touched the ground.

“Honey,” She called, her words filled with a cool kind of amusement. “I’m home.”

All was silent for a moment, then there was that familiar rush of air, and a cool hand closed around her throat, pushing her back against the wall, lifting her small frame a few inches off the ground. Her smile didn’t falter.

“Oh baby,” She groaned, biting her lip in mock excitement. “I like it rough.” She paused, her forest eyes meeting ice as a smirk spread over her lips. “But you knew that already, didn’t you Damon?”