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Stain of My Love

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He thinks that once upon a time he might have loved her. That she left a lasting impression. A mark. She had. It stuck in him, snared to the softest part of him and he hated her for it, would continue to do so. For as long as he could remember her face - and how could he forget when her copy was lying so close to him, that he thought he could know the difference.

It wasn’t much, Elena smelled sweet, but not as sweet as Katherine had … and still did. That was the difference. He loved her, he hated her, she was there forever in his mind, against his skin, the memory of.

Katherine’s smile opened wider.
Elena’s laugh was further back in her throat.

He pulled Elena beneath him, to keep his mind firm, steady; to keep it from slipping back to the times when Katherine made him …

Elena’s hands were fire on his skin, warm and fragrant and sometimes she shivered. That kept his hands from squeezing too hard on her.

Stefan remembered the lines Katherine would leave on his skin. He remembered not really caring at the time because she made him not care. She took away the fear and sadness so that there was only her …

There was soft (straight) brown hair and the smell of vervain. He ran his fingers along the chain about her neck. He gave it to her to protect her from him. To protect himself from becoming like her …

She gave him her blood to bring him back.
She gave him her blood to keep there … her human blood was suck on his tongue. And he could recall just how Katherine tasted.

Vampire’s blood, human’s blood … in the memory it was nearly impossible for him to recall the difference.