Prologue, A Woman Scorned.
"LOVE IS A CURSE"

  ❦.

1865.

Isla Salvatore knew she should have stayed dead.

Weeks had passed since her early demise. Many who knew her believed she was gone forever—and the worst part—that she was never coming back. Isla believed it too once. When that man, whose voice lingered like a haunting echo in the back of her mind, snapped her neck in two, the woman believed that would be the end of her. She felt the life leave her body. She heard the screams of agony that tore through Elijah Mikaelson's throat as he watched her die, burdened with the knowledge of her death, leaving him with the responsibility of delivering the message of her desolate conclusion to those who still cared for her in one way or another.

Those who knew Isla believed she was lost to the world.

Or so it seemed.

By sunrise, she rose from the ruins of her own destruction. Isla felt like herself, but different all the same. With the brightness of the sun piercing through her skull with a sharp ache, her barely beating heart throbbing in her chest, pumping blood through her body at a raid and unsettling rate, none of it compared to the hunger that settled in her ribcage, and danced along her bones. Isla felt the insatiable appetite rapture through her body, clinging to her throat as it urged her to feed, to give into her animalistic instincts and rip the head off of some poor maid's body. Isla had known it was wrong from the start, and yet, it didn't stop her from killing half the town, and using who remained to her advantage.

All sense of morality had left the moment she felt the sweet taste of crimson on her lips.

She had become drunk on it. The hunger controlled her every thought and every movement. She hid in the day, behind closed curtains to save herself from the scorching heat of the sun. But when the sun set, and the moon rises high in the night sky, Isla was able to make her way back into town, putting on a very appealing act of a young woman shimmering with youth and prosperity, being told stories by drunken men at the bar, who like most men, their only desire was to rip the corset from her body and take what they believed was theirs. Their slurred words while they sipped on their bitter, amber liquid, retelling tales of a monstrous individual who was prowling through the night and picking off the town folk one by one.

She even remembered what they told her, Be careful young lady, the devil may just be after you next. If only they had known the devil didn't scare her for she had already danced in the face of death with him.

Unaware they were staring in the face of the villain of their drunken tales, Isla would lure them back to her home, giving them a taste of what they wanted from her; a kiss from her soft lips, a touch of her warm flesh. When she knew their inhibitions were down, and she had exuded control, she dug her sharp fangs into their neck, and didn't stop feeding until she had used all her strength to tear their heads from their pathetic bodies, feeble and limp. Isla relished in the kill. She lived for the euphoria that flooded her system as she drained the life from one's body. She craved the sensation that pricked at her skin the second their blood touched her lips. She never grew bored of the feeling, for it made her feel alive.

     Just like a cunning spider, she lured her prey into her spiderweb, entangled them in her darkness, and swallowed them whole when they no longer served her.

     And with her newfound hunger for blood that wrapped around her throat and squeezed tight, controlling her every instinct and inhibition, was her desire for one thing—one thing she believed was stronger than her craving for blood—revenge.

     Isla Salvatore couldn't and wouldn't forget about her time spent with him. The same devil she danced with in the glow of the moonlight—the man she gave her heart to only for him to rip it out of her chest—he betrayed her in the worst way a man could betray his lover. . . He left her. He left her behind to rot. While he hid from his enemies, she paid the price with her life. The violence behind her death, left behind in the aftermath of the chaos, cradling her broken heart in the palm of her sickly and frail hands, it allowed for something to be reborn in its place. Bitterness burrowed deep within her chest. It poisoned her mind, her body, and her decrepit soul, turning her very being into something cruel and rotten.

Isla would like to think she could forget all about him, just like how she forgot all about her humanity. But once she came down from the high that the taste of blood gave her, he was there. In her head, in her dreams, chipping away at the stone wall around her barely beating heart.

And she hated him for it. So much so that she wanted him dead.

But until she could find him again, if he was still out there, she would relish in her kills a little while longer.

     Isla inhaled sharply as the maid—stuck under her mind control—tied the corset around her petit frame, each tug on the lace trapping her figure in something almost suffocating. Nonetheless, Isla held her breath and continued to endure her discomfort until it was over, the woman sighing in relief as she turned around to face the maid, hooking her finger beneath the young girl's chin and tilting her head up, locking eyes for a moment. Isla smirked fondly, a soft chuckle leaving her plumped lips as she spoke. "You may leave us now..." without uttering a single word, the girl did as she was told and left Isla alone with her latest victim.

"I don't understand," The man uttered in confusion, his hand pressed firmly against the side of his neck, streaks of dried blood clinging to his pale skin, staining his garments he was wearing from the night before. "You...you bit me. Why did you bite me?"

Isla turned her attention to the man, his messy dark locks sticking to his forehead caked in beads of sweat, while he couldn't take his frantic brown eyes off of her. Isla had told him to remain calm while she fed on him bit by bit. She promised that once she was done she would let him go. But Isla loved the pleasure of a good and cruel lie, watching as each person she killed slowly realised they were going to die at her own deadly hands. She had been the victim of those lies many times without truly realising it. So, she didn't mind forcing others into the same twisted mind game she herself fell for. She knew it was harsh, but these days, she didn't seem to care either.

     Isla tutted as she walked towards him, adjusting the brown curls that bounced against her shoulders. "Right...you poor man things have no clue," Isla muttered harshly underneath her breath. "See, I'm a vampire. And, you, you are just some poor soul who couldn't keep it in his pants. That wedding ring on your finger didn't stop you from following me home last night," She explained, watching as the man lowered his scared eyes for a moment to gaze upon the gold wedding band on his finger. "And, well, I don't take too kindly towards men like you...I don't think your wife would have either...so I'm doing her a favour," She then stated, turning away from him before she looked back at the mirror displayed in front of her.

     Isla was silent as she admired herself in the mirror. She curled her hair around her fingers, pushing some of her thick locks away from her face. But her mischievous and cunning smile faltered for a moment when she lowered her gaze to the necklace that hung loosely from her skinny neck. She raised her hand to gently graze her fingertips along the silver chain, moving down to the oval pendant that remained attached to the chain. Isla inhaled sharply, holding onto her breath as she analysed the details on the pendant, her finger tracing over the flower carvings with a ghost-like touch. A dull ache struck her chest all of a sudden, reminders of him coming back to haunt her all over again.

     Truth is, their time together made it impossible to forget. Isla's hand trembled as it hovered over the pendant a little longer, anger coaxing her sudden decision to grab ahold of it and tear it from her neck, tossing the old relic to the side, but the dull ache in her chest remained. It made her angry, resentful, scorned with the knowledge that she couldn't erase him from her history.

     "But it was a mistake..." The man uttered, his voice shaky while he spoke. Isla looked back at him to see the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "I love my wife."

     Isla let out a bitter laugh in response, shaking her head in a disapproving manner as she walked past the mirror and towards the curtains. She looked closely at the crack between the curtains shielding her from the sunlight, and she didn't know what possessed her to do it, but she slowly stuck her hand out into the ray of sunlight piercing into the bedroom. However, the second her flesh hit the bright summer rays, she felt a burning sensation erode across the flesh of her hand, watching through a pain riddled gaze as the sun blistered her skin. Isla could only withstand the heat for so long before she withdrew her palm from the sunlight, looking down at her hand to see she was healing until she was as good as new.

     The woman could never explain why she tested fate and harmed herself. Maybe she loved the game of being invincible for the most part. Or maybe there was always something deeply wrong with her, like her father had always prophesied. But if you were to ask Isla, in some sick and maniacal way, the pain was a reminder she was still alive.

     "Please, if you loved your wife, you wouldn't be here with me..." Isla scoffed in amusement, quickly moving past the rays of sun so she was now standing in front of the man, towering over him while he sat on the edge of the bed, completely and utterly confused. "Sorry, silly me, I should've asked you for your name."

     "T...Tom," He replied, stuttering over his own words.

"Well, Tom, let me tell you a few things about love," Isla paused for a moment, trying to mask her own hidden pain with twisted humour. "I was in love once. So in love that it felt like I couldn't breathe without them. Do you want to know where that love got me?" She asked. Tom hesitated, but nodded his head, like it was his basic human instinct to agree with her. "Dead in a ditch, neck snapped. Love is a curse, Tom. Your wife will learn that once you're gone."

"Once I'm gone?" The man uttered, his voice barely above a calm whisper.

"Yeah, but trust me, your wife will be better off without you," Isla retorted, inching closer to him, closing in on her kill, just like a predator hunting down her prey.

Tom's mind screamed at him to run, but for some reason, he couldn't move a muscle. "But you told me you would let me go," Tom reminded her in a panicked tone.

Isla stopped in front of him once she was close enough, smirking down at the man with a small sigh leaving her lips. "I changed my mind," She shrugged. "The only difference is that I'm full, so I have no desire to feed on you," She explained in a nonchalant manner.

"So, what are you going to do with me?" Tom questioned further, fear glimmering in his dark eyes. Isla loved it when they feared her.

Without hesitation, without uttering another word, and without giving any warning to the man, Isla grabbed ahold of his head, placing both hands on either side of his thick skull before she snapped his neck in two. Just like someone had once done to her. Isla watched with content as Tom's limp body fell backwards into the bed, the life draining from his eyes in just a small matter of seconds.

Isla began to hum contently to herself, continuing to move around the room, stepping over a few bodies in her path until she stopped in her tracks once again, lowering her gaze upon the necklace she threw to the ground moments before. Isla felt her smile fade from her lips as she bent over to pick it up, wrapping the silver chain around her fingers as she stood up straight again, her narrowed eyes staring down at the pendant with resentment and animosity burning in her rotten heart. Whenever she felt her humanity slipping away, reminders of him came creeping up on her, haunting her every move, ripping away every chance of peace she believed she was destined to have.

Isla knew that as long as he breathed, as long as she had the knowledge of his existence somewhere out there, she would never be at peace with herself again. She knew one day the time would come, when their paths crossed again, and he would fall into her trap, just like all the other men after him.

And, so, she waited patiently, diligently. And when that day comes, which she knew it would, Isla Salvatore would be the one to kill him.

She was going to kill Klaus Mikaelson.

━━━━━━━━

authors note.
Oh Isla Salvatore...how I love you. She may be one of my fav ocs atm because I just love how tortured and psychotic she is (which will make her and Katherine the perfect duo in this story). I honestly can't wait to get into this book, and as I've been binging TVD again, it's safe to say I have so many ideas that I can't wait to include, so this story will be my priority to write for now.

Until then I hope you guys enjoyed this little intro and I'll be posting chapter one very soon!!