#dbreedopen

Strange as this town felt, Peter was understandably nervous about being in Mystic Falls during the Full Moon; while he may have been able to shift at will, the pull of the full moon was exceptionally strong, and he could only wonder what sort of chaos this town would bring about Saturday night.

It started when that woman had mentioned Mystic Falls as being a place for supernaturals to be ... that vampires spoke to each other ... and recommended the town.

Peter hadn't realized it at the time, but a door had opened in his mind, right into the depths of his torso, beyond the pit of his gut ... and he wanted nothing more than to get out of Virginia right at that moment; this entire town was crawling with werewolves and vampires and witches ... something was wrong with the balance of life and death, and the Roma wolf wanted nothing of it.

He knew he'd said two days, just two days, and it hadn't even been one--but he was determined on finding Roman and convincing his friend to get the fuck out of Mystic Falls. In an attempt to get back to his friend's car sooner, he cut across a yard--just what sort of yard it was, he didn't know, could have been the yard of a house, or a schoolyard, or a churchyard--regardless, it was not exactly his smartest of moves, but Peter wasn't in his right mind right then ... because that door was open, wiiiiiiiiiide open ...

And suddenly, he snapped.

His head jerked up straight as his eyes immediately grew distant, pupils dilating as though hypnotized; he staggered forward, just a few steps more, before falling onto his knees.

He saw it in flashes; the sacrificial deaths of the witches. Screams. So many screams. And pain.

It started with an explosion, the image making him wince, releasing a quiet whimper on a single syllable. Fire and stone and glass, bodies torn apart and charred, smoke filling the sky as a dark and ominous cloud ...

Next, he saw wolves--they were people, but they were wolves ... but they were human ... and they were neither ... what was this? What?

"Don't show me that ... don't ..."

Hearts, hearts ripped from chests so easily, blades severing heads ...

"... stop ... stop it," he whimpered, shutting his eyes tightly as he rocked back and forth; Peter lifted his hands to his head, pressing his wrists to his brow, furrowed from pain, as his fingers curled. "Don't tell me that ..." he pleaded ...

"Mil truj ... fuck ... fuck-fuck-fuck ... shit ... stop ... please ... shit," he muttered under his breath, begging.

The next image he saw, women ... witches ... in a circle, around two more, one about to stab the other with a dagger ... and then, someone, turning that very blade against her, and when she fell, so did each of the others, one after the other ... dead ...

"Shit ... shit-shit-shit-shit-stop it," he gasped, whimpering as he leaned forward, hugging himself, gripping his own shoulders tightly as he pressed his chest to his legs.

The final image, he saw ... he saw the veil dropping, and the dead coming to life again. Words could not express the terror that the wolf felt at that thought, the overwhelming fear and sadness that enveloped his soul. This was unnatural ...

"The fuck am I supposed to do about it?" he murmured as the images faded.

"Mystic ... Falls ... Virginia, hm?"

The stage was set; bless the students and faculty of Mystic Falls High Schools for opting to put on a production that wasn't, by his standards at least, complete nonsense. Musicals, however, tended to cause the professor's brows to lift curiously. He wasn't sure what exact production this was--and though he would rather see a performance of Shakespeare or Tennessee Williams, he understood the need for something "chipper" or "exciting".

Perhaps so did he; after the last events that had transpired with him within the walls of the theatre, his sanctuary ... which hadn't so much become place of complete reverie to him anymore, holding a slight bit of tarnish on its otherwise pristine pedestal within his mind.

None of that horror was reflected on the stage, the set, in the aisles and seats and balconies of the house--no, everything was as it should be; and honestly, he had to give the set builders credit because credit was due; it looked marvelous.

But still, that heaviness pulled his heart within his chest, as he stood barefoot in the center of the stage and began to recite solemnly.

"I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises, and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory ..." He sighed, glancing upward to motion among the rafters. "This most excellent canopy--the air. Look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament. This majestical roof fretted with golden fire." Nathaniel dropped his arms to his sides amidst a sorrowful sigh.

"Why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors."

He paused, looking out into the rows upon rows of empty seats before suddenly announcing with wonder.

"What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason ... how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel ... in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!" He stopped then, glancing to the floor with an inexplicably heavy heart, eyes so full of sadness that even the strongest man could drown within them.

"And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me."

He suddenly turned to the figure who had entered the auditorium, pointing dramatically with an almost mocking playfulness.