The conversation with Stefan had ended not with a resolution, but with a weary, mutual admission of necessity. I walked away from the clearing, leaving the ruins of Damon's hope and the lingering tension of the brother's broken bond behind me. Now, the full moon was my sole companion, a cold, indifferent eye illuminating the shadows cast by the dense forest. The dread was a physical thing. A stone lodged beneath my ribs, confirming that the catastrophe at the tomb was only the prelude to Katherine's real performance.
But the immediate, sharp worry piercing through the ancient callus around my heart wasn't for Katherine. It was for Sheila.
I couldn't scrub the image of her from my mind. The sheer exhaustion etched into her features when she confessed to changing the spell. The Bennett Witches carried a power too heavy for human shoulders, and tonight Sheila had taken on a burden meant for legions. She had altered the spell that l gave and turn it into a permanent seal, but she had done it on her own strength, straining her body and spirit to a point of no return. The knowledge that she had chosen her moral purity, refusing her granddaughter from being touch by my dark spell, over her own life was a painful reminder of the chasm between us.
As I drew nearer to Sheila's modest house, the air itself changed. It grew thick and heavy, saturated with the faint, residual scent of burnt sage and damp earth. It was the olfactory signature of immense, draining magic. Through the windows, the faint, warm glow of the lights, casting soft, restless shapes against the drawn curtains.
I knocked once, a sharp, controlled rap. The silence that followed was oppressive. The the door creaked open, and Bonnie stood framed in the doorway.her young face, usually alight with defiant energy, was pale and drawn. Her eyes wide and haunted by worry.
"Natalia." She whispered. Her voice was rough and barely a breath.
"Is everything okay?" I asked and I didn't offer a social platitude. I gave a curt nod, a mask of cold efficiency in place, and stepped past her into the dimly lit room. The tension inside was palpable. A live hummung with the lingering, oppressive remnants of the magic that had nearly torn the earth apart. It clung to the walls, heavy and sour.
Elena sat on the edge of a worn, floral pattered couch. Her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her anxiety radiating off her in nervous pulses. But her gaze wasn't on me. It was fixed entirely on the figure beside her, Sheila.
The older witch looked worse than I had feared. Her skin, which normally possessed a rich, healthy warmth, had taken on an unsettling, grey pallor. Dark, bruised circles lay beneath her eyes, and though she sat upright, a tremor ran through her hands. It took everything in her to maintain that rigid, upright postur, which is a final, defiant stand against physical collapse.
Bonnie followed me as she sinked onto the arm of the couch. Her concern for her grandmother clearly shown on her face that full with worry. Elena looked between the three of us. Her mouth slightly open, a silent plea hanging on her lips.
I moved slowly, deliberately, dropping to a couch directly in front of Sheila. I kept my voice low, forgetting our fight back at the tomb, stripping away the vampire's edge, trying to access a forgotten and gentler tone.
"Have you now realize the price for not listening to your elders." I said and Sheila faintly smile and a weak giggle escaped her lips before she cough of exhaustion. My face turn to worry and sympathy.
"Sheila." I said softly. My voice was barely above a whisper.
"You have pushed yourself too far. You have given everything you had tonight. Let me help you." I said and her tired eyes met mine. Her eyes were still blazing with a defiant, ancestral pride.
"I don't need your help, Natalia."
"You do." I insisted as I leaned closer and my own body radiating a controlled predatory heat that contrasted with her growing coldness.
"If you don't take my blood to recover, your body is going to collapse under the strain of magic. You need to heal. Your spirit is attempting to hear itself free from its vessel."
"I will not drink vampire blood." Sheila's gaze hardened. She shook her head firmly. Her resolve was an unbreakable shield.
Bonnie gasped softly. Her eyes darting frantically between the two of us, realization dawning. Elena looked utterly confused, unable to comprehend the rejection of a miracle cure.
"Sheila, please. This is not about pride. It's about survivak. You have drained yourself. If you don't take something to recover, you may not make it through the night. The price of your pride is too high." I pleaded. The word catching in my throat, a rare crack in my composure.
"I know what I have done, Natalia. I know the risks when I choose to go against your words. But I won't become dependant on vampire blood. I refuse to taint myself with that poison." Sheila's expression softened. A brief flash of maternal pity, but her resolve remained unbent.
My hands clenched into fists. The familiar surge of frustrating rising. The frustration of a thousand year old predator unable to force a mortal to accept aid.
"This isn't about tainting yourself! It's about staying alive! It's a temporary measure! If you don't do this, you will-"
"I will take my chances." Sheila interrupted. Her tone firm yet gentle. It was laced with a finality that brooked no argument. She reached out, placing a hand on mine. Her skin was unnervingly cold.
"I appreciate what you are trying to do. But I won't compromise who I am. Not even for this."
I stared at her. The reality of my helplessness washing over me. For all my strength, all my power, I couldn't breach this final, stubborn wall of her morality. She had made her choice, and it was a choice rooted in a purity I had abandoned centuries ago.
"Sheila...if you don't take my blood, you might not wake up tomorrow." I stood up slowly, my hands dropping to my sides. She gave me a sad, knowing smile. Her eyes filled with terrifying mixture of gratituide and resignation.
"Then that's a risk I will have to live with."
"Grams..." Bonnie's breath hitched. A choked sound of fear and disbelief. Sheila turned to Bonnie. Her expression melting intp pure, fierce love.
"I have lived a long life, Bonnie. And I will continue to fioght for as long as I can. But I won't cross that line. The magic in me must remain clean."
I couldn't stay. The know of fear and worry was unbearable. To lose Sheila, one of the few people who had looked at me and seen something beyond the monster, wass a loss I couldn't yet compute. But she had made her choice and to linger was to witness her slow, deliberate passing.
"I hope you are righty." I said quietly. My voice was rough, acknowledging her strength one last time. I turned and walked toward the door. Bonnie called after me, her voice breaking on a high, desperate note, but I didn't turn back. I couldn't.
As I stepped out into the cool night air, the full weight of my failure pressed down on me. I had come here to help, to make amends, to do something right. I had been turned away. The thought of losing Sheila, after she had gambled everything on my plan, was almost unbearable.
I walked away from the house, my mind racing. The night was eerily silent, save for the sound of my footsteps crunching against the dirt path. I needed to clear my head, to distance myself from the volatile mix of emotions churning inside me. I needed the cold, clinical distance of my home.
I didn't slow my pace until I reached my massive mansion that has just finished remodelling. I wasted no time on lighting, heading straight for the library. The large oak doors groaned open as I stepped inside, the familiar scent of old leather, aged parchment, and dust motes settling over me. A comforting, centuries old shroud.
I made my way to the far wall, to a specific, almost hidden section of shelves. There, an old leather bound journal sat. Its pages were worn soft, the edges frayed from years of relentless use. This journal was my confession, my chronology, my witness. It was a documentation of every moment of triumph and every abyss of despair across my long existence.
Tonight, I needed to write. I needed to impose order on the chaos.
I pulled the journal from the shelf and walked over to the massive mahogany desk in the center of the room. The moonlight streamed through the tall windows, cutting sharp, silver lines across the floor. I opened the journal to a crisp, blank page, a void waiting to be filled with the night's heavy truths.
My hand trembled slightly as I grabbed a pen. It was not from fear of exposure, but from the sheer, raw exhaustion of feeling.
October 26, 2010.
Today was a disaster.
I paused, staring at the words. They felt offensively inadequate. The turmoil that had unfolded, the betrayal, the failed gambit, the impending death of an ally which deserved a more epic prologue. But the simplicity stood. It was the only unvarnished truth remaining.
The tomb was opened, and Katherine wasn't there. Damon's heart is shattered, and he has been consumed by a 145 year old lie. Now we know she's been free this entire time, walking among us, watching us, while we searched in vain. The betrayal in Damon's eyes was painful to witness, but it doesn't earn my pity. He is reckless, dangerous, and utterly blinded by his obsession with her. Stefan is no better, risking his life to save someone who, in Damon's shoes, would likely leave him to burn.
I set the pen down, rubbing my temples. The images flickered behind my closed eyes. The gaping, shadow mouthed tomb, the crack of Noah's neck, and the defiant, proud posture of Sheila.
But my greatest concern tonight isn't Katherine, Damon, or even Stefan. It's Sheila Bennett. She refused my help, refused the one thing that could save her. She is a formidable woman, proud and determined. But her strength, rooted in her uncompromising morality, may be her downfall. I cannot compel her. I cannot force her. I don't know what I will do if she doesn't make it through the night. I have lost too many people already to the consequences of magic and pride. I don't want to add another name into the list. She is the only reason the tomb is now sealed permanently, a consequence I must now deal with.
The words spilled onto the page, heavy and honest. It had been so long since I had allowed myself to feel this deeply about anyone. Since I had recognized a kindred, stubborn spirit in a mortal witch. The thought of her dying because of her refusal to drink my blood, the very source of my power and my curse, filled me with a deep, crushing sense of dread.
And then there's Jeremy. His eyes. It haunts me.
I had to pause here, the pen hovering above the page. The memory of the clearing, the boy held hostage, the moonlight illuminating his fearful, wide eyes.
When I looked at him in the moonlight, seeing his fear and the stubborn set of his jaw... for one terrible moment, the centuries collapsed. He wasn't Jeremy Gilbert. He was Daniel. My brother. I saw his face pale beneath the flickering firelight, just before I lost him to the chaos. I saw his small hand slipping from mine. It's irrational. Jeremy isn't Daniel, and he never will be. But I can't shake the feeling that fate is playing some cruel joke on me, forcing me to relive the past through him, forcing me to become a protector I failed to be a thousand years ago.
I clenched my jaw, fighting back the wave of ancient, corrosive grief.
I've lived for over a millennium, and yet tonight, I feel as lost as I did the day I first became this creature. The lines between right and wrong, good and evil, have always been blurred for me. It was like an existential gray smeared with blood. But now, more than ever, I wonder if there's any hope of redemption for a soul like mine. I've done terrible, unspeakable things. But perhaps... just perhaps... protecting this new bloodline, protecting Elena, protecting Jeremy, can be my way of making amends. A silent, desperate prayer etched in the blood of my enemies.
I closed the journal, the heavy leather cover sealing in the night's confessions. The mansion was silent, a vast, echoing tomb of my own making.
I hoped Sheila would survive the night. I hoped that, somehow, her own powerful will would be enough to sustain her. But deep down, the ancient, rational part of me knew the true cost of that kind of magic. I couldn't shake the crushing certainty that I might lose her.
And if that happened, I knew exactly who would be to blame.
Me.