The dim candlelight spread across the room, soft and trembling. Outside, crickets sang their endless lullaby, guardians of the night. Everything slept—save for the things that lurked in shadows… and me.
I sat curled at the small desk, quill in hand, ink staining my fingers. Writing like this still felt strange. The feather pen was temperamental, the ink stubborn, but I was improving. Slowly. Patiently. Just like Seren used to tell me—practice makes peace.
My twin brother had always said there was something therapeutic about writing your feelings down. That once they lived on paper, they hurt a little less.
It was our thing.
We used to exchange diaries—can you imagine? Two idiots trusting each other with the messiest thoughts imaginable. We'd read them secretly, then scribble silly notes in the margins. Little jokes. Bad drawings. Quiet reassurances.
Seren was the only one who knew everything about me.
Even the bullying.
He had done something about it too. For a while, it stopped. Then it turned quieter. Isolation instead of cruelty.
And then it came back worse than before.
That was when I stopped writing about pain altogether. I chose kindness instead. Little joys. Gratitude. Proof that waking up and simply existing was something worth celebrating.
If I was the sun, Seren was the calm of the night.
Only one of us could go to school.
He chose me.
Father argued. Seren didn't budge.
He gave me the chance to graduate, and I carried the responsibility of teaching him in return. From a very young age, I became a strict teacher—despite the fact that he technically came first.
I insisted I was the elder one.
He disagreed.
We accepted that this argument would never end.
The memory pulled a smile from my lips as I bent over the page, writing crookedly, ink smudging here and there.
I hesitated… then began.
Dear Seren,
I don't regret to inform you that I am… happy. (Even though you would never know)
Yes. That happy.
The kind that makes me uncomfortable because I don't trust it yet.
The past few days have been absurdly nice. Like "this is definitely a setup" nice. I laughed—laughed—not the polite kind I use to survive, but the real kind that escapes before I can stop it.
I rode a horse today.
Correction: I was nearly murdered by a horse named Boreas, who is large, broody, dramatic, and painfully aware of his own beauty. We are allies now only because I discovered his tragic weakness: apples.
You and Elios would love him.
He's stubborn. Dramatic. And secretly soft when bribed properly.
Note to self—always carry apples.
Works on horses. Possibly on men too.
Speaking of men…
Klaus Mikaelson is exhausting.
Annoying.
Insufferable.
He laughs like the world hasn't disappointed him yet, and I hate that it makes my chest feel warm. He showed off today—rode Boreas like they were one being—and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
I will deny this under oath.
Elijah Mikaelson is worse in a different way. Quiet. Polite. Steady. The kind of man who makes you feel safe without saying a word. He gave me an apple like it was a sacred offering and watched me smile like it mattered.
That should be illegal.
Klaus paints, by the way. He wants to teach me. I'd never be as good as Eliza though. She always had magic in her hands. I just… admired from the side.
Together, they are too much.
I keep waiting for something bad to happen. That familiar drop in my stomach. In my old life, happiness was always just out of reach—like a door I wasn't allowed to open.
Here, it just… shows up. Sits beside me.
Hands me an apple.
Suspicious Indeed.
Still, I had fun. I was carefree. For a little while, I forgot how heavy living used to be.
I hope Mama is happy. I hope she isn't grieving me too much. Please tell her—if somehow you can—that I'm okay. That I'm smiling. That this feels like a second chance at life. (This feels stupid, like a letter to you. When you don't even exist in this world)
I don't know how long this peace will last, but I want to remember it. I want proof that joy existed—even briefly.
If this happiness is borrowed, then I will hold it gently.
And if Boreas tries to throw me off again, I will emotionally blackmail him with fruit.
Goodnight, Seren.
I miss you every time the world goes quiet.
— Your stubborn sun
My hand stilled.
The candle flickered.
I closed the journal carefully, pressing it to my chest for a moment longer than necessary.
For the first time since waking in this strange world, I wasn't thinking about fate or fear or what I was supposed to do.
I just wanted to live.
Fully. Honestly.
With that thought, I lay down, candle extinguished, the night wrapping around me like an old friend.
Tomorrow would come.
And for once…I was looking forward to it.
_____
The next morning, instead of Klaus's relentless presence and Elijah's serene, ever-knowing smile, I was greeted by a maid.
This was… unsettling.
She entered with a practiced grace, setting my breakfast tray upon the table like nothing in the world was amiss. Warm bread, fruit, tea—everything perfect.
Too perfect.
"Where is Lord Niklaus?" I asked, trying not to sound as disappointed as I felt. "And Lord Elijah?"
The maid paused only briefly before replying, her smile carefully neutral.
"The lords are… occupied today, my lady."
That was it.
No details. No reassurance. Just occupied. They didn't even care to inform me about their endeavours. I could have joined or maybe they didn't want me to join.
Even Trevor was absent—which, frankly, was the most alarming part of all. That man never missed an opportunity to hover like an anxious shadow.
I nodded politely and thanked her, but unease lingered long after she left.
So, naturally, I did the only sensible thing.
I went to the library.
If I was going to be abandoned by powerful, annoyingly handsome noblemen, I would at least do so surrounded by books.
The library was vast—rows upon rows of leather-bound volumes, heavy with age and authority. I spent hours drifting between shelves, skimming histories, poetry, medical texts, and philosophical ramblings that said very little in far too many words.
And then I found something really fascinating.
A book tucked far too high on a shelf labeled—quite boldly—RESTRICTED.
Curiosity has always been my fatal flaw, mix with the thrill of reading something forbidden added all the more fun. Does the books contain some witchy juju I could possibly learn but for that I need to be a witch. I would love to be a witch with powers than a vampire.
I'm glad I am not a vampire, Imagine living for eternity. Pure torture. I remember the detail of Katrina being a vampire (I have no idea, why? Or how she became one) Nonetheless now that I am possessing the body the choice would be mine, little did I know what the future had stored for me.
I opened the one of the restricted book.
The language was… polite. Painfully so. Flowery, formal, excessively respectful.
It was also very explicit.
Smut, apparently, existed even in this era—just dressed up in manners and metaphors. The scandal! The audacity! The commitment to propriety while describing acts that were anything but.
I closed the book slowly, cheeks warm.
And then, naturally, I hid it inside another volume and kept it for safekeeping.
For academic purposes.
Obviously.
By evening, my eyes ached and my mind buzzed from too much reading and too many unanswered questions. Klaus still hadn't appeared. His absence weighed heavier than I wanted to admit.
I was getting used to their presence and I didn't like it at all. Relying on someone so much was unhealthy. I realized they were my only friend here. Sadly I still am a loner, I am not to blame finding an open minded women in this era was quite hard.
It was sad how the system here has brainwashed women to think only of serving their husband and giving birth to children.
Thinking of children... Didn't this body gave birth to one? Everything was so chaotic, I forgot about the child. I hope the child is alive and well. Even if I want to find that child I don't know where to start.
I left the library in search of Klaus.
Instead, I found Elijah.
He stood near the windows, hands clasped behind his back, the fading sunset casting him in gold and shadow. He looked… tired. Not physically—Elijah never looked anything less than composed—but something quieter sat behind his eyes.
"Klaus is still busy?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"I'm afraid so," he said gently. "He sends his apologies."
Of course he does.
Disappointment pricked, sharp and unwelcome. I forced a smile, waving it off.
"It's fine. Truly. He's… annoying anyway. I should enjoy a day of peace."
A lie. A small one. Still a lie.
Elijah watched me carefully, far too perceptive for my comfort.
An idea sparked—impulsive, reckless, but very necessary.
"Would you like to go out?" I asked suddenly. "There's a night market in town, isn't there? I've been roaming this mansion for days. I think the walls are starting to judge me."
For a moment, he seemed surprised.
Then he smiled.
It was softer than usual. Warmer.
"I would be delighted," Elijah said, offering his arm. "Some fresh air would do us both good."
And just like that, we were off.