Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She drifted in the darkness. Where was she?

She tried to open her eyes. No response. Why couldn't she open her eyes? 

---

Over the next - hours, days, years? - she lost all sense of time. Thoughts floated by like leaves on a stream, softly, leisurely passing by. There was no rush, why would there be? She was warm and safe, enveloped in this blissful cocoon and protected from the outside world. There were times where she could almost feel something: a nudge, a sound, a rush of adrenaline. But for the most part, she was numb.

That is, until it happened. First, it was a tremor, a rush of fluid. Then, a squeeze of the walls around her, as suddenly she was pushed towards a bright light and the sound of a cry. That was when she remembered.

---

It was evening as she rode the nearly-empty bus back to her dorm. Her eyes were glued to the screen of her phone as she checked her thesis one last time before she, heart pounding in her chest, moved her thumb towards the submit button. This was the culmination of almost two years of nonstop work, late evenings at the lab whilst simultaneously juggling trying to graduate early under the weight of her undergraduate course-load, and countless sleepless nights typing pages upon pages of research. She had plenty of reason to be nervous; after all, this paper was going to be what finally got her her master's degree.

Startled out of her thoughts, s he almost dropped the phone when it abruptly buzzed like a hornet's nest. She sighed as she read the notification. Amanda, one of the most careless freshman in her dorm, had forgotten her room key. Again. And Amanda wanted her to unlock her room immediately because she had a hot date and hadn't "gotten any" in months, and where was she? She was her RA, of course she didn't have a life of her own and could teleport straight to Amanda's doorway in five seconds! Why had she signed up for this, again? Oh, right, to remain in the dorms after she'd gotten her bachelor's last May and save money on the housing costs that her scholarship didn't cover. At least she'd be done with all this in three months and onto her prestigious, fully-funded PhD program.

And that was her last thought as the bus suddenly jerked with a loud crash, and all she could feel was pain, pain, pain and the sound of screaming.

---

She cried. And she knew she was dead - because she had died - or was she? Had she been reborn?

"Can I - can I hold them?" A soft voice said.

"Of course, Isobel." She felt herself passed into soft arms and trembling fingers, and deposited onto a chest. For the first time, she opened her eyes. Through blurry vision, she saw the face of a woman - no, a girl - above her. Something about this girl, Isobel, seemed familiar. And then she realized, that must be her mother.

"The oldest one will be Elena. I've always liked that name. And the youngest will be - she has my grandmother's eyes, my mother always said Elisaveta Stefanova's eyes were violet. That'll be her name, Elisaveta." Tears gathered in Isobel's eyes. "They won't know my family, will they? They won't know me," Isobel whispered, her voice shaking. "But it's worth it. They'll have a better life."

Hours later, Miranda and Grayson Gilbert introduced their new daughters.

"What are their names?" Miranda's younger sister Jenna asked, as she gazed at the twins.

"Elena and Eliza Gilbert."

Chapter Text

Elisaveta Gilbert. No, she would call herself Eliza, the shorter version of her birth name that Miranda Gilbert had already dubbed her. That was her new name, or at least the one written by the doctor, Grayson, on her birth certificate. Was she - was she really going to simply accept this new life, chained to this tiny, flimsy body that could barely move on its own?

She had lost everything - her name, her body, her identity. Years of blood, sweat, and tears - years of sacrifice for her accomplishments, of clawing herself to the top by any means necessary, and for what? Just to die at the young age of 20 in an utterly insignificant way, body wrecked from the crash. What would they say about her, when  they sat at her funeral and watched her casket lowered into the ground? In twenty years, they’d all forget about her anyway, all except her mother. And her mother, what would her mother do without her?

No, no. She couldn’t think about that. Not when she was blissfully alive - living, breathing, and thinking. She wouldn’t lose hope, after all, she had a second chance. How many people could say that?

As she - Eliza, she had to remember, her name was Eliza - was passed around to various family members of Miranda and Grayson - not her parents, she could hardly think of Isobel, who had given birth to her, as a parent, much less these strangers - she realized there was something unsettlingly familiar about some of their faces. Had she known them before her unwitting reincarnation? (And, despite the realities of the situation, she was still having trouble believing it was really happening. She had never believed in life after death; although many religions had preached it, there had never been any scientific evidence. But she could only be grateful that she had been wrong.)

This state of quiet contemplation was interrupted by a sudden, shrieking wail from the other infant in the room.

”Elena!” Miranda rushed towards her sister, who was trying but failing to calm her niece. 
“Jenna Maria Sommers, what did you do?”

Through her adoptive aunt's indignant protests, Eliza’s eyes focused - as much as the eyes of a newborn could focus - on the face of the girl that held her twin (and Eliza had a twin, wasn’t that strange). As she stared at the young face of Jenna Sommers, an earth-shattering realization gripped her.
Jenna, Miranda, Grayson, Isobel, and baby Elena - oh god, Elena. The names burned like hot coals into her mind as she remembered a television show from years ago, back when she still had time to watch TV.

Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no, no.

This couldn’t be happening. It just - it just couldn’t. As far as she could recall, Elena Gilbert had never had a twin sister in the series. This was all just some fever dream, she hadn't really died, she was just in a coma from the accident, and she’d wake up to her mother’s worried face and tired eyes, right? 

Right?

After several days - or weeks, maybe, it was hard to tell time as a newborn infant - Eliza finally acknowledged that it was all real, she really had been reborn in a world that either had strikingly similar individuals (including her own twin sister) to a TV show or actually WAS in a world based on that TV show. She had stopped expecting to wake up in a hospital bed, had stopped expecting to see her mother's face when she woke up from every frustratingly-long nap. Instead, she got used to the cries of baby Elena, the white-blue walls of the nursery, and the soft smiles of Miranda Gilbert as she fed them the (surprisingly delicious) formula.

However, this acknowledgement of her new reality created new problems - mainly, how the hell was she going to get out of the supernatural mess alive and (preferably) in one piece? As a human infant who currently couldn't even feed herself, Eliza was helpless against the likes of vampires, witches, and werewolves. Though the dangers were likely at least 16 years away, she didn't fancy waiting year after year like a lamb contemplating its upcoming slaughter. No, she had to take precautions and find a way to protect herself. If only that weren't so hard.

From Isobel's comments on her eyes at her birth, Eliza knew she was not Elena's identical twin, and therefore, not a doppleganger. Therefore, if she did nothing, she would probably share the fate of the (as of yet unborn) Jeremy Gilbert: the role of the defenseless human hostage against her sister. For a moment, her coldly logical brain came up with a possible solution: getting rid of the problem known as Elena Gilbert before her doppleganger appearance ever made itself known. After all, if Elena hadn't been a doppleganger, and thus a danger magnet. the supernatural world would never have gotten involved with Mystic Falls. 

But as soon as the thought came, Eliza knew she couldn't do it. Elena wasn't just a future hazard, she was the baby in the crib next to her sucking on her toes - her tiny, delicate twin sister. She had never even had a sibling before, much less a twin, but the thought of harm coming to this innocent being next to her was absolutely horrifying. No, she could not eliminate her sister.

But then, what could she do? 

Plan A, the obvious solution, would be getting the heck out of dodge as soon as possible. In her past life, she had gotten a scholarship to attend college on the other side of the country at 16 (not that it had been good for her mental health, but at least she'd gotten out of a toxic household years before she reached her legal majority). Now, Eliza had all the knowledge and experience of a scientist who had published scientific papers and presented at conferences around the world, in the body of an infant with nothing but time on her hands. Although a simultaneous bachelor's and almost-master's degree in bioengineering weren't helpful to surviving the supernatural world at first-glance, it was helpful for getting into a college as far away from Mystic Falls as possible at the youngest age possible that Miranda and Grayson would allow her to attend. Because if there was one thing she was good at, it was studying.

However, leaving Mystic Falls was not a foolproof solution. After all, Elena had sent Jeremy away to protect him, and Kol Mikaelson had found him and used him as leverage anyway. And even if Eliza decided to drop all pretenses and disappear, the existence of witches who could track her location if motivated rendered that plan moot. Well, she could try to become a vampire then, to be less of a defenseless human. But no, she didn't exactly like the idea of being trapped in the body of a teenager for the rest of her life, and there was no guarantee she would be able to obtain a daylight ring before the events of the show. A lack of aging would be too hard to hide in the modern world, especially if she wanted any semblance of a career or a place in human society. So, turning was only a last resort. 

Eliza tried in vain to think of more options, more viable solutions. In her previous life, she had always relied on planning and logic in the face of any problem, and it had never failed. But she was at her wit's end, because the more she thought about it, the more she realized that there was no escaping the supernatural world. In the years to come, she could only protect herself as best as possible, in as many ways as possible. After all, she was a scientist. And a scientist never stopped thinking out of the box, nor ever abandoned common sense (which, from the show, Mystic Falls seemed to be sorely lacking). No matter what happened or what she had to do, Eliza would survive. And she would thrive.

Chapter Text

“Lizaaaaa! Eeeelizaaaa!” Elena shrieked as she toddled towards her sister, who was glaring at yet another mind-numbing picture book.

“Go away, Elena! I am trying to read!” Eliza sighed. It had been two years her rebirth, and she was bored out of her mind. The only true entertainment she had was her twin sister, and after two years of Elena’s nonstop company, it was beginning to grate on her nerves. Don’t get her wrong, she wasn’t the type to utterly despise children (once upon a time, she had wanted one of her own years into the future), but there was a reason Eliza had become a scientist rather than a preschool teacher.

“‘Lena wanna pway!” Elena waved her little fists at her sister. When that failed to garner a reaction, she yanked Eliza’s curly black locks.

“Ouch!”

“Pway, ‘Liza! Pwaaaaaaaay!”

“Stop it, Elena!” Eliza tried in vain to rescue her precious hair from the clutches of the other toddler.

“Okay, what the hell - I meant heck! I totally did! Shit, is heck even appropriate for two year olds? Oh no, don’t repeat that, any of that, Miranda is going to kill me!” 14-year-old Jenna Sommers threw her head into her hands.

Half-afraid of Jenna actually dissolving into tears, and the other half wanting to keep Jenna (who would let her do anything she wanted within reason) as a babysitter, Eliza walked over to Jenna and wrapped her tiny arms around the legs of her aunt. This semblance of a hug jolted Jenna from her state of panic.

Purposefully in the cutest, most baby-like voice she had practiced, Eliza said, “evwyone makes miss-takes. ‘Liza won’t tell Momma. As long as Liza gets cake at dinner.” (Because of course a toddler had to have a toddler-like motivation to keep silent.)

“Me too! Me too! Cake!” Elena added, jumping up and down and giggling.

Jenna laughed. “Okay, girls. Deal.”

---

On a cold October evening, Miranda Gilbert went into labor, cursing the pain of the contractions in a manner (and extensive vocabulary) remarkably like that of her younger sister. As neither Elena nor Eliza were allowed in the delivery room, Jenna Sommers, ever-faithful teenage babysitter, had once again been roped into watching them. As Jenna fruitlessly chased a giggling Elena around the hospital maternity wing, Eliza contemplated her adoptive brother’s imminent birth.

Jeremy Gilbert. Loyal brother, misguided teenager, ex-drug addict, vampire hunter, former ghost, and art student. Or at least, in the alternate future of the show. It remained to be seen which of those would be fulfilled and which, if any, would not.

As hours later, Grayson Gilbert brought out baby Jeremy for Eliza to hold, her thoughts were still churning with plans and possibilities.

---

In Eliza’s opinion, daycare was absolute hell. Worse than listening to Elena cry for three hours straight, worse than the weakness of not being able to crawl, much less walk, and much worse than not having the necessary motor coordination to speak and communicate.

Story time was an hour of horribly cringe-worthy torture (and why were all the children’s stories either blatantly moralistic or incredibly unrealistic?). For some reason, one of the daycare workers assigned to the toddlers had a fondness for Disney princesses, and wouldn’t stop gushing about how beautiful and amazingly (more like stupidly) compassionate, even to those who were mean to them, and wouldn’t you love to grow up to marry a prince and live happily ever after?

Of course, the girls ate it up, including Elena. Never mind that they had working brains and had just as much right to action figures instead of dolls. Never mind that the boys were enraptured with tales of heroic knights and powerful superheroes and saving damsels in distress; never mind that the girls could just as easily dream of saving themselves instead.

Was this why Elena had fallen for Stefan Salvatore so quickly in the show, despite the warning signs and power imbalance of a human vs. 150 year old vampire? Why self-righteous, moralistic Elena Gilbert had ignored his past as the Ripper of Monterey, murderer of hundreds, blinded by the illusion of a knight in shining armor? Eliza had never understood why the other version of her twin sister had refused to save herself, rejected self-preservation yet allowed others to die for her, but now she thought she did.

It was an easy kind of naivety to develop in an upbringing such as this, but Eliza would not let it happen this time. If her sister was to survive the supernatural mess from anything other than sheer dumb luck and/or deus ex machina (which might not even be feasible this time due to the butterfly effect of her own existence), Eliza would have to strip away all the illusions and prepare Elena for reality.

But before Eliza could prepare her sister and newborn brother for reality, she first had to prepare herself. And that was why, at the tender age of three, she had begged and begged (usually, she was not so needy, but for this she was willing to lower herself to Elena-levels of whining) until she had finally convinced Miranda and Grayson to send her to a children’s martial arts class.

So, that was why she was standing in a row with twelve other children (mostly 5 or 6 year olds, with some 3 or 4 year olds mixed in).

As she started the exercises and practiced the very basic stances, Eliza felt slightly impatient. She had never been particularly good at physical pursuits, as chronic illness had taken its toll, but this was almost too basic. When was she going to get into the actual fighting?

After months of practice, muscle memory, and deliberately showing off to the instructors, she managed to get bumped up to a higher level class. Though it was harder on her (incredibly tiny and, in her adult mind, incredibly weak) body, she relished in the challenge.

After a while, at 5 years old, Eliza even managed to break a wooden board in half with only a single punch. It wasn’t much in the scheme of things, especially against the likes of the supernatural community, but it was progress. And for now, it was enough.

---

It was after 3 and a half years of being a Gilbert that Eliza taught Elena to read. Frustrated by Grayson’s lack of attention after coming home from god knows where (in Eliza’s opinion, likely vampire hunting, working for Augustine, or a council meeting) and Miranda’s lack of energy (though she did try, at least) after both her latest 12-hour hospital shift and taking care of Jeremy, Eliza had decided to take matters into her own hands. She would not let her twin sister rely on only daycare to gain any semblance of literacy, and thus remain a poor reader until kindergarten. (Now, it is important to note that Eliza’s developmental standards, particularly in academics, were based on her own milestones in her past life, in which she had skipped multiple grades as a teenager.)

Therefore, for two years, she instituted a mandatory reading program for her sister, carefully selecting twelve interesting yet challenging books, both for their engaging content and complex (at least, for the average 5 year old) vocabulary. Eliza proceeded to dedicate two hours each day to reading with Elena. At first, her hyper twin protested at sitting still for any amount of time, so Eliza switched to standing up and acting out the scenes of the books. Then, Elena attempted to flee the sessions, but Eliza would continue to read, but as if the words were the lyrics to a song until her bored twin’s attention would inevitably be captured by the story. Eventually, Elena relented to Eliza’s efforts and, over the past two years, had soaked up knowledge like a sponge. She had become a voracious reader, and, though still struggling with grammar, added her own touch by making up rhymes to practice various grammar rules.

“In this room, I can see, ‘Liza drawing next to meee!” Elena chanted, spinning in a circle and shrieking in glee. “In her drawing, she and me— “

“It’s she and I, not she and me,” Eliza reminded.”

“Fine!” Her twin pouted. “But you have to say it with me.”

It was Eliza’s turn now to protest. But eventually, she conceded to Elena’s enthusiasm.

“She and I, are flying up into the skyyyy!” They finished together, holding hands and jumping into the air. They had become quite synchronized in the last few years, what with spending almost all their time together. Eliza was now a natural at reading Elena’s thoughts, and her twin could easily tell Eliza’s mood or state of mind. Though being a twin was a new experience, it was nice to always have a confidant (even if she was an, albeit intelligent, child). Maybe it was the notorious twin bond, but out of everyone she interacted with in her second life, it was Elena she had the strongest connection with.

Eliza’s thoughts soon became occupied with their latest curiosity: one of Elena’s newfound talents. For some reason, 5-year-old Elena had become a natural at iambic pentameter in her rhyming compositions. Perhaps she’d be a poet this time around .

Chapter Text

The first time she’d been to the basement of her father’s office, Eliza was five. Neither Jenna nor Miranda had been able to watch the twins, so Grayson had taken them to work instead. While Elena occupied herself with gleefully scribbling rhymes and stick figures on the backs (and sometimes fronts) of their adoptive father’s medical notes, Eliza had seized the chance to see his medical equipment and decided to explore the basement.

As she made her way down the stairs, she heard a strange sound, almost like choking. As she entered, Eliza gasped as she saw a ragged, dark-haired figure, drenched in blood and chained to what appeared to be a medical gurney. Instead of the expected average medical facility for a family doctor, she was met with something like the laboratory of a mad scientist in a horror movie: strangely colored vials, sharp-looking tools, and implements that looked more like medieval torture devices than medical instruments.

Augustine, Eliza realized. How could she forget that Grayson Gilbert had been a member of the travesty masquerading as a research organization known as the Augustine Society?

Years ago in her first life, as she had watched the show, she had laughed in derision at Augustine and the Armory. Hadn’t they heard of the decades-old principle of research ethics? Eliza had been required to take a long bioethics course for her master’s, and even many undergraduate students could write essays about it! Yes, Eliza acknowledged that in some cases, strict adherence to certain regulations set by politically-minded bureaucrats in government offices would do more harm than good, but to such an extent as deliberate torture? What were they even hoping to get out of it?

Eliza could think of a million different ways to explore the potential vampiric species, and none of them would ever involve such barbaric measures. Hadn’t they heard of genetic sequencing? How about cell cultures, or tissue samples? All of which could be accomplished through painless, voluntary, and fully anesthetized procedures. What was even the point of live experimentation?

Either the fully-trained scientists and doctors of Augustine, including her adoptive father, were idiots who bought into the popular culture idea of the mad scientist (which was sadly likely), and/or they were sadistic proto-vampire hunters with a torture fetish. Or maybe she was just overestimating the common sense of the human (and probably supernatural) species.

Another bloody cough from the figure - was that Lorenzo St. John? - interrupted Eliza’s mental rant. She instinctively took a step closer towards the source of the noise.

As she caught a closer glimpse of the vampire’s blood-covered face, eyelids torn and throat ripped open, her survival instinct decided that it was an excellent time to kick in. Eliza felt a rush of adrenaline as her amygdala made its opinion known in a distinctly emotional manner. AKA, she was scared out of her mind, afraid to even move or breathe, because there was a vampire - most likely hungry as hell - and she would make a nice, bloody meal.

Suddenly, Eliza heard a hoarse, breathless sound - wait, was that an attempt at speech? She hadn’t known that human (or vampire) vocal cords could even make such a sound.

Again, more clearly, the vampire on the gurney repeated in a distinctive British accent, “what’s a little kid doing here?”

Eliza had no idea what to do. Should she respond? Should she listen to her hindbrain and get as far away from this predator as she could, as fast as her legs could take her?

What the hell? Eliza thought, her rational (if it could be called that) brain kicking in. He was weakened and chained up already, and it had been so, incredibly boring these past few years. No one wanted to have an intelligent conversation with a 5 year old, no matter how “cute” or “precocious” said 5 year old girl may be. At least Enzo might be equally as bored as her, if not more.

“What’s a strange man doing here?” Eliza eventually replied.

Enzo let out a laugh that sounded more like choking. “It’s not exactly my choice.”

“Your voice sounds funny. Why?” Of course, she knew why, but it seemed like something a real child would ask. Besides, she wanted to see how Enzo would respond.

“I wasn’t born here. A long time ago, I lived in London.”

“What was it like?”

Such was the start of a strange friendship between the girl and the vampire. Enzo told her of the beauty and cruelty of 18th century London, and despite her caution, Eliza grew fascinated at the vivid, intricate details of the stories he spun. He described World Wars I and II, of gas masks and trenches and despair, of his comrades’ creative use of rations and the entertainments they’d devised, their incredible resilience in awaiting the next wave of bullets.

They spent hours just like that, the vampire lying on the gurney in chains as tubes collected and injected substances, while the girl sat at his feet, eagerly shooting out questions and excited remarks. It only came to an end when Eliza heard the door open upstairs, quickly promising to visit again, and ran back up before Grayson could find her missing.

And the girl kept her promise, weeks later, when Enzo was beginning to think he had merely imagined her presence in one of his many episodes of hallucination.

This time, his eyes and throat had healed, so it was his liver that had been removed by his latest designated scientist - this time by the name of Grayson Gilbert - and replaced with metal devices to measure “the change in blood flow” and his “response to toxins, particularly vervain” in its absence.

It was painful, of course, but he was used to it, retreating into the fog of his mind while his insides were methodically sliced and torn and opened. After all, he couldn’t become more insane than he already was.

And that was why, when Enzo heard the soft pitter-patter of footsteps and a small figure emerged from the shadows of the stairwell, he thought it was some ghost or spirit out of some twilight tale, a tiny angel drifting towards him, coming to take him away.

As the figure approached, the harsh basement light illuminated pale skin and waist-length waves of midnight black, highlighting sharp cheekbones and elegant features barely disguised by the round face and soft cheeks of youth. But most striking were her dark violet eyes, the color enhanced to diamond-bright through the magnification of vampire vision, reflective and almost ethereal.

Shocked, he froze as the being fixed those eyes on him.

“Enzo?”

Wait a minute, he recognized that voice. It was the voice of the tiny child who had wandered into his prison and spoken to him, kept him company as a lone bright spot in decades of darkness - days, weeks, months ago? Looking closer, he realized that this girl (or was it an angel after all, or truly a child?) couldn’t be more than six years old.

“What happened to you?”

“Liver,” Enzo muttered, but apparently not quietly enough. The girl’s attention moved to the bloody cavity in his abdomen. For a moment, she stilled, her features turning icy cold, frozen as if hundreds of calculations were carried out in that single second. And then that coldness turned to rage, her face twisting and eyes burning, with the wrathful fury of a thousand suns. Was this what it looked like when an angel fell, when the Christian god had stricken down the Egyptians in righteous anger, the blood of thousands on his hands?

Quickly, that rage disappeared, as if merely a trick of the light - ephemeral. The girl’s face returned to childish excitement, eyes brightened in familiar, insatiable curiosity. But even as Enzo smiled and laughed, his voice filled with fondness, he could never forget the utterly terrifying image of her fury.

---

Meanwhile, thoughts unbeknownst to his adoptive daughter, a man sat in the office of his medical practice as he contemplated his past.

Grayson Gilbert had always known about vampires. When he was young, his father used to tell him and his brother stories about them: the wicked demons that preyed on humanity like parasites, leaving death and bloodshed in their wake. But then, his father always added, they were vanquished by Grayson’s own ancestor: the fearless savior of Mystic Falls, Jonathan Gilbert. This was the pride of their family, carried by his ancestors and built into the very blood that ran through his veins. Grayson was a Gilbert, this was their legacy. And he would do anything to secure it.

So when Grayson discovered a team of scientists - one of them a professor who had taught one of his pre-med classes - operating out of his very own Whitmore College, well, who was he to turn down an opportunity? And if, the first time he had taken a specially-sharpened scalpel to the flesh of a vampire, he’d felt a strange sort of thrill, no one would know, now, would they? And if any of his colleagues at Augustine suspected his… activities were conducted in a less than a scientifically dispassionate manner, well. Who could judge him for being a little too zealous to rid the world of the demonic creatures?

As the years passed and he spearheaded the Gilbert family’s new anti-vampire efforts, Grayson studied for his future medical career, and met up with an old classmate: young, pretty Miranda Sommers, a newly minted pre-med student. She was nice enough, busy in her ambitions so as to not notice his suspicious disappearances, and most of all, was tied to Mystic Falls through her younger sister. In other words, she was the perfect wife.

However, a complication arose in the following years. Not only had his reckless younger brother slept with the underage daughter and only heiress of a wealthy, prominent businessman, but they’d also run off and gotten involved in vampire business as well. It was a scandal of epic proportions, and there was no covering it up. At least Grayson had managed to cover up the second and worst part of the disaster: John had gotten the girl pregnant.

While he’d failed in convincing Isobel Flemming into an abortion, he had at least managed to sway the terrified teenager into a secret, extra-legal adoption, promising to raise her children as his own. (Well, it was Miranda and her sister Jenna who had done most of the raising, but that wasn’t his problem.) It was a compromise that worked out well enough for everyone: John got his nomadic vampire-hunting lifestyle free from the burdens of parenthood, Miranda got her beloved (and time consuming, all the better for Grayson) children, Grayson got the Gilbert reputation out mostly intact, and Isobel… well, she got disowned by her father for running away. Not that the girl didn’t deserve it after being foolish enough to get pregnant, especially by John of all people. Good riddance. At least Miranda had given birth to Jeremy soon after, his precious son and the future of the Gilbert legacy.

Speaking of the Gilbert legacy… there was a (relatively) fresh, new vampire in the basement of his office. And Grayson was always up for more experiments.

Chapter Text

Elisaveta Gilbert was not a normal child. Yes, this was common knowledge, but for the wrong reasons. As Patricia sat, listening to the words of her fellow teachers, she grew more and more frustrated.

“I can’t believe how curious, how intelligent she is!” Carolyn, the 4th grade science teacher exclaimed, much to Patricia’s annoyance. “Just the other day, Eliza was asking about the inheritability of epigenetic markers and how that affects the nature vs. nurture debate. I swear, she is more up-to-date on current scientific literature than I am! How do you keep up with her?”

“I just give her extra assignments, and she always adds something interesting to the discussions,” Maria, the history teacher, quietly added.

“Pffffffttt…” Daniel, the notoriously lazy English teacher scoffed. Finally, was there someone who agreed with her? Even if it was Daniel, Patricia would take what she could get. “Why bother with the extra assignments? It’s just more worksheets to write and work to grade, when you know that kid’ll get full points anyway. But Eliza’s great when I get tired of keeping those brats in line, she’ll get them back on track. It’s kinda funny, watching that tiny girl yell at kids twice her age. And they actually listen to her. Like a TA, but free.” Daniel suddenly perked up, as if he had just come up with a new idea. “Hey, maybe I should get her grading assignments. Then I’ll have time to binge that new show - have you heard of it?”

“Daniel!” Carolyn chided, scandalized.

“What? It ain’t child labor if they don’t get paid.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Not my fault you’re so uptight!”

“Enough!” Patricia stood and interrupted, tired of their constant bickering. “Now, back on topic. Have you noticed anything… odd about the Gilbert girl? Any strange habits or suspicious interactions?”

A chorus of negatives greeted her.

“Really? Nothing at all?” Patricia asked, almost pleadingly. How could they not see what she did - the girl’s unnatural behavior, the masks of emotions she wore, carefully tailored to the recipient, all designed to convey the image of the innocent, helpful yet brilliant genius of a child? Even Patricia, with all her suspicions, had nearly fallen for Eliza Gilbert’s act if not for the momentary glimpse of calculation in her violet eyes. No, there was something wrong with her. There had to be.

“Well…” Maria hesitated, drawing out that single syllable.

“Yes?” Patricia eagerly seized upon her quiet colleague’s thoughts like a shark at the scent of blood.

“You know how, when she first skipped grades, the other kids would pick on her? And then they suddenly stopped? Well, one of those kids, Samuel Adams, you know Samuel?” They nodded at the name of the well-known terror they had filed more conduct reports on than half the school combined. At least, until last year, when he had inexplicably grown mousy and terrified, hiding in the back of the classroom and shooting Eliza Gilbert terrified glances. “Well, I guess he couldn’t hurt Eliza, so he took it out on her sister instead. One day, I saw him cornering Elena in the hallway. I don’t know what he said to her, but the poor girl was crying. I gave him detention, but you know Samuel. That hardly stopped him from terrorizing her. As the year went on, Michael told me she’d become quieter and more withdrawn. You’d hardly believe Elena was once so bright, so talkative. But then, one morning, Samuel shows up to detention with a black eye and nearly half a dozen broken bones. I thought he’d just gotten into another fight, this time with more injuries than usual, but I’d never seen him so terrified. He was jumping at shadows, he and his group of boys, huddled together and shaking. Whenever he saw Eliza, he’d get that same look on his face, like the devil himself was out to get him. He never touched Elena again.”

For the first time, no one rushed to offer their opinion. There was only a creeping, petrifying silence.

Chapter Text

“I heard them talking about moving me yesterday, back to the labs at Whitmore.” Enzo suddenly said. “Apparently, they’re thinking about giving some special task to Grayson, one that’s more important than torturing little ole’ me.” He let out a bitter laugh.

Eliza let out a frustrated sound. “I thought we’d have more time.” Over the last two years, she’d been biding her time, covertly sneaking him blood and administering pain relievers, modifying his records so that Grayson would not notice them missing.

Enzo laid a comforting hand on her arm. “We knew this wouldn’t last forever, love.”

“But - what are we going to do?” Eliza asked, more to herself than Enzo. Years of plans, years of guilt-filled hesitance, all thrown down the drain. Yet, Eliza needed to act, she had to. Enzo had become something closer than a friend, a confidant - preserving her sanity through moments of frustration and hopelessness that had increasingly plagued her; occupying a place in her heart almost like what she’d imagined a brother to be.

Eliza had never been one to easily get attached. Few understood her cold logic and relentless ambition, coupled with enough issues to give a psychologist a headache. Though her second childhood was a nice reprieve, it had its own challenges, namely the constant necessity to play the role of the pretty little genius, Eliza Gilbert, shown off like a racehorse by her adoptive father and teachers. She couldn’t even be completely honest with her own twin sister. But Enzo - Enzo, he understood. He was hers. And Eliza would not let him waste away in an Augustine torture chamber (excuse her, lab).

It was time to make a choice, between standing by and allowing Enzo to suffer, and risking her own safety to free him. What kind of options were those, when she already knew which course she would take?

---

Two days later, after Miranda Gilbert had left for a week-long medical conference, Eliza was back with six blood bags, a very heavy pair of stolen bolt-cutters, and the grim certainty that in order for Enzo to escape and catch Augustine unaware, Grayson was a factor that had to be taken out of the equation.

"Are you sure about this?" Enzo asked the girl for the second time. Though weakened after the prolonged effects decades of starvation and torture, with Eliza's help, he had recovered as much as he could. Therefore, his mind and senses were sharp enough to notice his young friend's trembling hands and the scent of adrenaline as they waited for her adoptive father to arrive. Although he hated the Gilbert doctor, for Eliza's sake, he could forego his revenge.

"Yes." Eliza's face froze into a hard mask as cold, harsh logic took over. Any prior hesitance was buried in the back of her mind under lock and key. There was only enough room in her thoughts for the plan, and how to fulfill it. "Even if we were to compel him to forget and track down his brother John, too, to tie up loose ends, there would always be the chance that one of them would see some old notes or friends of theirs and figure out their memories were modified. He has to die, and in a way that won't be suspicious."

"But," she added, mistaking the vampire's hesitance for want of revenge, "his body only has to look unsuspicious. There are plenty of ways to make him suffer that won't leave a mark."

"No! That's not what I'm trying to - " He cut off and immediately sped into the shadows as he heard the sound of the office door unlocking. There was no room left to argue, not when Grayson had just entered.

Eliza set her mind onto her first task: distraction.

"Dad!" She yelled, running towards the Grayson's shocked face.

"Eliza, how did you get in - " The doctor's voice abruptly ceased as he collapsed to the floor from Enzo's blow.

According to Grayson's notes for Augustine, which Eliza had helped herself to previously, as well as her own calculations, it would take a maximum of three days for vervain to exit the bloodstream of a human male with Grayson Gilbert's height and weight. This meant three days, plus one day of interrogation via compulsion, that Eliza would have to make excuses for Grayson's disappearance. Fortunately, with Miranda gone, it made sense (or at least a good enough excuse, not that Grayson would actually be responsible enough) for him to give Jenna and Eliza a break and take the week off from work to watch his children, which was needed nearly 24/7 due the lack of school in the summer. 

In reality, it was Eliza who took care of her siblings (not that it was new, as she had been deemed responsible enough at six to watch her twin sister and younger brother, who by now had gotten used to it) for those four days that Grayson spent locked up in his own lab, guarded (and likely psychologically tortured) by Enzo. 

---

It was the weather those few days that had really given Eliza the idea. She'd been frantically trying to come up with a way to "accidentally" eliminate Grayson - not killing, never killing, it was easier to think of it that way. He was young enough that a heart attack, which could be convincingly mimicked from the chemicals in his lab, but she wasn't sure Augustine or John would believe it, given his age, and the classic animal attack explanation would be like painting a red flag over his body. But when the storm had come, filling the skies with dark clouds and thunder and pouring rain, it was almost like it was meant to be.

So on Saturday evening, on the way to the grocery store, with his daughter in the backseat, Dr. Grayson Gilbert's car went over Wickery Bridge. He'd panicked, seeing a squirrel on the road, and had frantically swerved. Yet, with the rain obscuring the windshield and lubricating the tires, he'd been unable to stop the car from toppling over the side and into the river, with no one to save them but a single man, passing through from out of town. This British good samaritan, who later came forward (coincidentally, right after a fire had ravaged Whitmore College, killing twelve scientists and seven others, who had inexplicably been funding some kind of project on campus, the nature of which had been lost in the records set ablaze), had dove heroically into the river and rescued the doctor's young daughter, but was regrettably unable to save Grayson Gilbert himself. Or so the girl, 7-year-old Elisaveta "Eliza" Gilbert (who had miraculously survived without a single scratch), told the police officer, between shaking sobs, as he interviewed her.

And as she fell asleep that night in her hospital bed, a single tear rolled down her cheek as she bit into the pillow to muffle her screams.

Chapter Text

Eliza was seven years old, and she was a murderer.

She had never been the moralistic type in either life, but she also had never been a murderer.

Not until now.

The worst part was that she didn’t know how to feel. Should she feel sad? Should she feel guilty? Should she regret it? After all, no matter how sadistic he had been towards vampires, he'd still been her adoptive father. But if she regretted it, wouldn’t that be wrong too, because that would mean regretting freeing Enzo and destroying Augustine, and she shouldn’t regret those things, right?

It was tearing her apart, all of it. If she was smarter, more capable, could she have found another way? Could she have done what she did, while still keeping Grayson alive?

She held Elena’s hand at the funeral as her sister cried and cradled Jeremy as he sobbed, sat through the endless parade of speeches about how good Grayson Gilbert was, and how tragic it was that the accident took his life, and how much he’d want his family to get through his loss. But it wasn’t an accident, though maybe it was tragic, and she highly doubted that he’d want his own murderer to “get through” losing him. She watched her mother - no, Miranda, she couldn’t think of the woman with grief-filled eyes and tear-stained cheeks as her mother right then - lose bits of herself while trying to stay strong for her children (because the three of them had always been her children to Miranda, whether biological or adopted, unlike Grayson). And Eliza felt so, so hollow. Because she was a terrible sister and a terrible daughter (and was she a terrible person, too?).

So she didn’t cry at the funeral. She didn’t sob or fall apart (at least, on the outside) or give in to grief - if she even felt grief, did she feel grief? Instead, she walked Jeremy to school and helped Elena with her homework and cooked and cleaned and went to the grocery store. As Miranda threw herself into her work and let things fall to the wayside, Eliza picked them up and put them back together (and pretended she was putting herself back together). She avoided Enzo, Mystic Falls’ newest hero, who seemed to always be helping Miranda around the house, because she couldn’t stand to look at him without remembering that it was all her fault, all this suffering was her fault and it was eating her alive.

And one night, when her siblings were asleep and she heard Miranda crying in the kitchen, Eliza took a pair of shears and she cut. (It was so, so easy.)

— — —

She woke up to bright lights and the scent of antiseptic and the sound of a woman crying at her bedside. Eliza knew she didn’t want to open her eyes and face reality, but just because she didn’t want to, didn’t mean it would all go away. So she thrust her eyes open, and forced her indignant muscles to sit up.

The crying woman had been Miranda, and her arms were immediately thrown tight like a vise around Eliza’s body. “How could you? How could you do this to yourself?”

“I - I -“ Eliza began. She wasn’t given a chance to respond.

“I was so worried! Elena was so worried. She found you, you know, and started screaming. I thought you were dying!” Miranda was shaking now, sobbing. “The first time I saw you when you were a baby, I thought that you were so, so breakable. And then a year later, I held you when you were sick, and I looked into your beautiful eyes, and I thought that if those eyes ever went out, I wasn’t sure I could survive. I thought you were gone, that I lost you!”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Eliza whispered. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to. I just thought - it was all my fault. That he was dead, that you were all so sad. It was my fault, all my fault, and I don’t regret it. I didn’t even cry when I saw his body and what kind of daughter does that make me?”

“I just lost my husband two months ago! And Grayson - I barely saw Grayson since before you and your sister were born!” Miranda’s voice shook. “I wasn’t at a conference. I was with a divorce lawyer, because he was a horrible father and a horrible husband and I wanted out! If anything, it was my fault the accident happened. And I can’t even make myself feel bad about it, and maybe that makes me a horrible wife, so yes, I felt guilty and of course, I fell apart, but it wasn’t your fault. I don’t care if you murdered him yourself, don’t you dare hurt yourself! I need you, Elena needs you, Jeremy needs you more than they ever needed Grayson!”

And in Miranda’s arms, Eliza let herself fall apart as her mother put her back together again. It didn’t matter if she was a murderer, if she'd killed her adoptive father, because she’d read Grayson Gilbert’s journals. She knew him almost as well as she knew herself, which was how she was certain that if he hadn’t died, if she hadn’t killed him, he would’ve hurt Miranda for trying to leave him instead.

That was when a part of her died (was it a sliver of her humanity? her conscience?). Because Eliza had done the right thing. And even if she hadn't, even if she'd been wrong to cause their suffering, her siblings were young. They'd recover, and still be better off without a father like Grayson. A sliver of ice settled into her heart where the dead piece had been, and it felt right. 

Later, Eliza would comfort her family and apologize and promise she'd never worry them like that again. And she wouldn't. Because Eliza Gilbert had her goals and her logic and her family. She didn't need the luxury of a clean conscience. So after a while, life went on as all things did, and her family put it behind them.

Eliza never looked back.

Chapter Text

Oil tycoon and renowned businessman William Flemming seen in talks with long-time associate, venture capitalist and entrepreneur Christopher Chen (see page 12 for Chen’s industry predictions for the new millennium). Insider reports suggest…

Eliza stared at the newspaper clipping, her eyes fixed on the article as if she could demand it reveal its secrets with a single glare.

William Flemming. William Flemming. The name spun, around and around like a centrifuge in her mind, synapses firing, burning itself into her brain. Maybe it was just a coincidence, a shared surname. This man might not be related to Isobel at all.

But Flemming was not a common name, not with the exact same spelling and living in the same exact same state (according to the article, William was based in Richmond, Virginia). There was a good chance that he was a relative of Isobel’s, however distant, which meant that he’d be a relative of hers as well.

Eliza had never had a large family, in either life. Raised primarily by a single mother in her first life with most of her family on both sides overseas, she’d never had the chance to get to know them well. And in this life, with her Gilbert grandparents dead, not having seen John since his brother’s funeral, and having engineered Grayson’s death a year ago, William Flemming might just be her only chance at developing some semblance of a relationship with her biological family. And maybe - just maybe - he might know how to contact Isobel. If she remembered the timeline right, Eliza’s biological mother hadn’t been turned yet. If she could prevent it, or at least stop Isobel from getting involved with Klaus, she might be able to stop Isobel’s suicide. Whether he could contact Isobel or not, William Flemming could be her only chance to meet a non-sociopathic biological relative (which was not a great sign for Eliza’s dubious genetics).

So the next day, Eliza visited to the Mystic Falls public library for some research. As she ventured into the library, carefully remaining out of sight to avoid awkward explanations on what an eight-year-old was doing out of the children’s section, she made her way to the computer aisle. Oh, how Eliza had missed her former access to the internet. At least in a few years, once better technology was released, she'd use the money liberated from Augustine's considerable funding to buy an expensive new computer.

As she logged in and opened a search engine (AltaVista, which she’d chosen based on her research into the current state of the internet), she typed in ‘William Flemming family’. Seconds later, Eliza's eyes widened as she read the list of headlines that had appeared.

William Flemming, daughter estranged and yet to remarry: who will inherit his fortune?

Money Doesn’t Buy Happiness - William Flemming’s Business Success, Familial Failure (1993)

Scandal: 16-year-old daughter of business mogul William Flemming runs away from home! (1991)

Immediately, the puzzle pieces began to fit together.  Clicking on the last article, her hypothesis was confirmed. William Flemming was indeed her relative - her grandfather, in fact. As she read about the teenage Isobel running off with an older boyfriend (whose identity, though unspecified, Eliza knew as John Gilbert), she realized that there was no mention of a pregnancy. In fact, the time frame that Isobel (based on Eliza and her twin’s birthday) should’ve been showing coincided very suspiciously with her 5-month disappearance and filing for emancipation. If she was a reckless 16 year-old girl with the goal of hiding a secret pregnancy, Eliza might have run away too.

Had William even known? Clearly, he hadn’t kicked his daughter out - he’d reported her disappearance to the police, the note Isobel had left for him, transcribed in the missing persons report that a reporter had somehow gotten ahold of had said nothing of a pregnancy, and according to the article, he’d hired a veritable army of private investigators. Those were not the actions of a man attempting a cover-up, but of a father who’d cared more about his daughter’s safety than the scandal.

This was not what Eliza had been expecting. Instead of getting answers, she had so many more questions. Her instincts were screaming at her that something wasn’t right. Why had Isobel hidden her pregnancy? Had it been the understandable shame of teenage motherhood, or something different?

Eliza remembered Isobel from her birth, her biological mother had clearly cared about her children and their knowledge of her own family. It wasn’t like Isobel had lacked for monetary resources. She could’ve hired someone to take care of her children to avoid the vast majority of challenges most teenage mothers faced. But why risk disownment and estrange herself from her father by running away, when William had proved through his actions that he cared more about his daughter than his reputation (and likely more than the stigma of teenage pregnancy)?

Eliza was probably overthinking this. What with all the supernatural drama, maybe she seeing conspiracies everywhere. Isobel had most likely been just a scared teenager who wasn’t ready for parenthood. Right?

Turning her attention away from her biological mother and back to William, Eliza went back to the search results, this time clicking on the article about her grandfather’s “familial failure”. There was clearly more information about her family than just Isobel’s stint as a teenage runaway; after all, one parent-child relationship gone wrong did not equal a total ‘failure’.

Skipping over the article’s description of the Isobel situation, she finally found what she was looking for. Apparently, William had gotten divorced from his ex-wife when their daughter was four. Through a lengthy legal battle and many expensive lawyers, William had gotten full custody of Isobel. That was when Eliza found the name of his former wife, her grandmother: Liliyana Stefanova, a 49-year-old physics professor at the University of Richmond. Something about that name seemed familiar. And then she remembered Isobel’s comment at Eliza’s birth: she was named after her great-grandmother, Elisaveta Stefanova. That must’ve been Liliyana’s mother, from whom Eliza had apparently inherited her unusual eye color.

There was something exciting in learning about her family, her heritage. It was hers, in a way that the Gilbert and Sommers families had never been. After all, she couldn’t exactly feel connected to the vampire-hunting family of John Gilbert (who, unlike Isobel, didn’t have the excuse of not being in contact with his daughter’s adoptive family), nor Miranda and Jenna’s parents that she knew nothing about.

Once Eliza recognized that insatiable need to know more about Isobel, about her grandparents, she knew nothing could stop her from fulfilling it. And if - no, when - she was successful, when her twin was older, Eliza would have more to tell Elena about their biological family than that their mother was a teenage girl knocked up by their “uncle” John.

Two weeks later on a Saturday morning, Eliza and Enzo (she would’ve just taken the bus herself, but an overprotective Miranda had insisted on a chaperone) were on their way to Richmond, Virginia. After Eliza’s hospital stay last August, her adoptive mother had enlisted Enzo and her siblings (including a clingy 6-year-old Jeremy) in a zealous intervention. Laughing as he sang along to the radio, she remembered the day their relationship had healed after what they’d done to Grayson, when Enzo had finally snapped and forced her into a much needed conversation.

“Why?”

“Enzo, please,” Eliza whispered. The vampire slowly lifted her forearm - so small, so delicate - as he stared at the thick bandage that covered a gaping wound.

“Do you really hate yourself that much? Do you really hate me?” He asked, his voice saddened and his eyes full of pain.

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you, Enzo! I shouldn’t have avoided you, oh, how I wish I hadn’t. You’re my friend, you’re my - my family, you’re the only one who understands me!” Eliza exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and clutching his hand in a vise-like grip.

“I thought I did, but I don’t understand why you did this, Eliza. The girl I knew would never have just given up. What happened to you? What happened to the girl who loved science, who would never let anything get in the way of changing the world?”

“I just - I was tired. I was so, so tired of it all, of being the strong one, the unbreakable one. I felt so alone, and it was so easy to feel like I didn’t deserve to have my family or to have you. But - but I think I don’t. Hate myself, I mean. Not anymore.” Eliza looked into his eyes, and her thoughts strengthened. “How could I ever hate myself for helping you?”

Enzo wiped a tear that she hadn’t realized had fallen down her cheek. “You’re not alone, and you never will be, love. You’ll always have me, Eliza, no matter what.”

Eliza smiled at the memory.

Following a shouting match after her talk with Enzo and the silent treatment, Elena had proceeded to drag her sister everywhere she went, from sleepovers to playgrounds to visits with her friends. Meeting a tiny, supernaturally energetic Caroline Forbes had certainly been… interesting, who for some reason latched onto Eliza as some kind of unwilling role model, following her around like a duckling and bombarding her with endless questions about an infinite array of topics, from science to fashion to modern art (the latter of which Eliza had absolutely no knowledge about).

In the past eight months since his freedom, Enzo had become a fixture in what had become the newly-christened Sommers household (after Miranda had begun to use her maiden name again). Eliza and Enzo were now famous for their battles of battles of wit over the dinner table, with an eager Elena, Jeremy, and sometimes Caroline as well as an exasperated Miranda for spectators.

Interestingly enough, Enzo and Miranda had also recently started spending an increasingly-suspicious amount of time together alone. Would the hurt-my-mom-and-I’ll-stake-you conversation soon be necessary? Eliza had been hoping for an opportunity to practice it before Elena or Jeremy were old enough to need such measures.

“Hmmmm…” Eliza smirked as she contemplated the prospect. Inexplicably, Enzo shivered in the driver’s seat.

Two hours later, they arrived at Richmond, entering the university campus and getting out at the Gottwald Science Building. As she stared at the building directory, a wave of fear coursed through her. What if her grandmother refused to talk to her, didn’t believe her, or wanted nothing to do with her?

“Hey - hey,” Enzo took her hand, sensing her anxiety. “We don’t have to go see her if you don’t want to. But if we do, at least you tried. If she doesn’t like you, that’s on her, love, not you. ”

“It’s okay. I can do this, I want to do this.” Eliza took a deep breath, and climbed up the staircase and into the hallway towards the office of Professor Liliyana Stefanova. Staring at the shiny metal plaque on the wall, she grasped the doorknob and twisted.

A dark-haired woman in an elegant suit and horn-rimmed glasses sat behind a desk, typing at a computer and surrounded by bookshelves. She looked up from her work as the door opened, staring at the tall figure of a man accompanied by a smaller girl who could be no more than 10 years old. Liliyana gasped as the girl’s eyes met her own, the distinctive shade of blue-violet achingly familiar. Her mother’s eyes. A second later, her face froze into a cold mask as she realized what they must be here for.

“I have not changed my mind since a decade ago. I will have nothing to do with to do with the coven and this girl will not change that.” Silence greeted her pronouncement.

“What coven?” The girl asked, her voice full of confusion. “Excuse me, what are you talking about?”

“Did Aleksander not send you?” Liliyana asked.

The girl shook her head, mystified. “I don’t even know an Aleksander, and I have no involvement with whatever this ‘coven’ is.”

“Then who are you, and why are you here?” Liliyana looked over the two visitors, tensing as her attention shifted to the man, realizing what he was. “And why exactly is there a vampire in my office?”

The girl’s eyes widened as she stared at Liliyana in shock, and the vampire moved in front of her protectively. “Sorry, I - I didn’t know you knew about vampires. As for who I am, well… my name is Elisaveta Gilbert and I’m your granddaughter.”

“What?”

“I was adopted,” the girl, Elisaveta (she even had the same name as Liliyana’s mother) explained. “I’m not sure if you knew, but nine years ago, your daughter Isobel was pregnant. When I was born, she gave me up to Grayson, the brother of my biological father John Gilbert, and his wife. After Grayson died a year ago, my adoptive mother Miranda told me and my twin sister Elena that we were adopted - well, I’d found out before, but that doesn’t really matter. I found the address of your office, and I just, I wanted to meet you.”

“And where does the vampire come in?” Liliyana’s suspicious gaze fixed on the man in question.

“Enzo’s a family friend, and Miranda couldn’t drive me here so he took me instead,” Elisaveta answered, shifting awkwardly.

“My daughter never told me,” Liliyana’s voice was low and full of rage before her emotions subsided. “But if I had known, I would have raised you and your sister, and I’m sure William would’ve taken you both in a heartbeat.”

As Liliyana looked at the girl who claimed to be her granddaughter, her eyes softened. Studying her features closely, her breath caught when she realized how much the child resembled a young Isobel: she had the same black hair (though with Liliyana’s curls), high cheekbones and jawline, but sharpened in a way that managed to look both delicate and dangerous paired with Isobel’s sculpted eyebrows and thick, dark lashes. And her eyes, though the color was passed down through the Stefanov family, the shape was almost exactly like the almond eyes Liliyana had inherited from her own father, Akira Azai. But while Liliyana knew who her granddaughter resembled, she also knew who the girl didn’t resemble.

“Does your sister look like you, Elisaveta?”

“Oh! I forgot to mention, call me Eliza, everyone does. And we’re not identical, so Elena doesn’t - wait, I might have a picture.” Eliza dug through her backpack, opening her wallet and pulling out a small photograph of a dark-haired woman in her thirties standing with three children: a young boy and two girls holding hands. One of them was clearly Eliza, with her black hair and violet eyes, but the other was a pretty child with straight brown hair, slightly tanned skin and a delicate narrow nose. In other words, exactly like the drawing of their ancestor Irina Petrova as a young girl, which Liliyana had seen in her mother’s copy of an ancient Stefanov grimoire.

Liliyana’s uncle Aleksander had been sadly, right in his prediction: the next doppelgänger had, in fact, come from his elder sister Elisaveta’s line in the form of the child in the picture that she now held. Not for the first time, Liliyana cursed the long-dead Stefanov coven leader for his oh-so excellent decision to merge their line with that of Amara’s, thinking it would add the power of the doppelgänger blood to his descendants’ considerable power. Because if the first part of the prophecy was right, then the second and more unfortunate part would most likely happen as well: this girl’s sacrifice would be the one to undo what their ancestor Tatia’s blood had bound.

In other words, Liliyana was staring at the picture of a dead girl walking.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

“How did you know Enzo was a vampire?” Eliza asked, lifting the steaming mug to her lips. Mmmmmm… Earl Grey. Her grandmother had good taste.

“Oh, I just sensed it. Are you not able to?” Liliyana looked down at the girl in confusion.

“You- you sensed him?” Eliza exclaimed. “How?”

“It’s relatively simple.” Liliyana began, slightly amused, taking her granddaughter’s reaction as childish enthusiasm. “You just extend your magic and- “

“Wait, magic?” Eliza nearly dropped her cup in surprise. “You mean you’re a witch?”

“Of course. I thought you knew, Eliza.”

But Eliza definitely hadn’t known, although looking back, the signs had been there. When she’d first introduced herself to her grandmother, Liliyana had thought she’d been sent by a coven to persuade her into something.

“Wow. Just, wow.” It was strangely exciting, meeting a witch (that she knew was a witch, anyway) for the first time. Of course, she knew that Bonnie, Sheila, and Abby (who must have already lost her magic from desiccating Mikael) were witches and had or were living in Mystic Falls during her time there, but she hadn’t truly talked to any of them. So to find out that her biological relative, this woman she was trying to develop a relationship with, was a witch herself? Well, Eliza’s scientific curiosity was certainly frothing at the mouth.

“I’ve never met a witch before! What can you do? What’s it like, using magic? Is there any kind of magic that can be used by regular humans like me? In your experience, what are the usual genetic inheritance patterns for witches? Are there any kinds of magic that can cause side effects? I’ve heard that some lineages of witches are more powerful or have different types of magic than others, would you say this is due to different cultures and practices or because of genetic factors? Speaking of genetics, can I take a sample of your genetic material? I won’t do anything bad with it, I’m just curious!” A thousand questions built up, begging to be released. As one was released, another hundred appeared.

Before her young granddaughter could continue her endless flood of questions, Liliyana spoke. “Well, witches can do many things depending on their traditions, practices, and other factors that influence the output, or results of our utilization of magic. As a physics professor, I could describe many evidence-based theories on how this works, but I’ll answer some of your other questions first. There are some ways through which humans can harness magic, though they are usually limited, very difficult, and involve various external power sources. But you won’t have to worry about that, of course, because you’re a witch, and-“

“What? That’s not- I’m human!” Eliza protested. “You might be a witch, but I definitely didn’t inherit any magic. If I did, I think I’d know by now!”

“I’m sorry for the sudden revelation, Eliza, but I thought you were aware. There is a reason I thought you were from the coven, I could practically feel the Stefanov magic on you from a mile away. Your power should have shown itself by now.” Liliyana’s brows creased in thought. “Are you sure you haven’t had any… strange occurrences during emotional outbursts or other periods of high reactivity?”

It must have been a mistake. There was no way Eliza was actually a witch. Supernatural abilities were for other people, not for Eliza, whose only claim to anything mystical was her rebirth. In the eight years since her rebirth, she’d never had anything remotely magical happen near her, let alone be caused by her. And she had to have experienced some emotional situations where, if she’d truly been a witch, a magical reaction would’ve definitely happened, right? Right?

Oh no. Looking back, she realized that wasn’t actually the case. She’d only been ruled by logic, not emotions, during her time in Mystic Falls. At least, except for the period after Grayson’s death. But that had been depression, a time of pervading sadness and hopelessness in which she hadn’t been able to muster enough motivation to care about her own life, let alone cause a magical explosion. So that made her - what, exactly? A possibly defective, emotionally-stunted magical beacon to witches while being unable to actually use magic? In other words, in possession of all the drawbacks yet none of the benefits of being a witch?

“It’s okay,” Liliyana attempted to comfort her young granddaughter, laying a hand on Eliza’s shoulder. “I can train you, help you control it.”

“I just- I can’t be!” Suddenly, Eliza didn’t care about logic or planning or anything else, only that apparently she was now a supernatural creature. She’d been planning on leaving Mystic Falls as soon as possible, because she wasn’t about to waste her second chance at life by getting in over her head with the supernatural world, likely leading to a death or permanent injury that even the weakest vampire could inflict upon her. Witches were practically cannon fodder, dropping like flies after being used and discarded by their own comrades or other supernatural creatures. Even though she’d once wondered what it would be like to have magic, to have power (because what child didn’t?), now Eliza wanted no part of it.

It wasn’t enough that her life, her body, her very identity had been taken from her, and for what? To be reborn as a Gilbert, of all things? The one thing that was constant had been her humanity, and not only had it been stolen from her, but apparently she’d never had it in the first place. And she hadn’t even gotten a choice. The only semi-reliable method of supernatural life insurance and the one advantage of her new family, the Gilbert ring, had just been lost to her. Eliza wanted to scream.

“No, no, no!” Eliza’s eyes gained a fluorescent shine (from the tears that seemed to gather, or the magic usage, Liliyana didn’t know) as the ground started to shake. The intricate pots, plates, and silverware lining the walls of Liliyana’s kitchen began to vibrate, and the cups beside them, still full of tea, shattered.

“Eliza!” Liliyana cried. “Stop! You need to calm down!” She took the girl, frozen from shock and horror at what she had caused, in her arms.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, everything’s okay,” Liliyana murmured soothingly, stroking a hand through her granddaughter’s soft black curls. “Don’t worry, my child. I’m here, everything will be alright.”

Slowly, Eliza’s thoughts returned to her and she realized what she had done. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I couldn’t control it, I didn’t mean for this to happen. Nothing like this has ever happened, I shouldn’t have let go of my emotions. It’s just, I don’t want this, I don’t want to be a witch and everything just hit me and I couldn’t stop. Please, I didn’t mean it,” she pleaded, almost sobbing.

“It’s alright. There is nothing wrong with being a witch,” Liliyana assured. “Come.” She led Eliza to an enormous room full of all types of vines and plants in numerous hanging planters, pots, pools of rich brown soil, and glass contraptions (was that a hydroponic garden?). They were clearly organized in various rows, shelves, and configurations, yet simultaneously possessed an unmistakable wildness.

This was no prettily-groomed or perfectly-plucked rich man’s garden, this was nature at its core with flora from habitats all around the world - aquatic plants in tanks complete with tiny fish, desert cacti in their sandy soil, and even many trees miniaturized in the Japanese style. It was, essentially, an ecologist’s dream, with an addition of many strategically-placed formations of rocks, minerals, and crystals that would intrigue a geologist as well.

But in the center of it all were a circle of plush armchairs, nestled between the start of a network of flowing fountains and basins that traveled around the room, formed from various woods, metals, and other materials carved with strange runes and symbols. Liliyana took a seat, and gestured for the girl beside her to do the same. Feeling half-possessed, Eliza followed her grandmother’s example, still staring at the garden in wide-eyed wonder.

“This is- it’s- I can’t even describe it! How could you possibly create all of this?” Eliza exclaimed.

“Well,” Liliyana laughed wryly, amused at the girl’s awed preoccupation, “I, myself, didn’t. You see, my parents were both immigrants, on their own and exiled from their covens for their relationship. You see, my father’s family led the Azai coven as one of the most powerful witch families in Japan. My mother, on the other hand, your namesake, was the heiress of the Stefanov coven that originated in Bulgaria. Though she was a powerful witch by any means, the Azai family is extremely insular and forbid my father to marry outside of the coven to avoid ‘polluting their magic’. When my father refused, marrying my mother anyway, they cast him out, destroying his future, and threatening war against the Stefanov family if they didn’t disown my mother as well. It was hard for them, cut off from their families’ magic and heritage that was their lifeblood, so instead, they created something new. They, two of the most powerful magical practitioners of their time, built this garden from nothing: collecting, modifying, and cultivating magical plants and rocks from every continent all in one place, protected and preserved by the most powerful wards and spells they knew - and, with centuries of magical knowledge from two powerful covens, they certainly knew a lot. It’s not truly located here. This is merely a gateway anchored to my apartment, a glimpse into the pocket realm that is the true home of the Garden, a masterwork of magical and technological engineering and their life’s work.”

“There’s more of this?” Eliza whispered in disbelief.

“Yes,” Lilyana answered. “Much more, though I won’t take you to the actual pocket dimension yet.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate how amazing this is, but why?” Eliza asked. “Why would your parents dedicate their whole lives into creating this place?”

“Because, Eliza, most types of magic across the world utilize the magical properties of specific plants and minerals as vectors, mediums, and ingredients. However, many of these are rare, growing or developing only under specific conditions and environment. But with the changing climate and environmental damage inflicted by humans on an enormous scale, their magical properties are becoming increasingly uncommon in the wild, thereby producing a high demand for them among magical practitioners. The Garden has preserved many plant species that are now extinct in the wild. In addition, with such an enormous, concentrated population of magical plants, minerals, and metals grown and produced through simulated environmental habitats and geochemical processes, tremendous amounts of ambient magic are generated and stored for future usage. A fraction of that magic is then fed back into the system, increasing the power and growth rates of the plants, metals, and minerals produced. Honestly, if it wasn’t located in a self-expanding pocket dimension, the Garden would’ve run out of space decades ago.”

As she processed her grandmother’s words, Eliza realized the true genius of the Garden: it was a self-sustaining, exponentially-increasing magical battery and artificial biosphere that held a massive supply of some of the rarest and most powerful magical ingredients in the world. Elisaveta Stefanova and Akira Azai had certainly created something extraordinary that had likely revolutionized the history of ecological preservation in both the magical and non-magical worlds. Though she could understand why their design was kept secret, it didn’t make her any less sad that this epitome of scientific and magical progress would never be known to the wider world. However, there was one thing that perplexed her as she looked up at her grandmother.

“Why did you show me this?” Eliza asked. “I’m just a child. I know absolutely nothing about being a witch, and couldn’t possibly appreciate the true magical scope of a place like the Garden.”

“Because I was like you once, Eliza. Though my parents tried not to show their disappointment, due to the conflicts and incompatabilities between my parents’ magic, I was nowhere near as powerful or talented as expected of a witch from a lineage such as ours. So when I was exposed to the non-magical world and finally found something that I could be the best at, I seized it. I turned my back on my magical heritage. I studied what I thought was the scientific antithesis of magic, dedicated my life to the most non-magical profession I thought possible, and married the most supernaturally-skeptical man I could. I thought it would make me happy, but denying part of myself had made me miserable. But then my mother died thinking I hated the magic that was one of the most important parts of her life, my human husband took my daughter and left me, and I found out that I hated the direction my career had taken me. So I reconnected with my heritage, started practicing again, and took my love for physics and applied it to my magical learning. Just because you want a life in something non-magical doesn’t mean that you need to deny an important part of yourself. And that was why I showed you the Garden, Eliza - so you could see the beauty of being a witch, especially as a future scientist like you.”

Eliza did see what her grandmother had shown her, how wondrous magic could be. And for have access to such power and potential, maybe the dangers of being a witch were worth it.

---

Hours later, still processing her grandmother’s revelations, Eliza was unceremoniously jolted out of her thoughts by a knock on the door that was promptly opened by Liliyana.

“Hello, who are you?” Eliza heard Liliyana inquire to the unseen visitor.

“I’m Eliza’s mother.” Eliza darted towards the familiar voice at the entryway, met with the stern figure of Miranda Sommers.

“Mom, I-“ Eliza began.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were trying to contact your biological relatives? And to come here, without my knowledge, all the way to Richmond with only Lorenzo aware of your location! And believe me, I had words with him as well.” Miranda’s voice rose. “After my appointment was canceled, I came home to spend time with my eight-year-old daughter, only to find that she was nowhere to be found! Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Eliza looked down, contrite. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just didn’t want to make you upset that I wanted to find my biological family.”

“Well, I’m not upset about that. I’m upset that you didn’t even think to tell me!”

Liliyana cleared her throat, interrupting. “Excuse me, Ms. Gilbert, I just want to say that I had no idea Eliza came without permission. I understand that you have loved and raised her as your own daughter, and I don’t wish to come between the both of you. But, as Eliza is my biological granddaughter, I do wish for your blessing in developing a relationship with her.”

“Thank you, I would definitely be open to arranging visits with Eliza and her twin sister, Elena, as long as they are set up with my prior awareness.” Miranda smiled at the older woman. “And please, call me Miranda, Miranda Sommers.”

Liliyana smiled back. From what Eliza had said in their past few meetings, Miranda was the kind of woman she would very much enjoy conversing with. “And you can call me Liliyana.”

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Chapter Text

The years had passed all too quickly as Eliza mourned the slow death of her second childhood. From weekends with Liliyana learning magic, to family game nights with her giggling siblings, to exhausting afternoons at various martial arts studios, every moment was something to savor. But now, it was over.

She’d skipped grades, walked down the stage at her second high school graduation, and gotten into several universities around the world. This was exactly what she’d wanted, right? To get as far away from Mystic Falls as possible as soon as possible? It didn’t feel like it when she was presented with Elena’s tear-stained face, her precious twin sister who had come so far from her original self. Certainly not when faced with countless arguments with Miranda over studying abroad at such a young age, until finally met with a resigned concession.

As Eliza walked aimlessly through the town of Mystic Falls, such a tiny place in the middle-of-nowhere-Virginia that she had somehow come to call home. It would be some time until she’d walk these streets again.

“You’re leaving,” the sharp voice of Bonnie Bennett greeted her. Inexplicably, Eliza had wandered the familiar path to the Bennett house.

The life of the young Bennett witch was one of many that been unintentionally altered by Eliza’s presence. Due to Eliza’s status as one of her twin’s best friends, and Caroline as the other, Bonnie had never moved past Elena’s outer circle of friends. So when Eliza had witnessed a ten-year-old Bonnie accosted by a pack of girls in the playground, mocked for being friendless, and the magical explosion that followed… something had to be done about the ticking, magical time bomb.

Eliza had covered for Bonnie with the teachers, saying the girls had gotten into a fight with resulting injuries that, of course, Bonnie couldn’t possibly have been responsible for. And they believed her because, why wouldn’t they? Eliza was the star student, the teacher’s pet, and she couldn’t possibly be lying.

After that, Eliza had wanted to go to Sheila about getting her granddaughter trained, but Bonnie, afraid of her Grams’ reaction, had begged her not to tell. So somehow, with this unfortunate (or fortunate, depending on the perspective) series of events, Eliza had been roped into becoming the girl’ss personal trainer, and eventual confidant.

“I did tell you, you know, months ago,” she told her friend.

“Eliza, I-“ Bonnie hesitated, “what am I going to do without you?”

“You have your grandmother. Any urgent questions you have about magic, or witchcraft, you can ask her. And I’ll always be a phone call away,” Eliza assured. Suddenly, she found herself with an armful of Bennett witch as Bonnie launched herself at her. She ran her fingers through Bonnie’s soft, dark curls as the other girl threw her arms around her shoulders.

“I’ll miss you,” Eliza whispered. It was true. She would miss her friend’s serious demeanor and enthusiasm for magic, as well as their innovative discussions on magical theory that Liliyana, as an old-time practitioner, couldn’t match. “But maybe it’s time for you to make other friends, and find your own path as a witch.”

“I know, I know,” Bonnie laughed. “But, call me when you can?”

“Always.” Eliza smiled.

That night, she woke up to a barren room and a blaring alarm. It was 2am, many hours before she had to be at the airport, but there was one thing she had to do first. Quietly sneaking out and grabbing her bike, she rode across the silent streets of Mystic Falls. A few blocks away from her destination, Eliza pulled out her gear: a collapsible shovel, night vision goggles, a can of spray paint, a black hoodie, black sweatpants, black ski mask, and (you guessed it, black!) gloves. Though it was more appropriate for a bank heist than a small-town grave robbery, she didn’t fancy spending any amount of time in the holding cells of the Mystic Falls Police Department.

She walked through the rows of progressively-older tombstones until she found the one she was looking for, after which she began to dig. It was tedious work, but Eliza’s muscles had gotten strong from biweekly trips to the gym, so the pain was more of an annoyance than a true barrier. Finally, she unearthed the coffin and, to her extreme disgust, opened it. Seizing the grimoire within, she whispered a spell.

“Duplici.” She visualized the atoms and molecules of the pages, ink, and binding, pulling the necessary elements from her surroundings and shaping them into an exact copy of the grimoire. Pulling out a plastic bag, Eliza placed the grimoire and its copy inside, and dropped it into her backpack. Then, she sighed as she picked up the shovel once more.

Ten minutes later, Eliza stood back and admired her work. She wasn’t exactly a professional tomb raider - anyone with a functioning pair of eyes could tell the grave had been tampered with, but there was nothing like good, old fashioned misdirection.

Because, spray-painted on the gravestone of Giuseppe Salvatore were two large, blood red words: CONFEDERATE BASTARD. After all, nothing works better than the truth.

In the morning, the ancient caretaker of the historical graveyard would stumble upon this glaring scene. And two days later, the Mystic Falls Herald would report on an unknown perpetrator’s “desecration and blatant disrespect of the town’s Founding Families and history”.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Elena Sommers-Gilbert loved, it was stories, both written and consumed. Jeremy would laugh about the time he and their mother had caught her, at seven years old, sneaking up the stairs to her room with her contraband - a pile of books and a flashlight - past the reading prohibition that was her bedtime.

As a preteen, she’d dragged her twin sister and best friend to countless book signings, obsessed over the magic of Harry Potter (though she’d been bullied for it by a pack of boys in elementary school), and secretly entered into numerous writing contests at the advice of her fourth grade English teacher, who’d caught sight of her poetry notebook. Though in the beginning, she’d lost more often than not, she now had a considerable collection of prizes, accumulated over the years.

While they had also given her a valuable window into the wider world beyond small-town Virginia, they’d also introduced new ideas and concepts that sometimes carried uncomfortable truths. Like, for example, Elena’s current dilemma.

In Mystic Falls, there was always a sense of expectation. You’d grow up with tales of love and community and pride in the founders’ legacy, of how brave and noble those men and their wives had been. Though the misogyny has lessened over time, it was still assumed that she would grow up and date boys and after college, come back and get married and have children. Anything other than that, like what  Bill Forbes had done, was rarely spoken of and treated as a scandal. But which part was the true scandal, Elena thought, that he left his wife or that he was gay?

Such was Elena’s current dilemma. It had always been assumed that she would be attracted to boys, and she was. What else would she call it, if not attraction, when she daydreamed about Matt Donovan’s sky-blue eyes? But if that was attraction, what was it when she stared at Bonnie Bennett’s cinnamon curls as they caught the light, or when she was entranced by Sasha Asimov’s scarlet hair and blinding smile?

It was Eliza who had helped her understand it. When their Aunt Jenna had joked about her twin having to beat boys off with a stick as they dropped her off to her high school prom (and didn’t that sting, knowing Elena’s sister was having all these experiences without her), Eliza had mentioned offhandedly that it was both boys and girls that would need to be chased off. And so Elena had realized that it didn’t have to be a choice - girls or boys, gay or straight - it could just be whoever she was attracted to, without regard for gender.

That was when she thought of the theory of alternate universes, whether this was a point of divergence between this universe and another. And Elena wondered if there was a world out there, another version of her who had never, would never discover this: who’d never wonder if she felt anything more than aesthetic appreciation for the pretty girls at school, who’d date some guy she liked and get married and have children like everyone in this town expected her to without wondering if there was anything else, if she could have anyone else, and maybe that girl would be happy because she was normal and no one would judge her. But Elena wasn’t her, and she never would be. And maybe, just maybe, that was okay.

So that was that, and Elena moved on from her realizations, as she did in all things. When her father died, she’d cried a bit and moved on. Maybe her lack of devastation made her cold, but Grayson Gilbert hadn’t been around a lot when she was younger and, seven years later, she barely remembered him. Instead, he was replaced by Lorenzo St, John, her mother’s unofficial boyfriend, who played board games with her and was always willing to read her favorite poems aloud in his British accent.

When they’d started school and Eliza had skipped grades, and suddenly, her twin sister wasn’t always with her anymore. Elena had grieved the distance in their relationship and then moved on, played with the other kids in her grade, and then enlisted her new best friend Caroline Forbes in following Eliza around to spend time with her.

Even when Elena had found out they were adopted, she’d adapted and met their biological grandmother, Liliyana, who treated Eliza like she hung the moon and stars but got a strange look on her face around Elena and, inexplicably, Enzo.

So when her twin left for college at Oxford, of all places, when they were fourteen, Elena thought she’d move on, as easily as always. However, at times she’d find herself thinking of a new outfit she wanted to show Eliza, or a book she just had to rant about, only to remember that her sister was on the other side of the world. Even when spending time with Caroline, there was often an empty space between them where Eliza had been. But then they’d tried out for the cheerleading team, where the only other freshman was Bonnie Bennett, and the short exchanges at cheer practice turned into grabbing coffee at the grill, until soon enough that empty space was filled.

And thus, the simple-but-never-shallow life of Elena Sommers-Gilbert went on.

Chapter Text

August 8, 2002

“Isobel.” Liliyana took a deep breath, steeling herself as she prepared for the coming confrontation.

“Mother,” a young dark-haired woman smiled slightly, beckoning her inside. Isobel’s gray eyes, so nearly identical to William’s, met her own. “You said you wanted to meet?”

Her relationship with her daughter had always been strained, but Liliyana had never thought Isobel would hide things of such magnitude from her.

She hadn’t raised Isobel, not since she was barely more than a toddler. Not since William had caught her in the middle of a ritual (and not just any ritual, but necromancy, of all things) and left with their four-year-old daughter the next morning. She’d never made a secret of being a witch, and despite his devout Jewish background, Liliyana’s former husband had never rejected her for her identity as long as she didn’t actively practice. Although, that was a somewhat hypocritical viewpoint, after what he’d asked of her years ago. But apparently summoning her dead mother’s spirit had violated his carefully-cultivated supernatural amnesia, leading to his efforts at cutting off her influence on Isobel, never mind that their daughter had been unable to use in the first place.

The relationship Liliyana had cultivated with her daughter, formed through sporadic visits that had increased in frequency as Isobel reached her teenage years, must not have been as strong as she thought, to hide the very existence of her granddaughters. If Eliza hadn’t contacted her, Liliyana might never have even known. The thought filled her with fury as her attention narrowed, with laser-sharp focus, on Isobel Flemming.

“How could you hide it from me?” She demanded. “Why?”

“Why, what?” Isobel’s brows creased in confusion.

“You still pretend like you didn’t conceal your pregnancy, the birth of your children from me?”

Her daughter’s eyes widened in shock at the revelation of Liliyana’s knowledge. “How? How did you find out?”

“It doesn’t matter how I found out, Isobel, only that it wasn’t from you!” Liliyana’s voice rose.

“I was sixteen!” Isobel cried, tears glinting in her stormy eyes. “I’d run away from home, chased by vampires with my hunter boyfriend, who I only got involved with in the first place for protection! I wasn’t exactly thinking rationally.”

“What?” Liliyana gasped. “Chased by vampires? Why didn’t you go to me? I would’ve helped you, you know that.”

“Yes, I do know that,” Isobel sighed. “I’d just found out about the supernatural world, I started researching and you wouldn’t get me in contact with any vampires. So I took matters into my own hands, one bad decision led to another, and soon enough a couple of vampires obsessed with witch blood came along wanting to drink anyone with magical ancestry dry! I was ashamed, because it was my fault and you warned me, and John Gilbert thought he was in love with me. I never thought I’d end up pregnant.”

Liliyana did understand the shameful consequences of mistakes, though her own youthful rebellion had been giving up magic, not a dangerous obsession with vampirism. But that didn’t excuse her daughter’s actions. “And when you did become pregnant, your first thought was to leave your newborn children, one of whom was a witch, with Grayson Gilbert, a vampire-experimenting and supernatural-hating man? You know what William is like about family, he would’ve gladly raised them, and so would I have! You had choices, Isobel. You didn’t even have to be the one to raise your daughters! That was more than many teenage mothers can say.”

Isobel broke down crying, tears cascading down her cheeks. After a moment of hesitation, Liliyana took her daughter’s hands. “I didn’t know about- about any of that!” Isobel protested between sobs. “He was John’s brother, a doctor with a perfect marriage and a stable job. He seemed so nice, so responsible, he went on and on about how he understood me. He said he knew many teenage mothers, and they were miserable, and that any child needed stability. He said I was doing the right thing, that he’d take care of everything!”

“I should’ve known it was too good to be true,” Isobel whispered. “But deep down, I don’t think I wanted to know. I wasn’t ready to be a mother, to deal with the pressure, the shame. It was easier to just move on with my life and pretend it never happened. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I did.”

They sat there in silence for a while, processing their respective findings, until Isobel squeezed her eyes shut, as if bracing herself. “Mother… are they happy? My daughters, I mean.”

“Yes, they are.” Liliyana contemplated the question. “After Grayson died, his wife Miranda is doing an excellent job at raising them. Elisaveta, she goes by Eliza, is so intelligent. She brings a new perspective to the art of witchcraft. And Elena…”

“What about Elena?” The words rushed out from Isobel’s mouth, all tangled and twisted with worry. The feeling of dread grew as Liliyana hesitated to answer. “What. About. Elena, Mother?”

“She’s a Petrova doppelgänger, and the prophecy…”

“No,” the broken voice of Isobel Flemming cut through the room like a nuclear bomb. “No!”

“Isobel-“

“I won’t allow it! Whatever it takes, I will stop that damned prophecy!”

Chapter Text

Miranda Sommers had always been the fixer, the problem-solver. When her father had left and her mother was too battered by a losing battle against breast cancer to take care of five-year-old Jenna, sixteen-year-old Miranda had stepped in. She’d done the housework, the chores, worked as a waitress to pay the bills, and did her best to get into a pre-med program, because maybe then she’d be able to fix the only thing she couldn’t: her mother.

She drove herself to the bone day and night, getting used to going on four hours of sleep, and got scholarships to top universities around the country. And then she drowned herself in tears on decision day because she had to stay near Mystic Falls to take care of her mother and sister, and accepted Whitmore’s offer instead.

Sometimes Miranda wondered, years later, what could’ve been had she accepted one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. Perhaps she would’ve been a surgeon, making millions and inventing cutting-edge medical techniques, living in some big-city high-rise apartment. And in the deepest, darkest reaches of her mind, a part of her wished she had.

But she hadn’t; instead, Miranda became a wife at 22 and a mother at 25, raising infants and toddlers and teenage sisters while attending the decidedly-not-world-class Whitmore medical school. As the years and the rigor of medical school passed, she started to realize that something wasn’t right. After her sister left for college and her residency was completed, shouldn’t her workload have lightened?

And then Miranda realized where all her extra hours had gone: childcare. But, while Jenna was no longer available to babysit, that shouldn’t have been a problem with two parents and school on the weekdays. That was when it hit her: two parents. Where was Grayson in all of this? In fact, she didn’t think she could ever recall a time when he’d done the housework or watched the children. It had always been her.

As time went on, Miranda noticed more and more inconsistencies in her husband’s behavior. He disappeared at odd hours, was always out of the house long after work, and barely spent any time with her. Could he be cheating on her? When she confronted him, he’d been cold and indifferent to her accusations. Miranda felt like she hardly knew him at all.

So she packed her bags, told him she was going to a medical conference, and went to see a divorce lawyer. When she came back, Grayson was dead and her daughter was in the hospital after her husband had driven them off a bridge.

Everyone said it was an accident, and they sang his praises at the funeral. No one wondered, as Miranda did, whether he’d been drunk behind the wheel. No one panicked, as she did, at how easily it could’ve been her daughter, her precious little Eliza, who died that day. And certainly, if anyone saw her crying at night, they would never have guessed it was because Miranda felt guilty for not trying to leave her miserable marriage sooner. And when her daughter was found bleeding out from a cut on her arm (self inflicted, the nurses whispered as they examined the angle of the wound), Miranda broke.

She’d promised herself that she’d never do what her mother had, never leave her children to fend for herself the moment she was overwhelmed with her own problems, yet that was exactly what she’d done. Miranda hadn’t even noticed the way her daughter had fallen apart until Eliza’s blood stained the carpet. Never again, she resolved. Never again.

This promise was one she kept. She read books with Elena, discussed the latest medical advances with Eliza, and drew pictures of dinosaurs with Jeremy. She met Enzo St. John, her daughter’s handsome British rescuer, who drew her in with his dark eyes and charming smile. One evening, Miranda invited him to dinner, and the rest was history.

Her children loved him, he offered to look after them while she couldn’t, and they spent hours talking about anything from art to history to Jeremy’s latest cartoon obsession. It was nice, having another adult to talk to that wasn’t her sister, a coworker, or a patient. Now, there was someone who truly knew her, supported her, but didn’t try to change her. Enzo fit perfectly in her life, with his jokes and his banter and his adventurous spirit nothing like Grayson. For the first in a long time, Miranda Sommers felt like herself again.

And then she found out about the supernatural. If it wasn’t for Enzo’s demonstration of vampire speed and Eliza’s levitation of a paperweight, Miranda wouldn’t have believed it. As it was, she’d needed weeks to fully process the implications of her daughter being a witch and her now-romantic partner a vampire. A part of her was horrified, knowing there were creatures with such power, that she’d loved them and trusted them. Yet, this was Miranda’s daughter, who she’d raised from a tiny infant with a little fist clinging to her finger. This was Enzo, who’d helped her after Grayson’s death and had fallen asleep, curled up on the couch as they watched the horror movies that no one else liked but her. And she realized that human or not, it didn’t matter because they’d always be hers.

When they explained the limits of vampire compulsion (or more accurately, the lack thereof), Miranda started a vervain garden, dropped the herb into a blender, and dumped it into the house’s water tank. At first, the very act of washing his hands caused Enzo pain, but the British vampire brushed off her concern and decided to build a vervain tolerance.

Two years later, they made vervain ink and got their tattoos together. After, as she looked into his eyes with his hands in hers and her children laughing around the dinner table, Miranda knew there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

Chapter Text

It was the 9-year anniversary of her father’s death, and Elena Sommers-Gilbert was laughing as she reached for another solo cup.

It was yet another silly high school party full of swarms of drunk teenagers, and she hadn’t wanted to go, but it was better than sitting at home all alone, stewing in her lack of misery. Elena hated these scenes, preferring to read poems with her friends or write something productive rather than marinating in a cocktail of hormones and teenage angst. But when Caroline had mentioned a party on Saturday and Jeremy had convinced their mother to drive him to some gamer meet-up in the city, she’d been so incredibly lonely.

Though her friends had offered to hang out, she wasn’t in the mood for a buffet of undeserved pity. Because, without the lens of childhood innocence and obligated nostalgia, Grayson Gilbert was an objectively shitty parent. Elena still remembered his chronic absences and constant dismissiveness, the way her mother had run herself ragged trying to balance hospital shifts and housework and childcare. (No, no. She couldn’t think of her father. If she did, she’d think of-)

Elena joined the chorus of drunken, tone-deaf singing of the latest pop songs in an effort to drown out the sound of her thoughts. She lifted her cup to her lips and it was red. (Red, the color of her sister’s blood all those years ago, because her father’s death had not been enough, no. Eliza had to hurt herself too.)

Elena dropped the cup and ran. She couldn’t deal with this, why couldn’t she deal with this? It had been nine years. Eliza was fine, probably having a blast at her New York biotech internship and never thinking twice about Grayson Gilbert. And Jeremy couldn’t care less at his gamer conference, likely going on and on about role-player games or whatever it was at this very moment. So why couldn’t Elena forget? She’d gotten drunk, she’d partied, she’d given in and kissed Matt Donovan against a tree trunk before remembering that they’d broken up. She’d done everything a normal teenager would’ve and still, the memories would not leave her alone.

Suddenly, she looked up and found herself on Wickery Bridge, the exact place her father’s car had gone over the railing with her twin sister inside. Screw that, Elena thought. She was going to quit wallowing and go home and forget about all of this, because tomorrow she’d meet Bonnie at the grill and write a poem or two and move on. She fumbled with the buttons of her phone, finally pressing the right ones and dialing. Enzo’s voice greeted her and she, carefully keeping her voice steady, asked him to pick her up. She smiled as he said of course, and where, still feeling the warmth after she hung up, because she didn’t need to think about Grayson when she and her mother had someone so much better.

A moment later, her hair stood on end as something broke the unnaturally-silent darkness. She spun around, remembering Eliza’s words on self-defense (go for the eyes or the ears, even the nose or pinky fingers. Yank it, twist it, anything goes as long as you can get away.) Suddenly, between one blink and the next, the shadowy figure of a young man appeared behind her.

“Katherine,” he whispered and advanced at her.

“Uh, what?” Elena asked. “Okay, I don’t know you and by the looks of this, I don’t want to, so get the hell away from me.”

The stranger laughed off-handedly, a strange glint in his eyes as he lifted his hands up in apology. “I’m Stefan, Stefan Salvatore. What’s your name?”

Elena very much did not want this creep to know her name. She was trying to figure a way out of this situation, when she was saved by the familiar glow of headlights. Not wasting a single second, she dashed towards the car doors, pulled the handle, and jumped into the passenger seat. As they drove away, her shoulders slumped in relief.

“Who was that, love?” Enzo asked, the smallest of smirks on his face. “Your new boyfriend?”

Elena’s eyes widened as she shook her head vociferously. “God, no! Just some guy named Stefan Salvatore, who apparently gets off on sneaking up on girls at night.”

Enzo’s fingers tensed on the steering wheel. “You should be careful, Elena. That fella sounds like bad news.”

“Don’t worry,” Elena rolled her eyes. “With you and Eliza, I’ve practically memorized the self-defense talk, and I know better than to be around some creep.”

“As long as you stay far away from him.”

— — —

“A vampire named Stefan Salvatore is in town, and he just saw Elena.”

She cursed. “And where Stefan goes, Damon isn’t far behind.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Do whatever you can to protect my family. If either Salvatore is a threat, deal with them. Preferably non-lethally, but if it does happen, it happens. If anything else happens, call me.”

Chapter Text

“Well, well, well… what do we have here?” A man’s voice echoed through the makeshift cell as heavy chains frantically rattled.

The other vampire, chained to the wall with his arms and legs spread wide as if in mockery of a cross, hissed in pain as he tugged on a metal link.

“Vervain,” the first vampire explained in a cheerful London accent. “Quite handy, no?”

“What do you want from me?” The unfortunately incarcerated Stefan Salvatore asked.

“Me? Nothing,” his captor answered. “My friend, on the other hand, is very concerned about your propensity for following young girls, especially a certain Elena Sommers-Gilbert. If it were up to me, you’d be sporting a stake through your heart as soon as you crossed the border into Mystic Falls. But while my friend might be merciful, we can’t have the Ripper of Monterey running around freely, can we?”

“I’ve changed!” said Ripper protested. “I’m not that man anymore!”

“Save your excuses for your conscience, Mr. Salvatore. I certainly don’t have time for them.” Enzo checked his watch. “Oh dear, would you look at the time. I have a date with a lovely lady, and I won’t be running late.”

“No! Please! Don’t leave me here!” Stefan’s futile screams echoed as Enzo walked away without a second glance.

When the new student failed to show up at school the next day, Elena breathed a sigh of relief. Her stalker was gone and the sprigs of vervain sewn into the inside of her bra would hopefully be no longer needed. But one could never be too careful, especially with vampires (the Salvatores, her mother and Enzo had said) around.

On the other hand, Bonnie Bennett was intrigued. Stefan Salvatore had clearly intended to stick around; what could have uprooted a century-old vampire from his ruse? She would find out... perhaps a chat with Eliza was in order.

---

“You said that blonde was a vampire!” The Sheriff of Mystic Falls furiously exclaimed.

“She is!” A dark-haired, blue-eyed vampire reacted in genuine shock.

“Then why was she unaffected by vervain, Mr. Salvatore? We almost apprehended Ms. Branson without evidence!”

The council quieted as the doors opened once more and two figures walked in. Damon’s eyes widened as he saw the second one’s familiar face and was greeted by the slightest of smirks.

“Miranda, Lorenzo! Finally, someone with sense! Tell this idiot,” Elizabeth Forbes gestured to Damon, “what you found!”

“Of course, Liz. Alexia, also known as Lexi, Branson is completely human, so we let her go. After all, us humans have to stick together, right, mate?” Enzo’s sharp stare turned accusatory.

“I’m truly sorry for my mistake,” Damon said, his usual arrogant drawl absent from his voice.

“But you won’t be fooling us twice, will you, Damon?” Enzo’s voice was as warm as the glaciers of Mount Everest. “We won’t be trusting your advice again. Isn’t that right, love?”

The lovely brunette beside him smiled just as coldly. “What kind of hunter can’t tell a human from a vampire?” The ebony eyes of Miranda Sommers burned wooden bullets into the back of Damon’s head, even as he returned to the boarding house and pulled a sorority girl for a snack. Those were the eyes of a mother, ruthlessly protecting her child. Those were the eyes that would haunt him as he fell asleep and dreamed of sinking his fangs into a certain brown-haired high school girl.

And later, those would be the eyes that watched in icy indifference as Enzo St. John promised the ultimate revenge.

---

"Stefan Salvatore, what a surprise." A female voice called out in the darkness. At first, he thought it was a hallucination: a figment of his broken, blood-starved imagination. Yet how could it be? Those icy violet eyes, framed by waves of raven hair and cheekbones that could cut glass, were a sight he couldn't have conjured in the wildest of dreams.

"Who are you?" Stefan rasped, his throat dry from disuse.

"Who am I?" The woman - no, girl, she couldn't be more than nineteen at most - smirked. "That's not your concern. What is, however, your concern is your continued presence in Mystic Falls. Actually, your lack thereof."

"What do you mean?" He asked. "I can't exactly leave right now." Stefan gestured to his chains.

"But I can change that. All you have to do, Stefan, is leave Mystic Falls. What do you say?" The girl smiled, as if taunting him with a hint of I-know-something-you-don't.

"Uh, sorry, can't do that. My brother's there and he's gonna hurt this girl and if I don't protect the town-" Stefan was cut off by a mocking laugh.

"The people of Mystic Falls can take care of themselves; after all, that's what the council's for, and the less I talk about your stalking of a teenage girl the better." She frowned, as if trying to remember something, before visibly brightening. "Oh, and, did I say you had a choice? You don't. One of the greatest perks of the supernatural world is this little thing called magic, because if you don't stay away willingly... a good, ole' curse will take care of that."

Stefan's vision turned to black as he felt his neck snap. He woke up hours later, panicking, on a bus to Indiana. As soon as he thought about going back to Mystic Falls, a horrible headache pounded at his temples. That didn't deter him for long, though; he had to get back to Elena, he had to know her, to make sure his brother didn't sink his claws into her. But the more he plotted and planned the more the headache increased, until he was screaming from an aneurism and his fellow passengers called 911 from the bus.

The Ripper of Monterey wouldn't set foot in Mystic Falls for years to come.

Chapter Text

“One down, one to go,” Eliza announced to herself, smirking at her accomplishment.

Astral projection was a truly wonderful thing, both in its mechanisms and in its uses (as Stefan Salvatore had unfortunately experienced). It was a complex double illusion projected across long distances, mimicking the reflection of light rays in the visual spectrum off of her body in order to create the illusion of her physical presence in a certain place, while projecting the visual data of that place into the visual cortex of her brain. The creator of the spell must have been a true genius in both mind-influencing magic and the physics of light waves, thousands of years before the development of modern science.

In Eliza’s opinion, witches had always been the greatest of scientists. After all, what was magic but the ability to understand and influence the world around us? All spells had their basis, whether known to the witch or not, in scientific principles. She was disappointed in how much knowledge had been lost in the millennia of witchcraft that had resulted in the streamlined spells and magical shortcuts that most witches relied upon today - like flying an airplane while thinking some mysterious force of nature was holding it up in the air.

She understood, of course. Magical practices had been passed down through the generations, often omitting the scientific mechanisms behind them, greatly influenced by increasing interactions with the dubious, primarily religion-based ideas of ancient human civilizations. It wasn’t surprising that most of the widespread magical theory was extremely spiritual and not at all scientific.

Eliza was startled out of her musings on witchcraft by the buzzing of her phone. She answered it, already knowing what it was about.

“Do you have him?”

“Yes,” the smooth, silky voice of her associate answered. “My people placed him on a bus to rural Indiana. With the sedative in his system, he will wake up very, very far from Mystic Falls.”

“And the stone?” Eliza asked, referring to the anchor of the curse preventing Stefan from setting foot in Mystic Falls.

“Buried in the town square at midnight with no witnesses.”

“Good.” Eliza’s plans were in good shape. “Thank you so much, Marguerite.”

“Anything for my young savior.”

Eliza laughed at the vampire’s words. She had met Marguerite Clairmont, turned in the late 19th century, years ago in New York. Apparently, a very stupid descendent of the witch who’d made her daylight ring had taken offense to his bloodline being linked to the magical artifact of a ‘vampiric abomination’, and decided to de-spell it in broad daylight in the middle of Central Park. To prevent a vampire barbecue in front of dozens of human witnesses, Eliza had saved Marguerite’s life and given her a new daylight ring from the spell she’d learned in her copy of the Bennett Grimoire (the original mailed to Bonnie). They’d stayed in contact and developed a friendship ever since.

It was a very useful friendship, as Marguerite owned many supernatural businesses and establishments across the country, and even overseas. Eliza had been the one to give her the idea of UV-filtering windows to allow vampires to enjoy the sunlight, which had been implemented in dozens of restaurants, cafés, and even apartment complexes for vampires.

Thus, Marguerite was a prominent figure in the American vampire community and her contacts and employees were invaluable resources for Eliza, especially in her various projects and research. The charismatic vampire was also an interesting source of history, having lived in the Gilded Age and witnessed the Second Industrial Revolution.

Though she was secretive about her birth name and human identity, Eliza knew Marguerite had been a very wealthy member of American high society, donating heavily and working behind the scenes for the suffragette campaigns and the women’s rights movement. It was fascinating to know someone who had exerted such influence on history, to hear stories about manipulating socialites, reporters, and journalists alike under a veneer of courtesy, all while being underestimated because of her gender.

Marguerite was certainly a brilliant negotiator, able to talk to centuries-old vampires and human businessmen and somehow come out on top. And she’d taught that to Eliza, too.

“You have might have logic and science, my dear Eliza,” Marguerite had said, “but humans and vampires are not logical creatures. Oh, we dress our decisions up as logic and evidence, and that certainly does contribute, but we are emotional beings at heart. If you want your audience to agree with your proposal, it doesn’t need to be logical, it needs to seem logical, to appeal to what they want.”

Eliza had learned much from the vampire who hid her cunning under beauty, and she certainly would need it in Mystic Falls to deal with what was to come.

Chapter Text

“Who’s the brunette over there, next to the redhead?”

“Seriously? You’re asking me about her?” The drunk woman - what was her name again? Kristy? Kellie? - rolled her eyes before turning back to him with what she thought was a seductive smirk, but in reality just made her look deranged. “Oh, Miranda’s such a killjoy. We used to be best friends back in high school, even got her to do all my biology homework, but med school and children ruined her. Now, she’s such a goody-two-shoes, all like ‘no, we can’t hang out, Kelly, I have a 10-hour hospital shift and then I need to watch the kids’ or ‘why did you leave Matt and Vicki at home alone?’” Kelly - right, that was her name - scoffed. “As if the brats can’t take care of themselves. I’m so much more fun than her.”

Okay, even Damon could understand where this Miranda was coming from, though her apparent possession of common sense would not sway his desire for revenge. That self-important, wannabe vampire hunter pawn of Enzo’s needed to pay for insulting him, and if he could get information on his old friend’s plans in the process? All the better, which was why he was currently drinking at the Mystic Grill and getting information - and a snack - from the easy prey known as Kelly Donovan.

“And does ‘Miranda’ happen to know a dark-haired man with a British accent named Lorenzo St. John?” Damon further inquired.

Kelly’s smirk turned into a bitter scowl. “I’ve got no idea how Miranda Gilbert - or maybe it’s Miranda Sommers now - of all people managed to snag that hottie. I’m pretty sure she started reeling him in the moment Grayson died. She probably played the whole ‘damsel in distress: the grieving widow edition’.”

Damon had a feeling that Kelly’s vitriol was less about how Miranda Sommers went about seducing Enzo and more about the woman’s own jealousy. Had Enzo rejected her, or something? Not that it mattered, because it was all the better for Damon to use.

This time, to stymie her increasingly annoying rants, the vampire compelled the woman. “Tell me everything you know about Lorenzo St. John.”

Kelly’s face turned blank as her eyes lost focus and she began to speak in a monotone. “Enzo St. John moved to Mystic Falls from England a decade ago, after he saved Miranda’s daughter from the car accident that killed her husband Grayson. He’s handsome, a member of the town council, and travels a lot. He’s been in a relationship with Miranda Sommers for seven years, even takes care of her brats, which is just sad. A delicious young man like him with money and a hot ass could do so much better. I mean, whenever I-“

Damon groaned. “Stop. Just stop. I did not need to hear that.”

He frowned as he contemplated the evening’s newfound dilemma. On one hand, she was an easy meal and had the willingness and requisite anatomy for sex (never did anyone ever say that Damon Salvatore had standards). On the other hand, though, she was seriously getting on his nerves. But then again…

---

“Steffieeee! Come out, come out wherever you are!” Damon called into the boarding house, high on blood and alcohol.

“Uncle Stefan’s not here.” Zach Salvatore glared at his vampire relative.

“Then where is my bunny-drinker of a brother?”

“Not. Here.” Zach repeated, gritting his teeth in annoyance. “I haven’t seen him in a week, probably skipped town now that the Council’s taking more of an interest.”

“Stefan wouldn’t just leave, not with little Miss Lookalike all human and defenseless.” Damon narrowed his eyes. Was his brother plotting something?

“But he did.” Zach tossed something to Damon, who caught it automatically. It was a colorful postcard with a picture of a small town that said Greetings from Indiana.

The vampire looked at it for a second and then laughed. “Let my guess, my dear, self-sacrificing brother’s trying to lead me away from Mystic Falls?” He scoffed. “As if I’d fall for that. All he did was leave pretty little Elena without a protector. I’d be stupid if I didn’t take advantage of that.”

A few hours later, Elena was walking down the street, silently brainstorming thesis ideas for her AP English paper, when ran straight into someone’s chest.

“So sorry!” Elena exclaimed. “I was distracted, I didn’t notice you there.”

When she looked up, she saw the face of the casualty of her distraction: handsome, dark hair, blue eyes, maybe in his early twenties.

“No problem, gorgeous.” The man smirked, casually extending a hand. “Damon, Damon Salvatore. And who are you?”

Elena felt like she was hit in the head by a bucket of ice. This was a vampire, an honest-to-god, bloodsucking vampire right there, and she’d ran into him. And- and was he flirting with her? She was horrified and a little disgusted. How old even was he? Enzo had said the Salvatore’s were around as old as he was - a century, at least, and no matter how mature she felt, she was still a teenager. As her sister had taught her, some things you just didn’t do, and hitting on a teenager when you were decades older and with a significant vampire-human power imbalance was one of them.

Suddenly, she felt a wave of fury. Elena knew about vampires and was on vervain, but even then, she wasn’t sure she could defend herself from him if she had to. But Damon Salvatore didn’t know that, and here he was, looking at her like he was deciding whether she’d be better as a toy or a meal. What if she had been just another naive, unknowing teenage girl? Would she have laughed, felt flattered by his attention, and let him get close enough that it’d be too late? How many girls had he ensnared with a handsome face and flirtation

If she were a witch, Elena’s stare could’ve set the arrogant vampire on fire. “Who am I? I,” she spat out. “Am not interested.”

She shoved past Damon and faded into the crowds of passerby. She would not let herself be taken off guard. If it was just another helpless human girl that Damon expected, he wouldn’t be getting one.

---

As he followed the Katherine look-alike back to her house, he smelled a strange, repellent scent. He realized all too late that it was vervain, enough vervain that it practically permeated the very walls, tainting the air with its toxins. He stumbled in his tracks, the aroma in his lungs making him dizzy with pain. As he backed away, he was startled by a voice in his ear.

“It’s not very nice to follow little girls home, is it?” Damon spun around to face the burning eyes of an all-too-familiar speaker.

"Enzo," the blue-eyed vampire breathed.

"Damon Salvatore. Long time, no see. Isn't that right, mate?" The usually easygoing smile of Lorenzo St. John twisted into a cold smirk.

"How did you survive?" Beneath the arrogant facade, something inside Damon cracked at the sight of his old friend's anger directed at him.

"How did I survive, you ask?" Enzo laughed. It was sharp and cruel, the laugh of one whose trust had been burnt to ashes by betrayal. "Certainly not because of my so-called friend. I survived because I was the only vampire they had left, because they couldn't bear to see their only torture subject incinerated by the fire. Do you know that it takes a long time for a vampire to burn alive? I would burn and heal and burn, over and over again, flames eating away at my body and slowly devouring me alive. And I felt everything. I was still burning when they unlocked the cage and dragged me out, begging them to kill me, to let me die, to make it stop. But they didn't even have the mercy to do that, and it was nearly half a century before I escaped. And where were you, Damon? Where were you when I screamed and begged and cursed you for leaving me to die? Where were you?"

"I- I- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I had to turn off my emotions, I thought you were dead. I thought Augustine was gone." For the first time in decades, Damon uttered a genuine apology.

"Oh, so you turned off your emotions to get yourself to leave me to die. And of course you thought I was dead, you were the one who left me? Would it have been so hard to get the key from Whitmore and let me out? Of course not, you couldn't risk a few burns on your perfect skin - that would've healed in seconds - for your so-called friend, so you had to use your deliberate lack of humanity as an excuse?" Enzo shook his head in derision. "You didn't think I'd be foolish enough to believe that, did you?"

"I-" For once, the other vampire was shocked speechless.

"Of course you did. Classic Damon Salvatore, doing horrible things and expecting people to just forgive you. And by the way, I know about Maggie. But this time, you will not be coming near anyone I care about. That includes Miranda Sommers and her children, by the way, especially her daughter Elena, who happens to be the teenage girl you just stalked. So if you don't stay away... you won't be liking the consequences." And with that, the British vampire turned on his heel and strode away, right into the doorway of the vervain-filled house.

Chapter Text

I know, I know. It’s the classic “why I won’t be continuing this” note. But in case you’d like to hear what I have to say, here it is:

This was my first foray into writing fanfiction. There were a lot of tropes and clichés involved that are fandom staples. I would like to think I have moved past that as a writer, and if I were to continue this, there would be significant rewrites. Nevertheless, I most likely will not be continuing this story, as I have mostly lost interest in the fandom.

That said, I have greatly enjoyed writing this. Thank you for all your support and encouragement in the comments; your participation has helped me grow as a writer.

Best of luck in all your own reading and writing endeavors!