Chapter Text
⚠️ Reader Advisory: This story contains references to alcohol and drug abuse, as well as potential emotional triggers. I ask for your understanding and suggest caution while reading, especially if you are sensitive to these topics. Please proceed only if you feel comfortable.
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"An invisible string connects those destined to meet... Regardless of time, place or circumstance...
The string may stretch or tangle, but it will never break."
— Ancient Chinese belief.
In China, legend tells of gods tying a red cord around the ankles of soulmates, binding them forever. No matter the time, distance or obstacles, these souls will find each other. The longer the string, the deeper the melancholy of separation; the shorter, the closer the happiness.
No matter how many loves cross their path, only the other end of the string will bring true love.
In Japan, where the myth took root, the cord began to connect the little fingers, symbolising a spiritual bridge to eternal love — the "Unmei no Akai Ito", the red string of fate.
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The scorching sun of Mystic Falls bathed the town in golden light that Monday morning, turning the streets into a mosaic of flickering shadows. The sky, a crystalline blue, seemed to mock the heat that made the asphalt shimmer and the trees' leaves droop, exhausted.
In Christopher Webster's — Chris's — apartment, in the heart of the town, the warm aroma of coffee mingled with the sweetness of toasting bread, filling the small kitchen with a deceptive sense of comfort.
Josette Saltzman, seated at the polished wooden table, scribbled in a diary filled with pink and yellow post-it notes, her fingers tapping a worn pencil. She wore a light white cotton blouse, sleeves rolled up to ease the heat, and a flowing yellow linen skirt that brushed her knees. Her brown hair, tied in a loose ponytail, let stray strands cling to her damp neck, gleaming under the light streaming through the window.
Josie felt the weight of a melody that wouldn't let her go. It was a soft ballad, with piano chords that seemed to echo from a distant place, as if belonging to another life. The notes came in fragments, like pieces of a puzzle she couldn't solve.
Who are you?, she thought, writing in her diary: 'A void that defies explanation, a heart that won't give up.'
The words weren't about Christopher. And that, no matter how much she tried to ignore it, made her chest tighten, as if a part of her was lost, waiting to be found.
— Memory —
Josie sits on a wooden bench by a river reflecting an orange sky. The air smells of wet grass and ripe cherries, a sweetness that makes her breathe deeply. She doesn't recognise the place, but it feels like home.
A figure sits beside her, indistinct, yet their presence is warm, like an embrace that needs no words. She holds a paintbrush and the canvas before her bursts with colours — deep blues, vibrant reds, as if painting a broken heart.
"Do you promise we'll meet again?" asks a soft voice, not her own. Josie tries to answer, but the image fades, leaving only the echo of an ache in her chest.
— End of memory —
Josie blinked several times, returning to the present, her pencil still in hand. What was that? It wasn't the first time these visions had appeared, like waking dreams that made no sense.
She shook her head, trying to shake off the feeling, and glanced at the coffee mug before her, the dark liquid now cold, beside two slices of toast with strawberry jam she'd barely touched.
"Babe, aren't you going to finish your breakfast?" asked Christopher, his voice gentle but tinged with impatience, pulling her from her thoughts.
Josie looked up, offering a weak smile. "Sorry, I got distracted with lesson planning." She closed her diary, the sound of pages brushing against each other echoing in the stuffy kitchen. "Got any campaign events today?"
Christopher, tall with neatly combed blonde hair, exuded a natural charisma that felt rehearsed. He wore an impeccable grey suit, a sky-blue tie perfectly knotted, and his green eyes sparkled with the confidence of someone who knew how to charm a crowd.
As a candidate for a seat on the Mystic Falls council, his campaign consumed his time with meetings, speeches, and handshakes at local events. Leaning against the counter, he held a green apple, the crisp sound of his bite blending with the hum of the ceiling fan.
"Yeah, I've got a meeting with supporters this afternoon and a dinner with sponsors tonight" he replied, his voice brimming with energy. "But I swapped tomorrow's event with Spencer so we can go to your sister's exhibition next week." He smiled, but there was a distance in his gaze, as if the campaign were his true priority.
Elizabeth Saltzman, Josie's twin sister, is a talented photographer and was former model, running a sought-after studio for events and magazine covers. The upcoming exhibition had her radiant, and Josie felt proud, but also a pang of envy for how easily Lizzie embraced the spotlight — something Josie had never craved.
"She's unstoppable right now" Josie murmured, shrugging. "I think I'll have dinner at Milton's house tonight and then head to my apartment. I need to finish a song."
Christopher frowned, tilting his head. "I still don't get why you don't record a demo and send it to a label. Josie, your songs are incredible. You're the best singer I know."
She rolled her eyes, an almost instinctive gesture. "I don't want people to know my songs," she replied, her voice sharper than intended. "Only you, Lizzie, MG and my mum know I write music. As far as anyone's concerned, I'm just a simple music teacher."
Christopher laughed, the sound light as a breeze but with a hint of condescension. "A music teacher who'll be late for the school where her mum's the headmistress if she doesn't hurry up."
Josie checked her phone and widened her eyes, her heart racing as she saw she had only twelve minutes to get to school. She leapt from the chair, nearly knocking over her mug, and rushed to the bathroom, her white trainers echoing on the wooden floor. As she brushed her teeth, the mirror reflected her flushed face, not just from the heat but from a growing unease.
The songs she wrote — verses about longing for someone she'd never met, about a void she couldn't explain — weren't about Christopher. They were for someone else, someone she felt deep in her soul but couldn't name.
"Don't drive too fast!" Christopher shouted, laughing, as Josie grabbed her backpack and dashed out, the door slamming behind her, the sound echoing down the corridor.
In the car, the open windows let in the hot air, heavy with the scent of dry grass and warm asphalt. Josie turned on the radio, but the upbeat pop song couldn't drown out the melody echoing in her mind.
It was as if the notes were calling her to a place — or someone — she didn't yet know. She stopped at a traffic light, the heat making her blouse cling to her skin.
• ❅ •
On the outskirts of Mystic Falls, in a street lined with tall trees, Hope Mikaelson's house stood with quiet elegance. It was a two-storey home, its white walls and wide windows reflecting the morning sun.
In front, a small garden displayed two slender palm trees, their green leaves swaying in the warm breeze, flanking a stone path to the front door.
In the back garden, a divided pool — one shallow section for children, another deeper — shimmered under the sun, next to a brick barbecue and a colourful trampoline where Eleanor loved to play. The sound of rippling water mingled with birdsong, creating a peaceful retreat.
Inside, the grand entrance hall had a pale marble floor and a curved staircase leading upstairs. To the left, a door opened to the garage, housing a sleek black car and two vintage motorbikes — a passion of Hope's.
To the right, the hall flowed into a spacious living room with grey velvet sofas and a stone fireplace, connected to a modern kitchen. The kitchen, the heart of the home, featured a black granite island in the centre, surrounded by high stools, and smelled of fresh coffee and herbs from a small basil pot on the counter.
Upstairs, three bedrooms, each with its own en-suite bathroom, offered privacy and comfort. Hope's room, decorated in navy blue and beige, had a king-size bed and a window overlooking the garden.
Eleanor's room was a riot of colour, with pink walls, scattered toys, and a dragon poster on the door. And the guest room, in neutral tones, remained untouched, its white bedspread pristine.
At the end of the corridor, a closed door led to Hope's office, a space Eleanor rarely saw, where her mother spent hours immersed in private thoughts.
Hope stood in the kitchen, the aroma of black coffee enveloping her as she oversaw Eleanor's breakfast. She wore a casual black shirt, the top two buttons undone, and beige trousers that fluttered in the breeze from the open window. Her auburn hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and her blue eyes, intense as the sea, watched her daughter with affection.
"Eleanor, come on!" she called, her voice firm but warm, as she adjusted the silver bracelet on her left wrist.
Eleanor, seven years old, appeared at the top of the staircase, bounding down with a mischievous leap. She wore the new school uniform — a navy skirt and a white shirt with the embroidered logo — and held one white trainer, her other foot bare, her brown plaits bouncing.
"I'm coming, mommy!" she shouted, racing down the stairs, ignoring Hope's warning.
"Eleanor Mikaelson, what did I say about running on the stairs?" Hope crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile.
"Sorry, mommy..." Eleanor replied, hugging her mother's legs, the strawberry scent of her shampoo filling the air "but we're in a hurry!"
"And whose fault is that?" Hope asked, crouching to her daughter's level. "Where was your sneaker?"
"Couldn't find it" Eleanor said, shrugging with feigned innocence. "But it's here now!" She held up the trainer like a trophy, making Hope laugh.
"The same sneaker I left next to your uniform?" Hope took her daughter's hand, leading her to the kitchen island, where a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice awaited. The clink of Eleanor's spoon against the bowl filled the silence as Hope sipped her coffee, the bitter aroma rousing her.
Hope had moved from New Orleans to Mystic Falls the previous week, seeking a fresh start. Her family owned several galleries and other businesses, but she wanted something of her own.
Though she managed the town's gallery, her sanctuary was the privacy of her home, where she spent hours in her office, lost in thoughts she kept to herself.
Watching Eleanor, she thought of a project she'd started the night before — something she didn't share, not even with her daughter. For some reason, it felt incomplete, as if missing a vital piece.
— Memory —
Hope stands on a hill, the warm wind blowing through her hair. Before her, a woman plays the piano, her fingers dancing over the keys with a grace that stops Hope in her tracks.
The music is soft but carries a sadness that grips her heart.
"You're so far away" the woman murmurs, not looking at her. Hope tries to reply, but the scene dissolves, leaving only the echo of the melody.
— End of memory —
Hope blinked, returning to the present, the warm mug in her hand. What was that? She shook her head, trying to dismiss the feeling, and looked at Eleanor.
"Can I play on the trampoline after school?" the girl asked, wiping a drop of milk from her chin.
"If you finish your homework first, then yes pumpkin" Hope replied, kissing the top of her daughter's head. "Now hurry or you'll be late for your first day."
On the way to school, the car's air conditioning battled the heat, and Eleanor chattered about a cartoon full of dragons and princesses.
Hope smiled, half-distracted, her mind on the gallery and the strange unease that wouldn't leave her. She parked outside the school, a red-brick building with wide windows, and helped Eleanor out, holding her pink lunchbox.
"Right" Hope said, crouching to her daughter's level. "You're a Mikaelson and what don't Mikaelsons do?"
"We don't bow to anyone!" Eleanor replied, her chest puffed with pride, making Hope laugh.
"Exactly! You'll be fine." She kissed her daughter's cheek and handed her the lunchbox. "If I can't pick you up, I'll send Evie, okay?"
"Auntie Evie!" Eleanor exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. "I like her, mummy. She lets me eat cookies."
"Of course she does" Hope murmured, chuckling, as she watched her daughter run to the gate, her plaits bouncing.
• ❅ •
In the music room, heat seeped through the half-open windows, carrying the distant sound of birds and the murmur of children in the playground.
Josie, her white blouse now crumpled and yellow skirt sticking to her legs, arranged the instruments. A glossy black grand piano stood in the corner, beside a rack of colourful tambourines, white plastic recorders, a wooden xylophone with a warm, metallic chime, and a small, polished violin that seemed to call out for someone.
The air smelled of floor wax and Josie's floral perfume, mixed with the sweet scent of the instruments' varnish.
"Right, boys and girls" Josie announced, clapping her hands to get the class's attention. "We have a new student today. Would you like to come up and introduce yourself, sweetheart?"
All eyes turned to Eleanor, who stood with a confidence that seemed too big for her seven years. She walked to Josie's side, her uniform pristine, and lifted her chin, recalling her mother's words.
"My name's Eleanor Mikaelson and I'm seven," she began, her clear voice echoing in the room. "I moved here with my mum on Thursday."
Josie smiled, the heat feeling less oppressive in the face of the girl's energy. "I'm Josie, your music teacher. Do you play any instruments?"
Eleanor hesitated, but her eyes sparkled. "I play the violin, my mum made me learn but it's kind of boring... I really want to play the drums!" she said, her enthusiasm making the class giggle.
Josie raised an eyebrow, charmed. "Drums, huh? That's a bold choice. I'm sure we'll find something to make you shine." She gently touched Eleanor's cheek, and the instinctive gesture made her heart tighten, as if she recognised something in that smile she couldn't explain. "You can sit down, sweetheart."
Eleanor scampered back to her seat, and Josie turned to the class. "Since we have a new student, how about we show her what we've learned?" The children's excited shouts filled the room, and Josie laughed, picking up a red tambourine and setting the rhythm.
The sound of tambourines, recorders, and the xylophone mingled with laughter and off-key notes. Eleanor tried the tambourine, but the rhythm eluded her, and Josie promised they'd try the drums next lesson.
When the bell rang, marking the end of the lesson, Josie sighed with relief, her body tired but her spirit light. Teaching music to children was chaotic, but it was the kind of chaos that made her feel alive. As she tidied the instruments, she found a folded piece of paper inside the piano's lid. Curious, she opened it.
"Dear stranger,
I write to you because I feel you in every note I compose, in every void I carry. My songs speak of a place I don't know, of a love that defies explanation.
I don't know who you are, but I know you're out there, waiting...
Until I find you, I keep you in the chords I play and the longing I don't understand.
With love,
Josette Olivia Saltzman"
Josie frowned. She didn't remember writing it. The handwriting was obviously hers, but the words felt like they came from another life. She tucked the letter into her pocket, her heart racing and headed for the school exit.
Outside, the heat was almost unbearable, the asphalt reflecting the sun like a mirror. Children ran in all directions, some waiting for siblings, others for parents, while the school bus honked in the distance. Josie waved to a few students when she heard a high-pitched voice.
"Miss Josie!" Eleanor ran towards her, followed by Evie Young, a slender Black woman in a light floral-patterned dress that fluttered in the warm breeze. About Josie's age, 25, she had a warm smile that seemed to light up the surroundings.
"Auntie Evie, this is Miss Josie!" Eleanor said, pointing at her teacher. "She's going to teach me the drums!"
Evie laughed, extending a hand. "I'm sure Eleanor's mum will love buying a drum kit if that's what she wants."
"Are you sure sweetheart?" Josie asked, raising an eyebrow, making Eleanor's eyes shine brighter. "That's a noisy choice."
"Her mom loves art in any form" Evie explained, her voice full of affection. "If Eleanor wants to express herself with drums, Hope will find the most expensive kit in the shop."
"Good to know there are parents like that" Josie said, smiling, but feeling that familiar pang in her chest, a longing she couldn't explain. "I'm sorry but I've to go now, I've more lessons to plan for the rest of the week."
"Bye, miss Josie!" Eleanor hugged Josie's legs, the spontaneous gesture making her laugh.
Josie said goodbye and walked to her car, the reflection in the rearview mirror showing a smile she didn't know she still had. As she started the engine, her phone buzzed and "Lizzie 💞" appeared on the car's screen.
"What do you want, Liz?" Josie asked, answering.
"Good afternoon to you too" Lizzie replied, her mocking tone filling the car. "How's my little sister on this sweltering afternoon?"
"Just get to the point" Josie insisted, rolling her eyes but smiling.
"I need you to pick up some things for me" Lizzie said. "I'm finishing an important set for tomorrow and I'm missing materials."
"I'm on my way" Josie sighed, changing her route to her sister's studio.
"That's why I love you, sis!" Lizzie exclaimed, hanging up with a squeal.
Josie shook her head, the car's heat mingling with the weight of that unfinished melody. She stopped at Lizzie's studio, a large space with white walls covered in framed photos and rolls of fabric scattered on the floor.
Lizzie, her blonde hair in a messy bun and wearing a light geometric-patterned dress, darted about, holding a camera.
"Finally!" Lizzie exclaimed, seeing Josie enter with the bags. "You've saved my life, sis."
"Don't exaggerate" Josie replied, setting the bags on a table cluttered with brushes and paint cans. "What's so urgent?"
"I need to finish this set for the exhibition" Lizzie said, pointing to a blue fabric backdrop mimicking the sky. "It has to be perfect! Oh, by the way, how's Chris? Always campaigning, I bet?"
Josie hesitated, her smile fading. "Yeah, he's busy. Meetings, dinners... you know how it is."
Lizzie raised an eyebrow, sensing the hesitation. "Everything okay between you two? You seem... distant."
"It's fine" Josie lied, shrugging. "I'm just tired. How about you? How's the exhibition going?"
Lizzie grinned, her eyes sparkling. "It's going to be epic, Jo, you'll love it! Maybe you'll even get inspired to write a new song!"
Josie laughed, but the mention of music brought back the void. "Maybe" she murmured, saying goodbye to her sister and returning to her car. The melody in her head seemed louder, as if calling her to something greater.
• ❅ •
At the gallery, Hope oversaw the team unpacking a large canvas, its blue and gold tones reflecting the sunlight streaming through the windows.
The air smelled of fresh paint and wood, and the sound of boxes being opened mingled with the hum of the air conditioning.
Eleanor did her homework in a corner, sitting cross-legged, the scratch of her pencil on paper echoing through the space.
Suddenly, the world seemed to slow. The worker's sounds grew muffled, and the heat from outside flooded the gallery, sending a shiver down Hope's spine. She looked at her hand and saw a bright red string tied to her little finger. The string stretched out the door, as if beckoning her.
Without thinking, she followed it to the entrance, her heart pounding. On the street, she saw a tall brunette woman with bags in her hands, hurrying around a corner.
The string flickered and a strange warmth coursed through Hope before it vanished, leaving her dazed.
"Hope? Everything okay?" Evie asked, snapping her out of the trance.
"Yeah" Hope murmured, glancing at her hand where the thread was gone. "Let's get back to work." She forced a smile, but the feeling that something had changed lingered.
• ❅ •
Josie, across town, hurried with the bags Lizzie had asked for, the weight of the art supplies making her sweat in the heat.
Mystic Falls' streets buzzed with life, the sound of chatter and the scent of coffee drifting from a nearby café.
Stopping at a traffic light, she felt a sudden void, as if she'd forgotten something vital. She looked at her hands and saw, for a moment, a red string tied to her little finger. A shiver ran down her spine and her heart raced. She turned, searching for the thread's source, but there was nothing. When she looked again, the string was gone.
The light changed and Josie crossed the street, the melody in her head louder than ever. Something was shifting and she felt it in her soul.