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MY HOUSE MATES were very accommodating to me after I tried to claw my way through them to the front door. They decided that rather than let me try to escape when it became darker, they were going to lock me in a bedroom and let me drive myself insane thinking about what Pearl did to my brother.
The room was a good enough size for me, if a little bit smaller than what I was used to for a bedroom. Of course after hearing the knob break off, it felt more like a prison than anything else. Over a century trapped in that dismal tomb. And now I was trapped in this place. Would my freedom ever come to me? Was I to be a prisoner for the rest of eternity?
I decided after about an hour or so of crying that I would put my time to better use. I rummaged through the room to look for anything to write with or write on, so that I could take down what I remembered and about my home. After searching under the bed, I found a journal, leather bound, and in the drawers of a nearby dresser, I found an odd looking sort of pen. No quil or ink, no, the ink was actually inside the device. And clicking the little button at the top made the tip of the writing utensil pop out, ready to write with.
"That's handy," I said to myself as I opened the journal and tore out whatever the previous owners had written inside. "Now, what to write…."
I focused first on how to start my writing, then remembered who taught me how to write in the first place and smiled. She was always so kind and loving, my mother, and she was the perfect recipient of such a letter as I was about to write.
Dear Mother,
It is the year 2010 now, and you'd be shocked to know that I'm still breathing. It's a long story, and you probably wouldn't want to hear most parts of it. It started with Founder's Day, imagine that. But this isn't a happy tale, rather one full of sadness and sorrow. Sad stories always did make you cry, mother. But, here goes my story, as I remember it.
Founder's Day was a momentous occasion to celebrate. The day our founding families established the beautiful little hamlet of Mystic Falls. If words could dance, mother, they would have at this party. All of our friends and family laughing, drinking, playing games and displaying musical talent. It was so wonderful. I had returned home from my journey to the foreign state of Louisiana just for this occasion. That, and my twin's shared birthday with me. After leaving behind the man I had hoped to marry one day, I was expecting a grand return, but the joy and surprise of my arrival was outshined by that of a monstrous little rat of a woman, Katherine Pierce. She'd entranced everyone at the estate with her terrible origin story, even me for a short time.
But then I learned the truth about what she was. And no sooner did she murder me in cold blood and leave me to wake in an evil transformation in the woods, lost, hungry, and alone. The first man I fed upon had poisonous vervain in his blood, and the next moment I knew, I was being carried away in a cart to be burned alive at the Fell's church. My loving brothers tried to save me, at least, I believe they did. Seeing Damon just a few short hours ago, he seemed sad to see me like this, as if he had forgotten the rescue attempt that sent them to their deaths.
