(On Hold)
ᴛʀᴏᴜᴠᴀɪʟʟᴇ ( ɴ )
~ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ
Stefan Salvatore swore he met the love of his life at the age of Seven. Primrose Gilbert was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, until 1864, when she was killed...
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She hadn't been able to sleep. She couldn't stay in one position without it irritating the ever-growing bite. The entire night had consisted of devouring the supply of blood bags she kept in her room, ignoring whispers running wild in her head and just hoping for a minute of peace. She went downstairs early in the morning, the house so empty and silent it made her thoughts so much louder.
The bookcase was just one of the many places they had stakes hidden around the house, the disturbed dust pattern on the wood reminded her where it was. She slid three thick books off the shelf, picking up the stake laying behind them, and slotting them back into place.
That stake now lay in her bedside drawer. It called out to her like a siren to a sailor. Every time the bite caused her pain, every time a voice ran through her head, every blood bag she finished, every time she thought she saw a person standing in the corner of her room. It sang a beautiful lullaby.
'You'll no longer be in pain. It'll be okay. You'll be reunited with your family again.'
It was starting to annoy her. She wrote letters to everyone she grew to care about. Stefan. Damon. Jeremy. Caroline. Bonnie. Elena. Alaric. Hell, she even wrote one for Timothy, simply just thanking him for showing her how to be a normal teenager.
She had written how she would like her funeral. That she wanted to be buried in the same place her parents buried an empty casket. She felt like that was the only place she could ever be, surrounded by her family. She wanted them to have a small ceremony, no longer than ten minutes, no speeches, no revenge plots. Then she wanted them all to get so drunk they can't walk straight. Then to go on as normal.
She didn't wanna cause pain.
She sealed everything up in individual envelopes, and then placed them in a larger one. They remained under her pillow.
It was only when she heard the main door close did she venture downstairs. She wore a tank top and shorts, her hair falling free of the ponytail she had it up in, in hopes it would stop touching her neck. The bite was worse now. It covered the entire side of the neck and started travelling to the other side and down her collarbone.
She groggily made her way to the liquor cabinet, "You'll do." She muttered, pulling a bottle of bourbon off the shelf and pulling the lid right off. "Ugh." She winced. "That's worse than the bite." She shook her head, tipping the bottle down her throat again.
She stumbled down to the sofa, falling onto her back. Her limbs were sprawled over the cushions. The arm holding the bottle came up randomly, pouring more bourbon into her mouth, the taste no longer bothering her.
