I watch them from the shadows. My sister and the bus boy, who seems to have this unnerving ability to survive as a lone human among a bunch of supernaturals. Rebekah is actually smiling up at him, blushing. Like the lovesick fool she's been throughout the ages, same lovesick fool she's always been – threatening all our lives on more than one occasion with her fool hardy ways.

There's a detachment inside of me growing harder and stronger as I listen in on their conversation. My sister, who I've been hunting victims with through time. My sister, whose main enjoyment has been torturing innocent men before taking their blood, semen and souls. Cheap entertainment, but such was my sister when bored and lonely.

One could only imagine her at her element – she is stunning. And lethal. A force to reckon with. Wielding swords like any warrior. Gutting men like it was her favorite past time. I would stand proudly by her, watching her. Admiring her.

Then I see her now.

And I find her pathetic.

She wants to lead a normal, human life. She wants to start her own family and die of old age. Be someone's grandmother. Someone's mother.

I make my entry as Matt leaves with April Young, giving Rebekah some snarky comment about April that sets her off, of course. She wouldn't be my sister if she wasn't constantly defying my every word. She looks frightened but determined. And her words stings. 'You can't get more human than that.'

She might as well have slapped me across the face. As if I don't know what it's like to be human – what it's like to feel. What it's like to know there is nothing, nothing I can do to make the hurt go away. To make it all better. To give someone back their life.

"Actually, you can. You can stand idly by as poor April takes her final breath." As I say the words, my mind flashes back to one of those memories that will haunt me throughout eternity. My brother Henrik's untimely death.

I remember watching horrified as the werewolves slaughtered him, tearing into his small body. Slashing him open with their sharpened teeth. They took no notice of me, huddled behind a fallen oak tree, petrified to the point where I couldn't breathe. Desperate, but not capable, to help him.

I watched those wolves rip into my brother's flesh as he cried my name, cried for me to save him. Begged for mercy. Until there was nothing left but silence. And there had been nothing I could do.

Because I was human too. (Given the choice, I never would be again.)

I look down at my sister, closing in on her, my tone mocking. "You can ask; why does this always happen to innocent people? Where did the spirits go? Was there anything I could have done?"

We both know the answer to that last question. We both know that there truly isn't anything we can do when a human is on the brink of death. Not as mere humans.

I had tried, as the wolves decided playtime with the human boy was over. I ran up to my brother, who was barely breathing. Blood was coming out of his mouth, as he tried to speak. There were tears drying on his cheeks, tears that would mix with mine as I leaned over him, taking him into my arms, stumbling my way through the woods in early dawn to get back to our home. I refused to put him down. I refused to stop, even though he was heavy in my arms and my legs were weak. I did my utmost to get my brother back home, to my mother and our family, to help fixing my mistake.

The mistake of letting my brother come with me that fateful night. Henrik could be very persuasive, much like his older sister. He had told me that if I didn't take him with me, he would go looking for the wolves himself. So I caved. (Never again.)

I remember the witch's voice ring loud in my ears as my mother asked for something that could be done: 'The spirits won't give us a way.'

The spirits won't give us a way. Always relying on magic. But what if the spirits left us? Then what is there left?

– Blame.

No one could ever have blamed me as much as I blamed myself for my brother's death. I never gave anyone the chance. I loved Henrik. I still do with all my being. But he is gone because of me. Because of my weakness – my love for him. I gave in to him because I loved him and I wanted to make him happy. So I gave in. (But I never would again.)

"That's what it means to be human, sister. You give humanity too much credit." I'm taunting Rebekah. My voice is dripping of spite. Because I know what I'm talking about. Rebekah never had the misfortune of killing anyone whilst still human. As a vampire, it was easy to shut off those emotions.

To kill someone as human still… was different. Even if I wasn't the one doing the actual deed, it didn't matter, I was still to blame. It was all on me. And the guilt will always find its' way back to me, in ways no other killing has.

Maybe it's because Henrik was my brother. Maybe it wasn't about that at all. All I know is… there was nothing I could do as I watched my brother torn to shreds. All I remember is the sheer panic. The horror at realizing my baby brother had been taken from us.

Because I was human. And weak.

– Never again.