A.N.: I'm watching Greatest Showman for the 24-thousandth time, and just realised Zac Efron is the secret lovechild of Rebekah and Stefan.

Before I get accused of Hayley-bashing, I'd like to remind everyone that in TVD she set up a dozen of her friends and fellow werewolves for slaughter at Klaus' hands, just for information, so she's not a pure innocent doe-eyed wereoine they wrote her into in The Originals. Hayley's pregnancy will drive some things that happen in my version of The Originals, so we will see a lot of Hayley later on; but there is no Hope. I know I've never liked Hayley, but that brat Hope literally kidnapped her own mother, then directly caused the events that led to Hayley's death! And had the gall to blame Elijah!

*I'm still sore about the final season, in case you couldn't tell.

Machiavelli's Daughter

10

Ragtime

"Enlighten me. An Original vampire, whose idea of flirtation is presenting your spine to you as a gift, moves into town with your great-uncle as her ongoing booty-call, and you decide to put together a welcome-basket?"

"I did the same for you," Giulia pointed out, smiling warmly at Enzo, who gave her an enigmatic smirk in response, his eyes warm. He smelled faintly of herbs and smoke, and he wandered over to give her a luscious kiss on the lips in greeting, Tisiphone lifting her nose to Enzo's ankles as he strode past, Gallant lifting his head from Giulia's lap where he lay cuddled up, biting at the ribbons Giulia was using.

"And I am eternally grateful for how passionate and dedicated you were about integrating me into modern life," he smirked, chuckling, and Giulia grinned to herself. They'd had a lot of fun…a lot of fun… "Need any help?"

"Company would be lovely," Giulia said, and Enzo smiled, retrieving the bottle of white wine they had started earlier in the week from the refrigerator. Giulia eyed the coffee-table, which was organised with trinkets, clothes, gadgets and cult beauty products, toiletries and books, nail-polish and DVDs: She and Caroline had taken a trip to the mall, indulging in some retail-therapy as they churned over every detail of Caroline's most recent non-argument with Jesse, and Giulia's interrupted dinner with Stefan. They had both picked up things they thought a girl desiccated since the 1920s might not have come across yet as she explored the modern world. Giulia was wrapping them up, numbering each gift, and writing a letter with explanations for each item.

"Have you eaten?" Enzo asked.

"With Zita."

"Did she go to bed without fuss?"

"Out like a light," Giulia chuckled softly. "It's the heat. She's exhausted."

"Did she have aerial today?"

"She did, she was so cute; she's getting so much more confident," Giulia chuckled. In choosing to distance herself from physical violence, Giulia had traded up kick-boxing and MMA for yoga and aerial-hoop and silks while living in New York City. She had maintained both despite several moves across different continents, and throughout her pregnancy; she went twice a week to classes, one with Zita, one without.

The Greatest Showman had inspired in Zita a breathless fascination with trapeze: She knew Mamma did aerial silks, adult-ballet, and with experience from their Mommy-and-Me yoga classes, Zita had at first been cautious, unnerved to lift her feet off the ground with the hoop, low as it was over the safety-mats. Then the music started playing, she beamed, and was lost, learning to match her body's rhythm to that of the music, remembering the poses she had learned in yoga.

She looked so cute in her tiny little black leotard with her dark curls pulled up into a pineapple, her tongue poking out in concentration.

"She missed you at story-time, though."

"I hate missing story-time," Enzo grumbled.

"She was scowling at the words today, like she was determined to understand them," Giulia smiled fondly. She hadn't been stressed about Zita struggling to read, ignoring other people's well-meaning but unsought advice: Zita read sheet-music like Giulia read codes.

"She'll learn when she's ready," was all Enzo said, shrugging. "And then we'll be in trouble, if she's anything like you."

"That reminds me; I went and signed Zita up for a tonne of summer activities. The first is a workshop on creatively introducing pre-school kids to reading," Giulia said. "If you're not working, do you want to come?"

"I know how much you adore story-time," Enzo smiled warmly, his eyes glowing as he gazed at her. Giulia did: She was a logophile. A lover of words. She was a seeker of knowledge. Even when she had still been carrying Zita, Giulia hadn't gone out buying tiny dresses and stuffed animals. She had filled the nursery with books. "You teach her to read; I'll teach her how to make pasta."

"Deal. She'll be entertained and well-fed," Giulia said. "Give her a piano and she'll be in Elysium."

"Did Mason get hold of you, he called while you were out?" Enzo asked, and Giulia nodded.

"Yeah, he wanted to talk about Spencer."

"Is he alright?" Enzo asked sharply, a flicker of concern crossing his face. Spencer was over at the house so often, Enzo was as attached to the shy, kind little boy as Giulia was: He thought it unfair that Spencer had such a selfish mother.

"He's good, he's fine," Giulia reassured him. "He's finished school for the summer; Mason wanted to organise some summer activities. And he knows I love activities."

"With Hayley?" Enzo asked quietly, flicking a glance at Giulia.

"I think it goes without saying at this point that Hayley will do what Hayley will do; we'll organise things around her, and try not to show our shock if she shows up."

"Or our disappointment… You know, if Mason wasn't such a wonderful father, she couldn't get away with being such a self-absorbed mother."

"Preaching to the choir, Lorenzo," Giulia said, stifling a yawn. She sipped her wine, and went about wrapping another of the small gifts for Rebekah. Enzo sat down on the sofa with an exhausted groan: Zeus padded over, to rest his chin on Enzo's knee, eyes sliding shut as Enzo scratched his ears lazily.

"How was the kitchen tonight?" Giulia asked.

"Busy; every table was full for both sittings," Enzo said. "Jerome's continuing to impress me, he has a knack for flavours, and he's precise." When Rose had turned the Boarding House into a restaurant, Enzo had donated his valuable knowledge and expertise as a pastaio: In one of his past-lives, he had been a pasta-maker in the Italian region of Emilia-Romagna. He made fresh pasta with mesmerising ease, and took comfort in his old routine. Now, he worked as the resident pastaio at the Boarding House, and people came from all over for his simple, decadent pasta dishes: He had three kids working under him in the kitchen, learning from him, gaining confidence, marvelling at the support, too busy working and learning to get into trouble.

"That's good; he was the least-confident when he started," Giulia said, writing out another line in her letter. Enzo reached for a small box.

"Now this does bring back memories," Enzo smirked, and Giulia glanced at Enzo, the little box in his hand concealing a discreet rose-gold mini bullet-vibrator. After she had separated from Fabian…and with her bouts of agonising hypersensitivity, the tiny bullet Elijah had saucily gifted her before his desiccation had been a lifesaver. It had finally died two months ago. "You did buy a pack of batteries to go with this, didn't you?"

"That one, you charge using a USB port," Giulia smirked. "And it's waterproof."

"Did you order one for yourself," Enzo leered, eyes glowing.

"Mine's gunmetal grey," Giulia said, sticking her tongue out at Enzo as he laughed, relaxing on the sofa. She shrugged: They had a very open relationship when it came to discussing intimate subjects - and respectful of each other's boundaries. Giulia was frustrated - and still suffered bouts of the same agonising hypersensitivity she had endured when she rose after the sacrifice ritual.

"On a tangent, how was your dinner with Stefan Salvatore?" Enzo asked; Stefan was only ever Stefan Salvatore to him, never Stefan. He had no history with the younger-brother, like he did with Damon. He only knew of Stefan, and what he knew was not flattering. "I didn't get round to asking you."

"Matt had booked a table for his and Elena's anniversary dinner," Giulia said, cringing guiltily. She didn't actually have anything to be guilty for, only for being in the wrong place at the wrong time: Matt had surprised Elena, figuring the least amount of warning she had, the less likely she could work herself up and talk herself out of going out.

Matt had called later that night - they had been halfway through their conversation about upcoming projects before Giulia realised Matt was calling her on his wedding-anniversary: Elena had run herself a hot bath, after bursting into tears as soon as they got back to the loft, upset about the way Stefan had brushed her off like she was nothing more than an old acquaintance.

Giulia didn't know which Matt was more upset about: That Elena had lit up for her ex-boyfriend; or that she was utterly clueless about how hurt Matt was by her emotional reaction to Stefan's dismissal.

Elena was deeply upset Stefan had acted like they were barely more than strangers: Matt had been made to feel that way by Elena almost every day the last three months.

"Not the most ideal setting for Elena to find out about Stefan's return," Enzo said, pulling a face. He sipped his wine.

"There was never going to be an 'ideal setting' for that," Giulia sighed. "It is what it is."

"Where's Kol? We'd planned a night of debauchery in Richmond to get our fill of post-finals sorority-girls before summer vacation," Enzo said, glancing at the dulled screen of his phone.

"I don't know," Giulia said honestly, though she could guess he was still holed up in the witch-house with his cousins. Cara and Vera were still in town, visiting Ashlyn…at Jeremy's request, doing their utmost to convince Ash she shouldn't wait for Elijah to show up to start planning her nuptials. Little did they all know… "Maybe with Cara? Or Sheila."

"Out of the two, I'm not sure which the greater hellion is," Enzo smiled fondly: He admired Sheila Bennett, who played mah-jong with him on a Wednesday night. "When's demo-day, by the way? They always settle your nerves. Since you won't come out and play with me anymore."

Giulia shot him a warm smile as he pouted. "Thursday, then whenever we finish on that house, the lot next-door is ours and needs gutting, too. Car got the adjacent lots at auction."

"So that's what you've been working on in the small hours. Not plans for world-domination."

"Been there, done that," Giulia said, smirking delicately.

"How many did Caroline have to compel not to bid?" Enzo asked, grinning.

"Just keeping the cuckoos out of the nest," Giulia said fairly, shrugging. They were dedicated to keeping out huge developers: Wherever they could, they bought up old houses, gave them love and renovated them, modernised them, and sold them on to first-time buyers or people with young families. They wanted to encourage young people to either stay in or come to Mystic Falls. And sometimes, yes, Caroline used compulsion to stop developers bidding when Car really wanted a property. Giulia didn't feel bad: They built family homes that rejuvenated the neighbourhoods they were in, respected the character of the town and injected youth, life and value to a small town that might otherwise have been left behind. "I've been running the numbers, and if we get a quick turnaround on the two properties before summer's end, we can put the cash into restoring a Victorian on three acres that we bought up."

"Let me know if you need me to do anything," Enzo offered.

"Fresh bread just out of the oven when we show the homes would be lovely," Giulia grinned; fresh bread and bacon frying were two of the most irresistible, homey scents. She wasn't above using the scent of Enzo's freshly-baked bread to lure people into making offers on her homes.

"Done," Enzo grinned. "And I'll make a couple of lasagnes for Thursday and bring them over for the crews."

"Everyone would appreciate that, thank you," Giulia smiled, leaning over to give him a grateful kiss.

"Anything else you want to share?" Enzo asked casually, and Giulia glanced at him.

"Such as?"

"Such as what's got Caroline's delicate little ivory lace knickers in a twist," Enzo smirked: He adored Caroline. He called her a perky blonde angel of death and enjoyed riling her and pushing her buttons, getting under her skin: It was his rumbling English accent, his intense eye-contact, and his deeply feminist, thoughtful nature - in spite of his being a blood-frenzied psychopath who had endured decades of sadistic torture. He had the greatest mental fortitude of anyone Giulia had ever met.

"Oh, that," Giulia sighed, sipping her wine.

"We live together," Enzo said, giving her a sombre look. "Think I can't tell when you're up to something?"

"You've not asked until now."

"I reasoned that you'd tell me in your own time, if it concerned me," Enzo shrugged. "As it is I'm quite happy just to remain your unofficial house-spouse while you carry out whatever nefarious plans that terrifying mind of yours has concocted."

"I'll keep that in mind," Giulia smiled, setting the last wrapped gift inside the printed recycled tote bag.

"Stefan still think we're married?"

"I've not corrected him," Giulia said. Enzo grinned lazily, sipping his wine.

"I'm going to have fun with that."

"He doesn't know, Enzo… Damon never told him about Augustine," Giulia said sadly, glancing over at her friend. He lowered his glass, eyes darkening in the half-light of the room.

"I know," he said, looking away, taking a deeper drink from his wine. Damon had turned off his emotions; left Enzo for dead. Decades later, Damon's descendent and uncanny female lookalike had freed him - been kind to him, offered him her friendship…enveloped him into her life. After what Giulia had done at Whitmore College…Enzo had nothing.

She was getting adept at reintegrating old vampires into modern life.

But Enzo was family now. He had once been a lover; now, a fierce friend, strictly platonic but deeply loving. Her brother by choice. They lived together, raised Zita together. He was Uncle Enzo. Over time, he had been embraced by her friends, who were now his, and had his loyalty and unquestioning protection. His loyalty and his mental fortitude were Enzo's two most defining characteristics, his finest qualities.

Over the last few years, Enzo had been reclaiming himself; he had allowed Giulia the privilege of helping him.

It hadn't always been pretty, but it had always been exhilarating.

And all experience was experience.

He had been learning Giulia as much as she had learned him: He picked up on things Caroline didn't, but knew better than to be indiscreet. He knew what was she was capable of.

She had decided that it was time. Giulia had delayed removing the dagger from Elijah's chest until the very last moment, against her better judgement, but giving in to her anxiety. It had cost them all precious time to reconnect - but it was what it was.

She had to hope that they had made the most of the time they had been given.

Giulia told herself that what mattered now was Elijah reconnecting with his family. With his daughter, with the favourite brother who had been desiccating for nine centuries.

Truthfully, she was anxious about Elijah meeting Zita.

Nothing said 'Time has moved on without you, I've moved on without you' with more finality than children.

Zita was her child: Nothing else in her life showed just how much Giulia's life had changed in the last decade. Zita was the best, the most important, the most extraordinary part of her life. Giulia was truly privileged to experience the gift of motherhood, something she had never envisioned for herself, but which she had found she thrived on.

Zita was the best thing she had ever done.

It was important Elijah understood that. It was important Elijah met Zita.

The last time he had been alive, he was one of the most important people to Giulia: Zita superseded everyone.

That didn't mean Giulia wasn't nervous, parking out in front of the witch-house with its lush green parterres and perfect shutters, with Zita fidgeting in her car-seat, wanting to get out and play with Finn.

"Are we going inside?" Zita asked, beaming, and squinting in the sunshine.

"Uh…at the end of the song," Giulia told her. Shamelessly stalling.

"It's a pretty song," Zita hummed happily. Queen, 'Love of My Life' live from Rio. Apt. Giulia smiled and gazed back at her daughter, overwhelmed with love for her, and wonder at this extraordinary tiny person she had created. When Freddie Mercury had finished breaking her heart, she climbed out of the car, letting out Zita, whose tiny hand she reached for. She needed the boost of comfort.

She hadn't told Elijah yet about Zita.

Giulia didn't know if the others had mentioned her, what Kol may have told Elijah.

Hopefully they'd had far too much to catch up on from the last few decades for her to come up in conversation: She half wished Kol might have said something. Playful ragtime could be heard from the piano, as she reached the front-door, gently knocking: She didn't want to let herself in anymore. Until the university signed the lease, the house was theirs. Their family home, for now: She wanted to respect that. It set boundaries.

Gyda answered the door; the ragtime music continued, and a soft gasp issued from Zita, her little body relaxing and starting to sway, delight emanating from her little face.

"Who is that, Mamma?" she whispered, awed, turning pale-green eyes on Giulia, who listened to a few more chords.

"It's Scott Joplin, baby…it's N'awlins ragtime," Giulia told her, smiling warmly. She knew exactly who was sat at the piano. "Hello, Gyda."

"Giulia," Gyda beamed, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek: She swooped down and gave Zita a kiss, too. "We weren't expecting you for a little while."

"No?" Giulia said curiously. Gyda gave her an enigmatic look. "Your father at the piano?"

"We're introducing Lagertha to jazz," Gyda smiled warmly. "She's been spending too much time on Netflix. Elijah hid the remote-controller." Giulia chuckled, but was interested to hear Gyda call her father by his first-name.

"May we come in?"

"Of course," Gyda beamed. With her shorn hair and lovely eyelashes, it was easy to forget that Gyda was a thousand-year-old vampire, not a teenage girl. She may look like one, but Gyda was far from an adolescent: She was worldly, mature and highly educated. She was charismatic, and in her last lifetime she had taken on the punk aesthetic and lifestyle, for the first time in her long life, thrilled to be able to channel her frayed emotions and her exhaustion, her grief at the unfairness of being the only one who survived, protesting her unending survival. Gyda was a musician, an artist, a political activist and devout feminist, a maverick fashion-icon, at once elegant and exuberant, a sophisticated duchess one moment, impassioned punk-rocker the next, a rugby-loving tomboy and a collector of cosmetics, a creative dreamer, a glitter-veined Disney fan and an Antiques Roadshow enthusiast.

Gyda was Gyda: She made no apologies for her interests or her personality. Every lifetime she had lived had shaped who she was, dozens of different cultures all combining; she had picked her favourite things from each and carried those interests into each new age, each new life.

Finn was a gentle giant, content; Lagertha was intense, adrift; Isak was hedonistic, caged. Each of the Originals were different, fashioned by the ages they had lived through, and sometimes stuck in the ones they had been daggered in: None but Gyda had had opportunity to experience the Twentieth Century, the most startling century for global change. In the last forty years alone, the advancements in technology had rendered the world unrecognisable.

Next to Finn, Gyda was the most human: She was the most modern.

Gyda, though she remained an eternal sixteen-year-old physically, had evolved, emotionally, mentally, moderating her behaviour, her habits and her interests, to complement the world she found herself living in, without losing herself in it.

When Giulia had been with Elijah, he had shown the same uncanny knack, adapting to the world around him, though his circumstances had rendered him unlike himself, stifling the aspects of his personality that he could not afford to indulge in, if he wished to see his family again. His interests reflected his experiences, the lives he had led throughout the centuries fashioning his character, his passions. His eye for design and talent with woodworking had evolved from his human life as a boat-builder and carpenter into jewellery-making, taking joy and finding escape in the minutiae of the meticulous, fiddly, consuming hobby - Elijah created things of exquisite beauty.

He had made punishingly intricate, impossible wooden puzzles for Giulia; gifted her ten exquisite pieces of jewellery to be opened in his absence, each piece either inspired by aspects of his time with her or reflecting his insight into Giulia's true nature, presented in a gorgeous wooden jewellery-box handmade by Elijah himself. They had each been exquisite, utterly thoughtful, and hard-hitting gifts.

When Giulia had met him, Elijah had used his clothing as a reflection of his emotions: She could always tell how fraught things were for him by how sharp his suit was. The more elegant, the more untouchable and intimidating he looked, the more shaken, the more vulnerable he truly felt.

This afternoon, Elijah was sat at the piano, his hair cut short and combed, wearing a midnight-blue shirt open at the throat, and neat dark jeans belted with fine leather, his lapis ring glinting on his finger as his hands flew across the keys, a relaxed smile on his gently-tanned face. He was playing for his brother and sister; Lagertha and Finn sat relaxed on the sofa, Lagertha in a short, silky nightgown and a cotton robe, Finn in his weathered jeans and a Henley, both drinking cocktails, Lagertha's head on Finn's shoulder.

Lying underneath the piano, in nothing but his navy-trimmed grey boxer-briefs, surrounded by glasses filled with cocktails from which he was tippling at random, was Kol.

Elijah glanced up from the piano, and missed a note. His shoulders tensed slightly, as he recovered, playing on, and an awed expression of wonder tinged with sorrow suffused his face as his dark eyes lingered on Zita, who was watching his hands dance across the keys.

"This is awkward," Kol sighed, gazing up from under the piano. "Elijah, you missed an entire movement. Is that Shirley Temple?"

"Hello, Kol!" Zita cooed, dancing over to squat down, cupping Kol's jaw and giving him an upside-down kiss where he lay under the piano, surrounded by glasses. Zita reached for one, and Kol instantly grimaced, rolling over, covering the top of the glass with his hand. "Sorry, pet, these aren't for you. They're grown-up drinks. Make us silly."

"Is that why you've got no clothes on?" Zita asked innocently.

"Exactly," Kol nodded, bumping his head on the piano as he clambered out from beneath it, wobbling and overbalancing, knocking over several glasses so liquid spread across the polished floor.

"I'll go and get the mop," Gyda sighed, rolling her eyes. "Kol. Clothes. Now."

"What? But it's just getting good!" He caught Giulia's eye and grinned; amused, enjoying the view, she flicked an eyebrow up. "Oh, fine, to spare myself the judgement of those eyebrows, I'll go. Honestly, I think they have vocal chords hidden in them… You're the only girl I'll put my clothes on for, you know?" He grinned at Zita, rumpling her curls as he sauntered past Giulia, giving her a loud kiss on the cheek. As he strolled out of the room, he called over his shoulder, "Don't do anything until I get back, I want to witness this!"

Elijah sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. Lagertha was frowning between Giulia and Elijah, at Zita, who was trying to help tidy up the mess Kol had made, setting the upturned glasses neatly out of the way of the spreading puddle.

"Baby, leave those alone, there might be broken glass," Giulia said gently, and Zita took a little step back; Finn set aside his glass, and lifted her into his lap, where she squirmed, glanced over her shoulder, smiled, and relaxed, already sucking her fingers, utterly content.

Giulia walked over to the piano. Elijah's dark eyes flitted from Zita in Finn's lap to Giulia, and as she approached, she rested her hand on his shoulder, leaning down to give his cheek a lingering kiss, trying to put everything she couldn't say into it. It was strange to be close to him; strange to inhale his cool, crisp scent, a hint of his gorgeous masculine cologne. He leaned back against her, raising his hand to hers, and briefly nuzzled his nose against her jaw in a show of affection. She glanced over at Finn, who murmured something to Zita; the little girl clambered off his lap, shyly approaching the piano.

"It was pretty, what you were playing," Zita told Elijah in a hushed tone, gazing coyly at him through her fine black lashes. She draped herself at the end of the keys, gazing at Elijah.

"Thank you," Elijah smiled gently, his dark eyes memorising Zita's appearance.

"You don't have any music," Zita observed, gazing at the ledge in front of Elijah.

"No; I know a lot of music from memory," Elijah said.

"Mamma says…she says that when I play from the heart is the most magical," Zita said, glancing at Giulia for affirmation; Giulia smiled warmly at her.

"Elijah…this is my daughter, Zita," Giulia said, glancing at him as shyly as Zita had. His expression didn't change; she realised she was out of practice reading him. "Zita, Elijah is Finn's older brother…and Mamma's friend."

"Finn's my friend!" Zita gasped, gazing over her shoulder to beam at Finn. "I have a brother, too, sometimes; his name is Spencer, and he likes pineapple and Captain America and he can ride his bike without training-wheels." Her tiny lisp made its presence known with her Ss.

"You'll be able to, soon, too," Giulia told her gently; Zita was hesitant. Once she realised she could do it, there would be no stopping her. She adored the way Zita described Spencer; four years her senior, Spencer was like a part-time older-brother to her. He spent so much time with their family, it was often odd when he wasn't at the house, and Giulia would be lying if she didn't wake in the middle of the night, choked with dread that his bed in the guest room was empty.

"I'm very glad to hear Finn has a friend," Elijah said softly, glancing from the tiny girl in front of him to his brother, and Giulia wondered whether Elijah's mind was going back a thousand years, to their human lives, to Elijah's children. Only Gyda had survived to adolescence… "Did you say you liked music?"

"I love music," Zita sighed. "Would you…please would you play again?"

Elijah gazed at her, then smiled warmly. "Because you asked so prettily, of course I shall." Zita perched beside Elijah on the stool, and watched; she watched his fingers fly across the keys, and she listened. She absorbed the music; she learned.

Gyda returned with a broom, and Kol came sauntering in the room, yawning widely as he pulled a thin sweater on over his bare chest. "Oh, did I miss it?" His face fell, disappointed; Kol draped himself at the other end of the piano, smiling benignly at Elijah, giving Giulia jaunty little smiles. "So how are we all feeling?" Giulia sidled up to him, draped her arm around him, and started to twist his ear. Hard. He chuckled and tried to twist away, his hip depressing some of the keys.

"Kol, you may go outside and play if you two are going to be rambunctious," Elijah scolded gently, glancing up at them; Zita peeked up at them from under his arm, smiling. "We've already had enough spills in this house." Gyda had reappeared, mopping up the spilled drinks, stacking the glasses neatly to carry them to the dishwasher.

"We're playing ragtime," Zita told Kol, beaming.

"Out of the two of you, I don't know which the more passionate pianist is," Kol said, eyeing up Elijah and Zita, whom Kol had known since her infancy, when Giulia had briefly lived in New Orleans for her one of her PhDs.

"Do you play the piano?" Elijah asked Zita kindly; her curls bounced as she nodded eagerly. "Would you play something for me?" Zita glanced shyly at Giulia.

"I'll sit with you, if you'd like," Giulia suggested, sensing Zita's bashfulness in front of a stranger.

"Yes, please," Zita said softly, and Elijah stood up, making way for Giulia, who set her tiny handbag on the top of the piano and adjusted the stool, sitting down beside her daughter. Zita cupped her hand around Giulia's ear and whispered.

"That one? Alright," Giulia smiled. Zita fidgeted on the stool, making herself comfortable, sighed deeply, flexed her tiny fingers, and started playing, joy pouring from her as she played.

Fantasie Impromptu Opus 66 in C Sharp Minor,originally composedby Chopin. Zita's tiny fingers flitted across the keys, so quickly it seemed impossible she should be making any noise whatsoever; Giulia glanced up at Elijah, whose jaw dropped, staring at Zita. Giulia beamed, radiant with pride. She knew Zita was talented; it was wonderful, watching someone else experience her passion for the first time.

Elijah caught her eye, stunned; she beamed.

The song ended, the piano hummed with the memory of sound, and Zita flushed, hiding in Giulia's chest, when the others applauded her. Giulia climbed up from the stool as Gyda approached, her eyes dancing with delight, and music started drifting through the house again as Gyda played to Zita; Giulia approached Elijah, who seemed speechless, just smiling, his eyes vibrant with wonder.

"I made that."

"Dear gods. Trust you to perfect human cloning in only a decade."

A.N.: That'd be my immediate thought seeing Giulia with a small child.