Sorry for the really short first chapter! I will try and post a new chapter in this once a week, or more. Thank you so much for reading this, whoever has and please leave a review. I'm open to some constructive criticism, so feel free to leave reviews telling me what I can do better with this story. Also, feel free to ask any questions, and I will answer them. Thanks for reading :)

For a thousand years, I've relived the same memory over and over again. The memory of when my own father stabbed me in the heart and left me in a coffin for no one to find.

I always thought that getting stabbed with the white oak ash dagger would be simply like falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. How unfortunate that I was wrong. All I do is roam around inside my mind, looking for a way to escape and be free of this repetitive, boring prison. I used to take pride in the way my mind worked, but being stuck in it for so long, I realize that I have little to be proud of.

You know, I held onto hope for the longest time. Hope that someday, my family would come and rescue me from my mental prison. But I gave up that hope; when weeks turned into years, and years into centuries. No doubt Mikael killed them all.

I thought that when we were turned to vampires, we could have a family again...all of us. But as soon as Mikael found out that Klaus was not his son and Esther had been unfaithful, he ruined that. I ran with my siblings for months, and just when we thought we could settle down and have a family again, he ruined that too.

All my life, my happiness and my family have been ruined. All I want is to have a family again, no matter how broken that family may be. I miss my siblings...I miss my twin. When Mikael is dead and if my siblings are still alive, and if I even wake up again; I want one more chance at happiness.

…

I can feel...I can feel again!

I gasp and shoot up from where I lay in a coffin, my hand flying to my chest. The dagger...where is it? I look around, confused as I see no one in sight. Who could have found me? Who could have been stupid enough to pull a dagger from a corpse? Either way, I'm awake and I'm grateful for that.

I stagger out of the coffin which seems to sit on an alter of sorts. Colored sunlight shines through stained glass windows that sit high up in the stone walls. Dust, dirt, and cobwebs cover pews that have been carelessly knocked over. I'm in a chapel, which looks as if it hasn't been disturbed in centuries.

I notice marks in the dust on the pews and the floor; someone has obviously been here.

Not caring enough to play detective, I stumble to the only door in sight, with one thing in mind; that thing being blood. I push against the heavy oak door with my little strength and sunlight pours in as the door opens. The suns strains my eyes for a second, before I quickly adjust my eyes. You don't get much vitamin D while playing dead in a coffin.

A cemetery. I'm in a cemetery, how fitting. Out of mere curiosity, I look at the nearest headstone, "Here lies Clara Girder; loving mother." I frown and look closer at it. "1950-2011."

My eyes widen in surprise and mouth parts slightly and I feel myself start to panic, "No, no, no! There's no way I could have been asleep for that long!" I reread the date several more times before stumbling back.

"Excuse me, miss. Are you alright?" I hear the a girls voice say.

I whip around and face the girl who spoke. How did I not hear her? She was so quiet.

"Are you hurt?" She asks, and takes a step towards me.

I look her up and down. Her clothes are odd; she has a white top and some sort of black jacket over it. Black pants hug her slim legs and high-heeled boots make her stand several inches taller than she probably is. A bouquet of pale yellow roses is held loosely in her hands.

I clear my throat. "What year is it?" I ask, my voice sounds raspy from disuse.

"It's two thousand-eleven," She says slowly, as if she's talking to a child.

Two thousand-eleven...I've been in a bloody coffin for a thousand years. I feel hurt. My family never tried to find me; no one tried to find me. Unless they did and my father killed them.

I shake off my thoughts. "Where are we?" I ask.

"Are you sure you're–" She begins.

"I'm fine," I say. I'm getting irritated. My eyes keep going to her slim neck. I can hear her heartbeat. I can practically smell her blood. Blood...I need blood.

"We're in New York City," She points over her shoulder to a paved area with benches. "Look, I'm going to call someone to give you a ride–" Before she can finish, I lunge at her and bury my teeth into her neck.

She lets out a small yelp. I can't stop, not after how long I've waited for this. Her heartbeat slowly beats less, and less, until it comes to a stop.

At last, I feel like myself again, fresh blood hammering in my veins. "I'm sorry," I whisper as I lower her limp body to the ground. I pick up the bouquet of flowers that fell and put it on the headstone of the woman named Clara.

I'm about to walk away when I remember the strange clothes that the girl has on. I look back at her still body. If it's two thousand-eleven and I'm going to try and fit in, I might as well start with clothing.