Dark Side.
Chapter 29: Katerina. Part I.
"Death is nothing at all;
I have only slipped into the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
[...]
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was, there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?"
—All is Well. Oliver Wright.
The laptop screen's white-blue light has Cassandra in a strange trance. Maybe because she's been staring at it for forty minutes without blinking. The server is opened on her email inbox, that one unread message staring at her with enough intensity for her to be intimidated by it. She'd asked Joseph—an old friend with a propensity for finding intel on anyone—for the information weeks ago, after they went to Duke, after she saw the Aztec version of The Curse, but she hadn't expected him to be successful.
After her conversation with Rose, this is more relevant than ever, she should open it.
She looks up from the laptop on her bed to the bedroom's closed door, focusing on the guestroom downstairs. It's half two in the morning, the streets are quiet, and Rose is fast asleep. She doesn't blame her, really, today was a marathon. If Rose follows through on their plan, however, she'll be up in an hour, which means Cassandra better get to work if she wants to do this without an audience.
Releasing a breath, she clicks on the email. It's short, doesn't even have a greeting, only four lines: a name, an address, a landline telephone number, a cellphone number. Below them, a postscript:
My sources inform me he's in possession of other land and real estate across the U.K., but I trust you'll understand why I'm only giving you the one.
She does; the address is for a house in Woodhouse Eaves.
There's no point in putting it off any longer, so she dials the landline, presses her cell to her ear, and waits with bated breath.
"Woodhouse residency."
The person who answers is not who she'd been hoping for. Male, yes, but much too old, tone colored by that frailty that comes with age. Still, it sends her heart into a mad rhythm. Woodhouse residency. Holy shit.
"Hello?" the man asks, voice as polite as it is possible when dealing with a caller that has seemingly gone mute.
"Bertram Woodhouse, please." Cassandra requests, careful to keep the nerves running through her from her voice.
"And who, if you may, shall I say is calling?"
That gives her pause. Her family hasn't actively hunted her down since the early 17th Century, she thinks because the grudge and shame must have faded after so many generations, but they still follow and are part of the Grand Coven, who still very much want her captured. This could be a terrible idea. There are other ways of getting what she needs, more tricky ways that include her actually travelling, but ways that don't include jeopardizing her location. Also, if she suddenly packs a bag and leaves the country, people will think she's running away.
"His cousin," she starts. "Anastasia."
"Oh, certainly, miss." The man agrees.
She catches his surprise and allows herself to relax. There is another Anastasia in their family, goes by Ana, lives somewhere off the Gold Coast in Australia, does not have the last name Woodhouse. The man's clear surprise means Bertram isn't as in touch with their family as she'd feared.
He puts her on hold, and she only counts to ten before the line is connected again.
"Now, my cousin Anastasia has been dead some five-hundred odd years," Bertram comments, stern. "Which means she's in no position to be making phone calls. So, who is this?"
He sounds like his father, she notes. She only saw him once as an adult, centuries ago, so her mind doesn't offer her an image of what he looks like now, forever twenty-three, but that of a laughing, chubby three year old running across the main hall of a Scottish castle the day of her wedding, that sweet seven year old who had clung to her skirts as she boarded the ship that would take her to Navarre and seal her fate.
"Hello, Bertram." She manages to greet through the knot in her throat.
There's a beat of silence, only interrupted by Mr. Featherstone's tabby cat's meowing being accompanied by the clear ruffle of leaves.
"Who is this?" he asks, less sure this time.
"Cassandra."
"Right." He scoffs. "Seriously, who is this?"
"Oh, come now, Bertram." She sighs. "What, would you like some proof?"
"That'd be nice, yes."
She fights the urge to huff. What proof can she provide over the phone?
"I was your father's heir, which, now that I think of it, wasn't fair to either you or your sister."
It was a matter of saving their titles and lands, of course. Sabine was a sickly child, Bertram had been born early, had barely survived infancy, even with his mother being one of the best healers in Europe. Aunt Penelope had had four miscarriages prior to having Sabine, and one stillborn before Bertram. Cassandra thinks it's the reason why she was treated like their own child. Also, if neither child reached adulthood, Cassandra ensured the title didn't leave the family.
"Anyone with internet access can know that."
Not exactly, but it is true she could have found that information through research.
"Mon petit ours."
Tense silence follows her revelation. It stretches until she worries he doesn't remember; it's been five centuries, after all.
"Cassandra." he exhales. "It really is you."
The way he says it forms a new knot in her chest, twisting and painful.
She hums, affirmative. "You notice how I didn't ask you a hundred questions?"
"It's been three hundred years since you last tried to contact me. Five hundred since we last spoke. I... I heard you were killed in 1864. They said it was only a rumor, but I wasn't sure."
She ignores the last part, not willing to admit Niklaus wasn't the only reason she'd agreed to that crazy plan. The Grand Coven had been too close for comfort.
"You made it quite clear you wanted nothing to do with me; I stopped trying." She lets him know.
It was one of the hardest things she ever had to do.
"I had clear instructions, given to me by our coven's leader." He argues, defensive.
"Was turning into a vampire one of them?" she challenges.
When she found out Bertram had been turned into a vampire, her heart had nearly exploded out of selfish excitement. For the briefest of moments, she imagined a life where she wasn't alone, had family with her. They were cousins, but she was also his godmother, and she had taken that role to heart since the very first moment she laid eyes on him. He was the light of her life, and spending eternity with him sounded like utmost happiness.
Except her little bear wanted nothing to do with her, resented her, had been sent to kill her by her own father—who at fifty-four-years-old was still coven leader and simply refused to die—as retribution for her crimes, old and new. It was the last push for her to turn her humanity off.
"That was an unfortunate side effect." And yet, he was allowed back home. She wasn't. Though that has more to do with her accidentally becoming a hybrid, than a vampire. "I was still duty bound to our coven."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
It feels like a slap to the face. A stitch of pain begins in her heart, spreads down her torso. This is pointless. He sounds guarded, cautious, and this back and forth will get her nowhere. She called for a reason, and it wasn't to catch up. Regardless of how desperately she wants to.
"How's Gwendolen?" Bertram suddenly asks with veiled concern. "I heard she'd been sent to you."
She doesn't want to talk about Gwendolen, is too protective of her for that. But it may be the only way to keep him on the phone. She's fighting the clock, Elijah did promise to kill her, so it's nice to get to speak with him one last time. A second goodbye, even if she has an ulterior motive. She doesn't want him to hung up.
"You could ask her yourself, if you care so much."
"You know I can't do that."
Communicating with exiled members of the coven is forbidden, regardless of how young the member had been upon exile. The sudden BEEP-BEEP through the phone stills her thoughts. She pulls the phone away from her. Damon CALLING says the screen, giving her the option to either deny his call or end her call with Bertram to answer. She denies his call without thinking, though her stomach feels heavier than before.
"She's great," she says, returning to the conversation at hand. "She's the best resident in her class, has plenty of fellowships to choose from."
"So, it's true. I can't believe it!" he exclaims, and it sounds almost like he's excited.
She doesn't know why for a moment, until she remembers Gwendolen was born and raised in Newtown Linford, a mere four miles away from Woodhouse Eaves. She's a direct descendant of his, or as direct as it can be after five hundred years. They likely knew each other.
"I mean, Gwendolen isn't just a necromancer; she has an ocean of natural power as well, unpredictable. The coven hadn't seen anything like it since—"
When he cuts himself short, biting back the word, Cassandra still finishes the sentence for him: her. The coven hadn't seen anything like it since Cassandra herself. Fear of her is what got Gwendolen shunned, not her unpredictable magic.
"She's worked really hard to get to where she is. I'm proud of her." She nearly snaps, still bitter over the way the poor girl had been treated twenty-three years ago.
"You should be." His voice adopts a soft tone she hasn't heard before. It sounds like peace. "You practically raised her."
She's not sure if that's true. Gwendolen was nine when they met. She'd had loving parents, distant family members, was old enough to see Cassandra as more a legal guardian of sorts than any kind of parental figure, she thinks. She isn't sure if she's responsible for the kind of woman Gwendolen grew up to be, but she is certain of one thing.
"As I did you."
She catches the sharp inhale he takes through the phone, this cracked, strident sound.
"What do you want, Cassandra?" Bertram asks, voice a barely controlled mask. "Why have you called?"
"I need a favor." She confesses.
"I can't do that."
Her phone beeps again. She spares the screen a glance. Damon CALLING. She rejects the call with only a moment of hesitance. Seriously, the one time she could do with him not listening...
"Can't or won't?"
"I may not be an active member of our coven, but I lend a hand when needed." He explains, willing her to understand.
She does, in part. She understands the remaining loyalty, the way staying in touch with the coven is almost like staying part of the family. But she knows he only kept in touch, real touch, with both his and Sabine's direct descendants. So, no, she doesn't understand him wanting to follow the rules of a coven that would have him staked the minute it seemed like he was a danger to the world.
"You safeguard our deepest, oldest secrets." She starts, eluding to his pride this time, and not history. "I need the simplest of things. I need a copy of The Curse of the Sun and The Moon."
"Why?"
"That's not important."
It's a lie. It's terribly important, because Rose told her less than two hours ago that her version of the curse was in medieval Latin, not Anglo-Saxon, that a powerful witch had cast it, not a high priestess. The story is somewhat similar, the ingredients and how to break it are exactly the same, but it's still different, just like its Aztec counterpart, and it has her mind reeling, and this bad feeling brewing in the pit of her stomach. She can't explain it, she just knows she needs to know more.
"Where are you?" Bertram concedes with a sigh. "I'll post it."
She smiles; her heart lifts.
"Could you email it?" she requests. "I need it as soon as possible."
He agrees, so she gives him her email address, asks him to text her once he's sent it through.
"You realize I could give them your details," he says after a moment. "They'd be at your door within hours."
"You won't." It's a statement, not a request. Or a bargain. "They're not your family anymore."
"Neither are you."
Her smile vanishes. Her eyes close.
"I guess I'll just have to trust you, then."
"Just like that?"
Yes, because she has nothing to hold over him, nothing to blackmail him with. Not that she thinks she'd ever be capable of extorting him. He's still her little bear, regardless of how long it's been. Instead of saying it, she hums. The only sound she trusts not to reveal how she truly feels.
Bertram says nothing, neither does she. There's nothing left to say. And, yet, she finds herself unable to hang up. She missed him terribly. She wishes she could turn back time, visit the past for a little while, just to watch him grow up.
"Cassie?" he asks, hesitant, surprisingly vulnerable.
Her breath hitches. Damon calls her that so much, she's come to associate the nickname with him. Hearing Bertram call her 'Cassie' is like getting punched in the stomach. It floods her mind with 18 years of memories, of her beloved human life, of all she lost.
"Yes?" she answers, soft.
"Never mind—I'll get this to you as soon as I can." He clears his throat. "Bye, Cassandra."
"Bye," she replies, even if the call already ended.
She lowers her phone to her lap just as Rose begins to rouse, and she wonders if maybe the woman's been awake longer than she's letting on. It doesn't matter; if Bertram delivers and Rose stays around long enough, she'll find out what this conversation was about eventually. Truth be told, Cassandra herself isn't sure what she's looking for, or expecting to find. She does know, however, that it's an excellent distraction from the death sentence hanging over her head—the one Rose might as well have signed when she had Elena kidnapped—and her desire to turn it all off has receded somewhat.
Until just now that she thought about it, that is.
Putting her laptop away and settling in her bed, covers to her chin, she considers calling Damon back. Would speaking with him right now give her more or less of a reason to turn it off? Would it talk her off the ledge, or be the last straw? Regardless of how much she wants to hear his voice—she might be mortified, and a little angry, but her life is nearing its end with Elijah most likely having woken up already, it'd be good to say goodbye—she doubts whatever he has to say would help matters.
Making up her mind, she puts her phone on silent, places it on her nightstand, and closes her eyes. Without trying, Cassandra slips away into much desired slumber.
If Rose is certain of one thing as she enters the Salvatore Boarding House, it's that Cassandra's plan is insane, and she's probably walking into her death. She thought they'd tell Elena and the brothers what was going on together. No. If she's being honest, she figured the brothers knew, and Cassandra was simply the easier person to talk to. She hadn't spared Rose a second glance at the house, whereas the oldest Salvatore had had his eyes trained on her like a hawk ready to strike.
Instead Her Highness had sent her in alone, after extricating what little Rose knew about The Curse and The Originals, with the simplest of orders: talk to Stefan. Tell him what you know. Do not mention you talked to me. It seemed silly, not mentioning the one person that could save her from being killed on the spot, except Cassandra had had a rebuttal for that, too. If you tell them you spoke to me, it won't end well for either of us. Only suggest I be contacted if it looks like Stefan won't call me.
It's a test, Rose had gathered, a loyalty test. She had wanted to refute, but the look in Cassandra's eye had let Rose know she didn't have a choice in the matter. She didn't dare find out if the rumors about her were real by defying her. So, here she is, cautiously stepping into the library, where Stefan is, deep in thought.
"What are you doing here?" the young vampire demands, flashing over to her the second he realizes he's not alone.
He doesn't attack, stands six feet away from her, shocked, but not violent. Maybe Cassandra was right after all. Regardless of Stefan's seemingly peaceful approach, Rose lifts her hands up in surrender, can't help backing away only just.
"I just want to talk," she says, ensuring she sounds as non-threatening as possible. "About the Originals? And Elena?" she adds at Stefan's flabbergasted look when she mentioned the Originals.
Seriously, has Cassandra not even told them who the Originals are? Or, better yet, has Stefan never even heard of them? Rose is certain every vampire has heard rumors pertaining the Originals at least once.
"What?" Stefan straightens, no longer in the defence, now just plain confused.
"It's important."
Some of the fear and desperation Rose has been feeling since Elijah ripped Trevor's head off right in front of her must show on her face, because, against all odds, Stefan agrees. He leads her to the parlor, offers her a seat, and calls: "Damon, get down here!"
It almost lands Rose into another panic. Except the oldest Salvatore doesn't turn to attack her the moment he appears by the stairs, but instead turns to Stefan with a pinched look that's more than mildly annoyed.
"Seriously, Stefan?" he jabs with an amusement that's bitter and dark. "We're gonna listen to the crazy woman who kidnapped your girlfriend?"
"I am not crazy." Rose protests, appalled.
"We'll see." He sends her a sarcastic smile, standing with arms crossed instead of taking a seat like his brother.
Rose tells them... everything. And by that, she means not much at all. Based on the indifference with which Cassandra listened to Rose's intelligence, how she was never once impressed, she'd dare say she probably knows nothing at all. But if she's honest here, Rose is more afraid of the redhead than the Salvatores, so she speaks like she doesn't know she's wrong. I might not be, she rationalises, Cassandra might just be bored with life. After all, no sane person taunts an Original like that.
"Hold on." Stefan stops her halfway through.
"What are you doing?" Damon asks him with a bored tone.
Stefan shoots him a look, lifting his phone to his ear. The line connects in seconds.
"Stefan?" Cassandra asks through the phone.
Next to him, Damon rolls his eyes, lifting one hand up like this is the greatest inconvenience in the universe. It earns him another look from his brother, this one screams 'oh, drop it.'
"You need to come over."
"What? Why?" Rose is impressed, even Cassandra's mild alarm seems genuine.
"Just..." Stefan sighs, eyes jumping from Rose to a Damon that can't stop angrily frowning. These people are a mess. "Come over."
"Okay."
Oh, thank the Lord, Rose exhales. Maybe if she has backup, they'll be more lenient to believing her. So far, all she's got is unconvinced looks and the argument that she's making this up to save her own skin. Her relief is short-lived, however, because even though Cassandra agreed, hours pass, and the Doppelgänger gets here before Cassandra makes an appearance.
If she thought the Salvatores were sceptic, nothing prepares her for Elena's detached resignation. Or the back and forth that ensues. Or the fact that Stefan seems willing to accept what Rose is telling them, but Damon is adamant that it's all a lie. A little too adamant, Rose would argue, but she doesn't know these people, so who is she to say?
"Okay, so you're saying that the oldest vampire in the history of time is coming after me?" Elena asks her, looking for confirmation, and a flicker of the fear Rose expected filters through.
"Yes!" she exclaims.
"No!" Damon protests at the same time Stefan does.
Rose fights the urge to stump the ground. She does let her hands fall to her sides, slapping against her thighs a little harder than should be in exasperation.
"If what she's saying is true..." Damon continues, before being interrupted.
"It is."
Rose allows a relieved breath out, shoulders relaxing as she watches Cassandra tentatively step into the foyer. Her hair is up in a somewhat dishevelled bun, but that's the only thing about her that's messy. Seriously, she thinks, bitter, accusing, you're late just to look nice? Stefan had texted her hours ago, long before Elena was notified.
Her companions seem to each have a different reaction to the redhead. Stefan sighs, momentarily leaning his forehead against the palm of his hand in a gesture that Rose can't decipher. He looks both relieved and disappointed, and Rose decides it'll be a while before she can figure the youngest Salvatore out. The Doppelgänger, however, turns on her spot on the couch with surprise all over her face.
Although all that's very telling and curious, it is Damon's reaction that piques Rose's interest. None of the apparent annoyance and anger he exhibited when Stefan called her is present. The man straightens beside her, before flashing until he's standing next to Cassandra, body angled in a way that he seems to both stand in front of her and beside her. When his eyes trail down her body for probably longer that could be considered proper, Rose almost says 'duh' aloud. She does think, oh, okay, I get it, and doesn't resent Cassandra for taking three hours to turn up. After all, the oldest Salvatore brother looks like a bloody Greek God.
"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to." He tells her, face angled towards her and voice low.
Still, Elena is most likely the only one that doesn't hear it. After all, both Rose and Stefan have been gifted with supernatural hearing. Cassandra peers up at him, searches his face with questioning eyes. For some reason, the atmosphere starts to turn tense. Rose shuffles in her stance at the same time Stefan clears his throat, looking back at Elena with a weak smile.
"You figured it out." Cassandra comments with a tone of voice Rose can't interpret.
"I don't know if you know this but I'm very smart." Damon shrugs, teasing.
The soft laugh Cassandra indulges in only lasts the second and a half it takes her to meet Rose's eyes. She raises her eyebrows at the redhead, impatient. Rose has not been taken seriously, not even once, and it'd be nice for her to stop having a moment with the Salvatore and help. Cassandra clears her throat, sidestepping Damon until she can sit down on the armchair between Rose and the couch Stefan and Elena are sharing.
"Rose is telling the truth." Cassandra starts, nodding towards Rose.
The change in attitude is striking. One second she's this soft, almost sweet woman talking in hushed tones with the oldest Salvatore brother, and the next she's the same detached, cold woman who received her last night.
"The Originals are very much real. They're the first vampires to ever exist. Every single vampire you know has come from them." Cassandra explains, legs crossed one over the other, hands clasped. "They're a family, in fact."
"A family." Damon repeats, unconvinced.
He walks around her chair until he's standing on Rose's side. She doesn't miss the cynical look he shares with his brother. Nor does she miss the way Elena sighs, defeated or annoyed, Rose can't tell.
"Biological siblings." Cassandra's raised eyebrow screams 'dare correct me.' Rose can't, this is news to her. And no one here can, either. She's the one holding all the cards. "There are five of them: Finn, Rebekah, Kol," she falters for a second, "Niklaus—or Klaus, as most know him—and Elijah, who you met yesterday."
No one says anything. Elena has turned from the window, attention back on the conversation at hand. The brothers share another look, though this time Rose can't figure out what it means. They stay quiet, and Rose doesn't know what to add. She didn't know about the others; she only knows of Klaus and Elijah.
"Because they're the very first vampires, they're near indestructible." Cassandra continues when it is made clear that, while everyone's minds are in overdrive, they won't comment. "You need a lot of vervain in order to weaken them. And regular wood doesn't kill them."
The shock Rose is struck with from those words propel her forward. She steps until her calves hit the coffee table, looking down at Cassandra with what's probably clear terror.
"But Elijah—!"
Her exclaimed interjection is interrupted by Cassandra's half-committed shrug. Her impassiveness must be fake, though. No one's eyes are suddenly that dull without it being on purpose.
"Is alive, and probably plotting my demise as we speak." She interrupts, sending Rose a frosty look.
Rose blanches, stepping back with abject horror. She doesn't let guilt rear its ugly head, though she knows kidnapping Elena makes her responsible now. For Cassandra's probable death, Elena's, too.
"You staked him, though." Stefan protests. "He desiccated."
"He can heal from it as easily as we can heal from a broken neck." Cassandra explains to Stefan, keeping her eyes on him.
Next to Stefan, Elena inches forward. Rose swallows. They all cling to Cassandra's every word like she's a preacher, a philosopher, or something. They love her, Rose realizes, and if she dies, and then Elena dies, too...they'll come for me. She's starting to re-think coming here, but... where else could she go? She has no one now that Trevor is... she can barely think it.
"Which means we're in a lot of trouble because Elijah knows where we are, and every single thing they need to break the curse is here." Cassandra continues, unaware of Rose's sudden panic, emphasising the importance of what she's saying with her hand.
"Wait, how do you know all this?" Stefan frowns.
Cassandra hesitates, eyes wandering to Damon before falling on Rose, who apparently is the only one here who knows the story. She straightens. Cassandra doesn't expect her to tell it, does she? She only knows a couple of facts, not the details, not what actually happened. Her unspoken question receives an answer soon enough.
"I need you to understand the reason I didn't tell you isn't that I don't trust you. I simply didn't wish for you to know fear like this exists, Elena. I should have known better so"—Cassandra takes a deep breath—"here goes. Seven weeks before my 18th birthday my parents received a letter from a well renowned Lord asking for my hand in marriage. He lived in Navarre, though he was English, and that was enough to get them to agree." She clears her throat, shifting on the chair. "I'd become a burdensome, shameful stain in my family tree, despite my magical and political prowess. When I arrived there, I was welcomed by Elijah."
"What?" Elena gasps, titling forwards like she's trying to ensure she heard right.
It is a lot to take in, Rose supposes.
"Immediately, I understood this engagement was not one born from my beauty, or them wanting to go up the societal ladder." Cassandra continues, leaning back on the chair, elbows leaning on the armrests. "Vampires—we don't marry unless we're absolutely certain. More often than not we don't marry at all. They wanted me to do a job, one that would take long enough that it'd be scandalous for me, a single woman, to stay with them. I was a guest, except that once the priest declared our marital union I'd be bound to them forever."
"Wait, so you married Elijah?" Stefan asks, perplexed.
"Worse, Klaus." Rose jumps in.
"What?" Elena repeats, mouth hanging open, voice high and shrill.
Cassandra groans lightly, fingers rubbing at her temple.
"Thank you, Rose." Cassandra shoots her a look. "I didn't marry an Original. I was engaged to Niklaus, and—" she halts mid-sentence, faraway look to her eyes as she stares at the coffee table. Seconds pass before she shakes herself out of it, sitting forward. "They weren't shy about what they required of me."
Rose gets the impression that wasn't what she'd planned to say, even if she says it in a way that looks like she was simply rephrasing. Neither Salvatore seems to have caught that, and Elena looks too shocked still, so Rose wonders if she noticed simply because of the other rumors she heard. The ones she didn't dare mention or hint at the night before.
"Breaking the curse without a doppelgänger." Damon speaks for the first time since Cassandra started telling the story, voice more serious than she's heard him yet.
Cassandra only glances at him for a second. A second too short, if the concerned look Stefan and Elena share is telling. Rose bites into the corner of her mouth as sympathy starts to brew in her stomach. She hadn't planned it, but she's starting to like these people, is finding interest in their underlying drama.
"I failed, and Niklaus almost killed me for it." Cassandra nods, wringing her hands together so tightly her knuckles lose color.
Little by little, her composure has started to slip. She's nowhere near as clinical as she was at the beginning.
"He would have, if Elijah hadn't intervened. I thought maybe they'd let me go, but Niklaus—The Originals, they like witches. The more powerful the better. And I was very powerful." Cassandra tilts her head, pensive, at the same time Damon releases a breath that's a half huff, crossing his arms beside her. "The day of the wedding, when Katherine found me, I didn't even hesitate. My life had crumbled overnight months before and—It was stupid, but I was young and I wanted... to go home, so I left with her."
"You left Klaus at the altar?" Stefan asks slowly, likely needing confirmation.
"He killed every single person in that cathedral, and he's been after me ever since." Cassandra nods again, this time slowly. "I didn't steal from him or stop him from breaking the curse like Katherine did, but I betrayed him all the same. I sided with his enemy; I didn't find a way to get him what he wanted. I made him seem weak."
The last part is a quiet murmur. Stefan seems shocked that such an action would grant her persecution, but Rose did less, and she's been actively hunted for centuries. Cassandra at least has had a chance at a semi-normal life. Not that she seems to realize what a blessing that is.
"Why do they want to break the Curse?" Stefan questions.
It gives Rose pause. She feels silly over it, but she never stopped to question that very thing. She figured it was just so they could walk in the sun, have the upper hand, be even more unstoppable, but she never had confirmation. And based off yesterday, Elijah can clearly walk in the sun.
"I have no clue." She admits, defeated.
More and more it seems like she's useless. To think she came here hoping her knowledge would save her life is now ridiculous. Again, everyone in the living room turns to Cassandra, eager for some sort of answer. For the first time since she arrived, the redhead actually seems uncomfortable with the amount of attention she's receiving.
"I was never told, and I never asked. I figured it was because they had some feud with a werewolf pack. At one point I thought maybe it had to do with an old prophecy." Cassandra confesses. "I do know one thing, though, the Originals are hellbent on breaking it."
Silence follows her declaration. For a stretch of tense silence, no one knows where or who to look at. Elena settles for looking at her hands. Stefan runs another heavy hand down the length of his face, then up and through his hair. Damon frowns at the maroon curtains like they're personally responsible for his troubles.
Rose stands there, uncomfortable, as this group of friends settles into the bad news, try their new destiny on for size. She avoids looking at Cassandra, suddenly more aware than before that the only reason the redhead had to explain all this is Rose. I did it for Trevor, she reminds herself, and while that's more than enough, and noble enough, it ended up being for nothing. The memory of Trevor's death burns so much she finds she can't breathe for fear of breaking.
"So, basically what you're telling us is that a group of seemingly indestructible people are on their way here to get Elena and there's no way to stop it." Damon comments after a moment, phrasing it in a way that sounds fickle and careless.
Does he do that with everything? Rose thinks, pretend not to care?
Instead of asking, she says:
"Yes!" rising her hands up to the heavens.
"Kind of." Cassandra corrects her with a scowl. "Finn has been indisposed since before I met them. Last I heard of Rebekah, she was temporarily, but permanently, dead. Kol—he hasn't been a problem in a while, so I'm guessing he's out, too." Cassandra releases a deep breath, right hand going up to her neck in some sort of self-comforting gesture. "So, really, it's just Klaus and Elijah."
"Oh, is that all." Rose mutters, unable to hold in her sarcasm.
She came here because she thought Elijah was dead forever, which meant there'd be no way for Klaus to find out where they were. At least, not immediately. It was safe, and she'd be doing a good deed with company to boot.
"It'd be nothing if you hadn't taken Elena." Cassandra snaps, eyes sharp.
"What do we do?" Damon demands with such hardness to his face, such steel to his voice, Rose fights the urge to flinch.
"I don't know!" Cassandra lets out a strangled laugh, eyes misting over.
She presses her lips together, hand smoothing the fabric of her white trousers. When she looks back up, less than two seconds after, whatever tears had threatened to appear are gone, and she seems much more composed. Her attention is directed at Damon, and it only takes Rose a glance his way to understand this conversation no longer includes all of them. Especially when he takes a step closer without realizing it.
"Maybe if we could find a way to dissolve the curse. But—but I don't know if that's possible." She shakes her head, at a loss for a solution, regardless of the fact that the Salvatore brothers and Elena expect her to have one.
Truthfully, Rose did, too.
"We can turn Elena into a vampire and run. I'd suggest faking our deaths, but I doubt that'll work twice without evidence..." Cassandra trails off, eyes once more finding the smooth surface of the coffee table. Whatever idea came up to her, she discards, and turns to Stefan and Elena. "I don't know. I am awfully sorry, Elena."
Elena looks up and sends a kind smile Cassandra's way, weak but absolving. It disappears when Elena looks at Rose, and she's not sure why she finds it a little disappointing. Is it so wrong of her to seek absolution? Can they not see she had no choice?
"Where are you going?" Stefan asks, concerned, when after a heavy sigh, Elena rises to her feet.
"School," replies Elena, smooth, as she steps around him and towards the door. "I'm late."
"Let me grab my stuff, I'll go with you." Stefan jumps to his feet.
"It's okay; I know where it is."
Elena's borderline rude comment, paired with a curt nod, stops Stefan in his tracks. Rose raises her eyebrows. Stefan stands there, stunned, almost flinching when the door closes behind Elena. It's tiny, but Rose catches it. Weren't they supposed to be in love? Impeding peril strains even the truest of loves, it seems.
"She's in denial." Damon comments to her in a sin-songsy tone, going back to apparently caring about nothing.
"Shut up, Damon." Stefan snaps before Rose can comment, walking out in the same direction Elena went.
Cassandra is the next one to go. She rises to her feet and, without a word, walks up the step and turns right, in the opposite direction of the front door. Soon enough, the playing of a piano is heard within the house. An old piece of music Rose can't help but think she should know.
She turns to Damon, a little stunned. He shoots her a smirk, bitter, unfeeling, as he walks to the small table by the sofa. There, he pours himself a substantial glass of some amber liquor, downing it and taking the decanter with him as he, too, disappears down the hallway, even if it's barely nine in the morning.
Rose is left alone in the large parlor, bewildered. This is not how she thought today would go at all. Well, at the very least they didn't kill her.
A/N: Sorry this chapter took a little longer than usual! I hope you guys are doing okay and still staying safe out there!
Before I go onto reviews, I just wanted to let you guys know I have a tumblr and I will start to be more active there about my writing, just updates, maybe a couple of edits, so you can follow me if you'd like! my username is sawnsastark. I won't post there, so if you don't have a tumblr or you don't wanna follow me, that's fine! you won't miss out on chapters!
Eennio: Thanks! and poor Cassandra isn't doing very well, but you'll have to wait a little to find out what's happening with her humanity. She definitely wants to turn it all off, though.
WinchesterDixonBros: Thanks! I'm glad you like the chapter. Honestly? I think Rose might be too scared of her to want to befriend her right now. But, we'll see how it plays out.
Gracen900: I'm so glad you liked the chapter! Hopefully you'll enjoy this one just as much!
nerdalertwarning: Thank you!
AB0918: Thank you so much! Hope you enjoy this one too!
Anyways, thanks for favoriting and following and all the love. It means a lot.
For the record: UPDATED ON 24/04/2020.