Me: Gets a fanfiction idea for a TVD fic in 2011 but never writes it.

One day randomly in 2022: *Knocking on my door* *Opens it*

Ella and Richard: Yeah so you're going to write our story despite not watching the show in years. Good luck!

...

The faceclaims for these two are:

Ella Lang: Olivia DeJonge

Richard Lang: Grant Bowler

"So... Is the property to your liking Miss Lang?"

Ella took off her light blue cat eye sunglasses, tucking them into the neckline of her freshly ironed white blouse as she stared up at the chandelier hanging in the mansion's foyer. Sunlight danced across the crystal drops, creating a dazzling sparkling effect that made the corner of Ella's mouth rise involuntarily. Such decadance. She'd long since grown used to extravagent furnishings and the comforts money brought her, but to see it all in the spot that had once been her former home had an almost cruel kind of irony to it. The pang of grief she felt deep within her core whenever she thought about her didn't allow Ella to think about it for too long.

A thousand years ago where the newly built mansion on Apricot Street stood at that moment in time, there had once been a humble longhouse that had sat in its place. It had seemed to forever be in need of repairs and had been suffocatingly small, especially given that in those last few years together they'd shared it with two other widows and their children. But it had been her home for twelve years, and she had loved it all the same. She'd spent her happiest years on the stretch of land she had now returned to, and as awful as the memories the town of Mystic Falls invoked in her mind were, she was glad to have this one small parcel of happiness back in her life. For better or for worse she was home. And she was ready to get to work.

"Completely, everything's so beautiful." Ella replied, offering a rare sincere smile to the real estate agent. They'd just been on a tour of the upstairs, which boasted eight bedrooms (one of which boasted a walk-in closet that could be a room in itself), and a grand but cosy little office that dear, sweet, dorky Richard would no doubt commandeer for himself.

"I have to agree." Came a familiar voice from the doorway, bright-eyed and smiling for once as he greeted the two of them. Dark-haired (though slightly greying in her opinion), mysterious and bound to be a pain in her ass for this entire venture. "You really found us quite the home Susan."

Richard. A lover of all things historical, the world's biggest prick and quite possibly the only friend she had in the world. He'd agreed to her scheme when she'd pitched it to him in full ten years ago when she'd tracked down the doppelganger and he'd been all for it. And now that they were finally settling into their new home, they had roles to perfect and play. He Richard Lang, a celebrated but sadly widowed historian, who'd moved to Mystic Falls for a change of scenery with the teenage daughter he doted on -(the idiot had been unable to suppress his hyena-like laughter when she had told him that)- the lovely but distant Ella Lang.

"My little girl and I are so thrilled!" He grinned, turning on the small reserve of charm he kept for when he was forced to interact with strangers.

Good god turn it down a notch. She thought, grimacing with irritation as Richard threw an arm around her shoulders.

I'm being paternal! He quipped dryly, as he simultaneously exchanged niceties with Susan. I see you're already getting into your role as a moody teenager.

I'm going to shove your head down my new marble toilet father dearest.

Despite the prickle of irritation she'd felt at his teasing, the edges of it were soon softened down as she found it rather nice to hear his jovial laughter on the other side of their shared connection. It was all too rare these days. He'd been so... differentsince they had cemented their plans to move to Mystic Falls. Quiet and contemplative, as though the ghosts of the past still clung to him and all he had been through had taken place merely the day before. She didn't blame him of course, for being that way. Every second she'd spent in Mystic Falls since they'd driven into town was a reminder of everything she'd lost when she had lived there before.

"We'll take it!" Richard grinned, his face the picture of artifical excitement.

Home and ready to get to work, that they indeed were. But whether or not fate would favour them in their endeavors was less of a certainty.

Ingrid would get to the top of that tree even if it killed her.

She and her friend Henrik Mikaelson had ventured out into the woods after growing bored, vowing to find something to entertain themselves with. After a few half-hearted rounds of a game, they'd settled on seeing how far the both of them could climb the sprawling oak tree that sat in the middle of the forest. Henrik had gone first, racing up with such energy and excitment that he wasn't even halfway up before he'd tired himself out, much to Ingrid's amusement.

So cocky and brimming with determination to beat the boy's record, she began a slow ascent up the limbs of the tree. It was a slow process of testing out the strength of the branch with her arms, then heaving herself up, all while trying to drown out Henrik's impatient whines for her to climb quicker.

"Could you be any slower?" He called up from where he was sat by a nearby tree.

A string of curse words that would have made her mother go white with shame was her only response.

Her damn shoes had been her undoing. It had been raining only an hour before, and one particular twisted branch proved to be a little too slippy even for her. She'd hauled herself up and tried to set her foot down, but the poor fabric of her worn shoe pratically glided off the surface, sending her flying.

Henrik would tell her later of her scream of terror as she tumbled down from the tree, how she'd flailed wildly trying to grasp on to something to break her fall -to no avail.

Ingrid hit the ground with a hard smack, the world around her fading to silence and shadowy figures hovering around the periphery of her vision, as though the forest was leering in to see if she would die. Her brain struggled to catch up with the rest of her, slow and sluggish as her hearing crept back into use. "INGRID!" Henrik screamed, her sullen friend an uncontrollable sobbing mess as he ran to her.

"I beat you!" She could vaguely recall herself saying, hysterical and deep within the depths of shock. She'd giggled a little but then winced, a sharp pain at the back of her head poking at her side for attention. "Ow! Oh no..." They were too far from the village. And even if they weren't, who could treat such a wound? She would die here in this wood, the trees, the flowers, the grass and the animals the last things she would ever see. Seven years old, and yet she still had so much left to do. And her mother! Her mother would be all alone!

But Henrik,- dear sweet Henrik who she had sometimes pondered only spent time with her out of pity- ripped up some fabric from his shirt, pressed it to the back of her head and gathered her up into his arms before setting off on a frantic run home. She had slipped in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of his calls for help as he ran, so fast and so far that he kept jolting her back into awareness. That was the day she'd realised how lucky she was, to have someone who would run and scream and fight to save you with every fibre of their being. Henrik, dear, sweet, tragic Henrik, who would be violently ripped away from her in just five years time.

Somehow, despite the distance and having to carry her, Henrik made it home to their village.

There were cries of alarm, shrieks of terror at the sight of them. They must have seen the blood, she supposed. What babies. Ingrid heard murmurs of wolves, but that was all nonsense. Their peaceful neighbours didn't attack little girls, and even if they did, the full moon had been and gone days before.

Someone approached, taking her from Henrik's arms and rushing her elsewhere. From then on she'd fallen into unconsciousness, forever falling down as darkness wrapped itself up around her.

When she awoke hours later, she found herself in an all too familiar domain. It was Henrik's home, which he shared with his parents and siblings. She'd been invited in along with his other friends on a few occasions, breaking bread with him and his mother. She was a pretty blonde woman with intricate braids which she occasionally threaded with flowers, and her name was Esther. The woman in question was pressing some kind of cloth to her forehead, eyes furrowed in deep concentration. "You're awake." She stated, her face unchanging.

"I-" Ingrid thought hard. "I fell. Didn't I?"

"That you did. You had many people worried for your health for a while."

"Shouldn't I be dead?"

Esther sat back on the bed she was lying on, a brow raised in question at her. "Why do you suppose you're here?"

It was only then that her foggy mind allowed her to recall the significance of the woman in front of her. People in her village often spoke of the witchcraft that ran through the veins of the Mikaelson and Bennett bloodlines, but Ingrid had never seen any kind of magic for herself. Without seeing it at work it was easy to forget just how different her friend's mother was to hers. "You used witchcraft on me?"

"To heal you, yes." She confirmed, a small, reassuring smile tugging at her lips. "You were lucky my son brought you back so quickly, you'd lost quite a bit of blood."

"But I'll live?"

"You will."

Before Ingrid could ask about the whereabouts of her mother and Henrik, a storm of wild fear tore through the entranceway of the witch's place of practice. It was a man. He seemed to be her mother's age, with long dirty blonde hair that came down to his shoulders, dark blue eyes and pearl white skin. He had on a large amount of travelling gear, seemingly having only just returned home. This had to be another of one of Henrik's brothers, he looked too much like Esther to be anyone else. Ingrid didn't recognise him, though she wasn't really personally acquainted with any of his other siblings, given that she'd only been friends with him for about a year now. There was the serious eldest brother who she'd never once seen smile who was possibly called Finn, the second eldest brother who her mother sometimes spoke to when she sent her off to buy something at the market, Kol, who she only knew the name of as he had a penchant for tormenting her and Henrik if he came about them while they outside playing (they of course retaliated by throwing mud or rocks at him), Rebekah, the only girl with such long, beautiful hair and a pretty smile, who always spoke with Ingrid whenever they came across each other, so that left only Henrik's favourite brother, the one he always spoke about with such respect and awe.

"Niklaus!" Esther scolded at the intrusion. "I didn't know you were back."

"Is everything alright? Henrik told me everything! Is she-" Niklaus's eyes fell upon Ingrid, eyes wide with surprise. His blusterous tone softened at once. "Hello."

"Hello." She replied, slightly confused by his reaction.

Niklaus's face shot to his mother's. "All is well?"

"It is." Esther rose to her feet, placing the cloth in a bowl of water on the floor by her bedside. "Keep her company." She offered, as she passed by her son. "I must go and inform her mother that she's awake." She disappeared through the doorway, leaving her alone with the wild-eyed brother of her friend. Though some children might have been frightened to have been left alone with a strange man, Ingrid felt oddly at ease. He shot her a warm, sunny smile, the kind that reminded her of days spent out in the meadow behind her home in the summer as she made daisy chains and played games with the werewolf children who lived nearby.

"Where's my mother?" Ingrid demanded, looking him straight in the eye. She would be not be cowed by any adult, no matter what. She wanted her mother with her, now. Where on Earth was she?

"Outside." Niklaus explained, taking his mother's place by her bed. "I saw her on the way in. My mother works best alone and..." He decided his next words carefully, brewing them over in silence for so long that it told Ingrid something grown-up had happened. "Well it seems when she found out the news about your fall she got herself quite upset."

Ingrid's eyes went wide in alarm. "Is she okay?"

"She will be. The news of your recovery will dry her tears in a matter of seconds." He assured her, holding out a hand in greeting. "I'm Henrik's brother, Niklaus."

Remembering her mother's words about being polite even to strangers, Ingrid shook his hand. "I'm Ingrid."

"It's nice to meet you Ingrid." He smiled that same mega-watt smile again as she let her hand fall away, the one that would come to haunt her for centuries. "I don't suppose you'll be climbing any trees again."

"Oh no I will." Ingrid retorted, attempting to raise her chin but only managing to cause herself a whole load of pain. She winced, scowling to herself. "As soon as I'm well I'll try again! I want to see the top so I can rub it in Henrik's face that I got even higher than him."

He let out a hearty laugh, though it sounded startled rather than cruel. "Stubborn little thing aren't you."

Ingrid narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms in distaste. "I'll be taller than you one day." She vowed.

Niklaus merely laughed some more, grabbing the cloth his mother had abandoned and pressing it to her forehead. "A word of advice then? Don't go climbing trees after heavy rainfall. I don't think poor Henrik could take it if you had another accident."

"Is he okay?" Ingrid wondered. He'd saved her life getting her to his mother so fast.

Niklaus nodded in confirmation. "A little shaken, but he's been through worse. He'll be one of the first ones through the door, I guarantee it." Ingrid couldn't help but wonder what worse was.

"I always thought he felt sorry for me," she found herself saying, finding the cool cloth rather soothing as she spoke. "Or that your mother told him to befriend me because my father died."

A funny look crossed Niklaus's face. "He doesn't pity you. He thinks the world of you, even if he doesn't show it."

Two sets of conspiratorial grins lit up on the pair's faces, as Niklaus realised what he'd just said to her. "Though don't tell him I told you that."

"Of course." Ingrid grinned, her smile never wavering.

Ella was rudely interrupted from her nap in the garden lounge chair by a hard kick to the foot. "I can't imagine why no woman wants to date you." She grumbled, opening her eyes to find Richard with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"The movers are here. I thought you'd want to supervise, given that they'll be handling your box of perfumes."

"You'd be possessive too if you saw my receipts." She defended with some slight indignance, throwing back her blonde hair over her shoulder as she rose to her feet.

"Like Gollum with the ring." He mumbled under his breath, taking her place on the lounge chair and pulling open a newspaper.

Ella gave him the finger as she strolled by and back into the house, her heels colliding against the marble floor of the kitchen with a bit too much force. She smoothed out her light blue skirt, plastered on the brightest, sunniest smile she could muster and made her way to the front door to greet the movers.

Once everything had been finessed to her level of satisfaction; the furniture unwrapped and set in their correct places in each room, the books, the art, the kitchenware and all of her and Richard's things were sent up to the appropriate rooms, Ella chose to busy herself by making her bedroom her own. It had plenty of space, a walk-in closet and a couple of windows that showcased the other more humble homes in the area. Not quite the sea views she preferred, but nice enough. She'd never had the mundane existence of a teenage girl, and though she was loath to admit it, a part of her wanted to sink into the fantasty a little and welcome its warm embrace. So she began to pull forth her many beloved perfumes from their box, setting them out one by one on the white French dressing table she'd bought during her European girls trip with Aurora De Martel. There were her bottles of Chanel, Vera Wang, Marc Jacobs, some famous brands, others less so. Though she loved her clothes, perfumes were something of an obsession for Ella. She'd loved their earliest forms as a small child, basking in the different scents like a vampire who'd found fresh blood. Different scents carried different memories, all associated with times she liked to keep with her in whatever small way she could.

Once she was through with that she put out all of makeup and jewellery and arranged it all into some semblance of order, filing away her other odds and ends in the drawers of her dressing table. When she was halfway through hanging her countless array of outfits on to coat hangers, Ella supposed she was sorting everything out for herself for reasons that went beyond her need to control every aspect of what happened with her stuff. She clung to things, material and otherwise. When she loved things she sank her claws in and did not let go. How could she not? A thousand years prior she'd had only scraps, and one diamond of a mother whose smile always seemed to be covering for something sad lurking beneath. Her father's brothers had taken most of the already small family wealth for themselves after his death, dismissing her as obsolete given that she was only a girl and her mother had fled to the New World to keep them from marrying her off to some Viking brute like Klaus's stepfather. But they'd had each other and that had been all either of them had truly needed. Ella had just realised it far too late.

And now she was back on the sight of their former home, with everything she'd always dreamed of as a child but with no mother by her side. Just a friend, a dagger and a vow she'd sworn over her mother's body as a twelve year old girl.

She would have her revenge on the Mikaelson family, no matter what it took.