Warnings: Language, PTSD, Death, Violence, Morbid jokes and Dark humor that might offend others e.g. jokes on contemplation of suicide, these are just used to describe the rather morbid sense of humor the character/s may have and are in no means used to offend anyone or make light of the serious topics that may be mentioned. For any sensitive topic used in a joke, I apologize in advance and hope you keep in mind I meant no offense.

Note: The dialogues in Italic show that the speakers are either a form of flashbacks or communicating in a different language, in this case spanish.

Sleep: Definition: (Noun)A condition of body and mind which typically recurs for several hours every night, in which the nervous system is inactive, the eyes closed, the postural muscles relaxed, and consciousness practically suspended.

'The best bridge between despair and hope is a good night's sleep.'

-E. Joseph Cossman-

'~We all are living in a dream, But life ain't what it seems, Oh everything's a mess, And all these sorrows I have seen, They lead me to believe, That everything's a mess.~'

-Dream; Imagine Dragons-

Chapter IV:

23rd December, 1998; Asturias Household, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Her nightmares were becoming an increasingly annoying predicament.

Had they possessed a tangible and physical form, she would have gladly put them through concentrated doses of psychotic mental torture, just so they themselves would have recurring night terrors for the rest of their days.

That's how wholly done she was.

Also, on a completely unrelated note; her father was a slave-driver.

And he hated Mystic Falls.

Granted, she and Atticus sympathized (they felt the exact same way) but at least they weren't obvious about it.

Wait.

No.

On second thought, she'll hold her tongue on that particular matter, seeing as both Asturias siblings had always made it clear that they loathed Mystic Falls and everything in it, except Bonnie and Sheila, of course...and maybe Tyler, because that kid was literally an adorable huffy, grumpy puppy (who, admittedly, made moronic decisions in his future but the sentiment remained).

The answer as to why, exactly, they remained in the self-absorbed and arrogant town that was more commonly known as 'Mystic Falls' eluded her (Seriously, what even was the founders council? Apart from being shameless, conceited arseholes, that is. They didn't even originate the damned town, that particular privilege went to the Original family, her own maternal ancestor; Ayana and all the other inhabitants who lived here over a millennia ago). But she supposed her father had a reason, even if he did constantly show his displeasure.

Her only solace was the schedule her family maintained and followed; spend eight months in Mystic Falls, from the start of September till the end of April, and the remaining four months back in Barcelona. Of course, this was a routine that she and Atticus followed more, seeing as their father, on the other hand, generally took various trips back to Spain throughout the eight months they spend in Mystic Falls. She knew it was because of the family business and his responsibilities as a noble lord but it still didn't quite stop the envious feelings she had become accustomed to whenever Ignacio gave them a half-smug and half-sadistic smirk just before he left for his trips (Lucky bastard).

In their father's absence, the siblings stayed with their Grand-Aunt; Sheila Bennett which meant an increase in interactions with Bonnie (an occurrence, Zatanna would confess, pleased her) but it also meant an influx of unneeded encounters with the rest of the future(?) Scooby gang's members.

Now, Zatanna didn't really mind spending time with the cute toddlers; in fact she really quite adored Tyler Lockwood, his anger while being an issue in the future was currently only hilarious temper tantrums, and when he wasn't being an attention-seeking brat (and she said so with the greatest of affection) he was an absolutely upbeat child, who believed in being a brave man (she couldn't stop sniggering when he first said it out loud) while contradicting himself by running to her and Atticus (mostly Atticus, she would grudgingly concede), clinging to them in various forms of warm bear hugs at everything that frightened him (which was quite a number of things).

Caroline Forbes was an innocent ball of chirpiness who wore her heart in her sleeve, it was endearing truly, and Zatanna had already begun musing on how she could get rid of the insecurities and self-confidence problems the young bubbly blonde would be plagued with in the oncoming years.

Matt and Vicki Donovan were surprisingly (or unsurprisingly) sweet, responsible children (she was unimpressed with Kelly Donovan's attitude and made sure to watch out for the two siblings because astonishingly both possessed effective puppy-dog eyes) who did their best not to trouble others.

Jeremy Gilbert was a quiet boy and generally clung to his mother, Miranda Gilbert, not leaving her side.

Which brought her to Elena Gilbert.

To be honest, she wasn't sure what to think about the cheerful brunette. Being unsure as she was, Zatanna generally ignored her. Because, in complete honesty, she had hated Elena Gilbert's character in the show and now, faced with the actual person...Zatanna really wasn't sure what to think of her.

But she had drifted in her thoughts.

At her father's absence they were left in their Grand-Aunt's presence, but that didn't mean they were left idle to spend their days in relaxed freedom and fun-filled play times.

Oh, no, Heaven forbid they actually enjoyed themselves. This is where her previously mentioned statement of her father being a slave-driver came in.

Because, apparently, being born to a lineage that consisted of nothing but nobles -especially an old magical family like the Asturias, who, perhaps, held more wealth than Spain's royal family- meant you were brought up as the epitome of aristocracy.

As it was, (here, particularly, Zatanna was laughing sarcastically) being rich was one thing, living up to your wealth; being bred to be elitists was another thing entirely.

And, believe her, it was much more easier said than done.

She, now, possessed immense respect for the rich arrogant snobs who looked down upon everyone else as if they were beneath them. In her opinion, if their upbringing was even a fraction of what hers was turning up to be, than they deserved to be arrogant, rich snobs because, in reality, all other individuals (except fellow aristocrats) were beneath them.

She could clearly recall the sheer disgust on her father's face when Carol Lockwood (she disliked that woman immensely) questioned whether or not he would be enrolling his children in the local schools of Mystic Falls or institutions back in Barcelona.

"I will not put my children in such backward systems of education, Seňora Lockwood. I assure you, they will be brought up to be the nobles they are, that you needn't concern yourself with." Her father had replied stiffly.

After which, Zatanna had questioned the idea behind whichever otherworldly force had been bored and thought it would be a wonderful idea to toss a dying soldier in a fictional world with a slave-driver as a father (no matter how awesome said father was).

She paused in her thoughts, because if Death really did have a hand in her rebirth than it wouldn't do well to question him. Yet.

But she digressed; her father's educational regime was inhumane.

First, he was determined his children were multilingual, and in saying so; he didn't mean fluent in a couple of languages and done with it (as if it would be that easy), Not at all, he meant fluent in all languages (bar a few, of course...probably...maybe). He didn't care whether it took them all their lives to learn the languages; dead ones included, but they would be learned. That, he was adamant on.

Zatanna was unspeakably grateful that she was already fluent in two languages; Irish Gaelic (she had been an Irishwoman in her past life, after all) and French. Her fluency in the knowledge of languages included her easy understanding of Latin (she could never thank her past life's orphanage matron enough, no matter how much she had complained about the old mum -Seriously, why and where would anyone need to use Latin?- because obviously the old woman had known what she was talking about -even though, she had actually been motivated to teach them the dead language only so they could read the Bible in its oldest language excluding the Greek of the New testament and the Hebrew of the Old testament...still it's the thought that counts).

Zatanna could now proudly (and with grudging admiration for her father, extreme gratefulness for her excellent memory and ease in grasping knowledge -she gave credit to her inner knowledge-seeker- and immense respect for her brother; who was going through exactly what she was) say that she was currently fluent in speaking six languages, including Irish, French and Latin but excluding English. The remaining three languages included Spanish (because, obviously, she was a proud Spaniard in this life), Greek (Ancient and Modern) and Bulgarian (Because it was Katerina Petrova's birth language and Zatanna wanted an edge over her, and how better than to at least cause the second-but-mistaken-as-first doppelgänger unease than by speaking the language that was her first?).

Her fluency in the above six, seven if you included English, did not count her natural and easy understanding of Egyptian hieroglyphs and Ancient Runes. In truth, the first languages Ignacio had his children taught were Greek, Latin, Egyptian hieroglyphs and Ancient Runes.

"The languages that you will use in incantations, hijos míos, better to understand them completely than to learn specific words and threaten yourself with mispronunciations and ignorance." He had explained at the beginning of her lessons with private tutors.

Zatanna was currently absorbed in learning Italian and Chinese; Chinese was hard, by the way, especially with all its different dialects. So, after a correction to the earlier assessment, Zatanna was actually only learning Italian.

Second in the educational plan, their father emphasized their need to be perfect in spoken and written language.

"Words are nothing but power, pequeňa seňorita. A single sentence, can be expressed in various ways all with the help of choosing correct words and a desired tone of expression." He looked uncharacteristically solemn. "Words can start wars just as easily as they can end them. I expect nothing but impeccable language from you and your hermano at all times."

Now, this particular lesson was something she easily agreed on. Her father obviously knew what he was talking about and it was something she had taught herself in her past life as well.

You could have all the power in the world just with a few handful of words.

Her lessons included typical course subjects, but advanced, of-fucking-course. Zatanna most particularly enjoyed Literature, Language and History (Modern and Ancient). She also held an appreciation for the Arts and Sciences. Mathematics, as always, was something she abhorred; especially with all its various sub-topics. But her father was a heartless perfectionist who demanded nothing short of excellence and precision. And being the pleasing daughter she was (because she might complain the bloody hell out of this so-called educational plan -more of a death sentence- but Ignacio was still awesome and Zatanna was still a daddy's girl), Zatanna could do nothing but deliver to his expectations.

Thankfully, though, subjects under the headings of humanities and commerce and etcetra were something she didn't have to learn just yet.

Now, Zatanna was mentally an adult woman who had gone through the entire schooling system and that was perhaps the reason that she could sit through learning the subjects with relative ease (personally, she was also a tiny bit glad; she wouldn't have to go back to school); it did turn into having an adverse reaction though, because apparently going through her lessons with bored and effortless proficiency meant getting harder and advanced lessons.

That was not good. Because it meant she started struggling (that stung, because she might have been an average student in her past life with an amazingly good memory and a penchant for pouring over her notes a mere day before the exams and somehow passing with exceptional grades, but she still had an adult mind and the fact she struggled at all was a rather huge blow to her pride), her only consolation was that everything given to her in the form of lessons were actually very hard, even for an adult mind (she hoped).

Zatanna further mused, that she genuinely did enjoy her musical and dance lessons, as opposed to basically everything else.

She found that she especially preferred playing the Violin; even more than her other favourites, the Guitar and Piano.

That was so, because while the Guitar was uplifting music and the Piano; utterly melodic. The Violin seemed capable of producing beautiful soulful notes. And Zatanna adored the music she could extract from the instrument while playing it.

Which brought her to dance lessons; Zatanna loved the freeing movements required in the various and countless dances taught to her; although, she really didn't like Ballet (she supposed it had some advantages i.e increasing her body's flexibility and fluidity but her toes hurt, damnit).

Magical lessons, Physical training and Etiquette were all parts of her regime, as well.

Magical lessons were enlightening, as always, and the theory behind them was utterly interesting. On such note, Zatanna now knew what magical bonds were. Apparently, it was something that was only dominantly present within the Asturias; that is, that bond magic was present in generally all things but the Asturias were more acutely aware and attuned to it.

Bond magic, as her father explained, were tendrils of your spirit-your soul that connected you, tethered you to other individuals. For Asturias, it was individuals that they either felt particularly strongly about or their magic recognized their importance thus connecting two or more individuals.

She had a bond with Bonnie (which, admittedly, explained her sudden attachment to Bonnie). It was a familial and protective bond, as her father explained, and all bonds were experienced both ways (which, again, explained Bonnie's attachment to her, as well).

He had further explained that every member of the Asturias family had a bond with one another. Which had led to Atticus asking whether Ignacio had been bonded to their mother.

He had smiled. And Zatanna's heart had leapt to her throat at the utterly sad expression. "We had a soul bond, hijos míos, my magic recognized her as my other half. An Asturias, only ever pairs themselves with their other half, remember that, always."

Zatanna's heart ached at the thought of their father's loss; that had lost a mother but Ignacio had lost his other half.

Needing to rid herself of her sudden depressive thoughts, Zatanna returned her attention to her studies.

Physical Training was body-aching and harsh and completely invigorating. She was relieved, because she didn't have to make excuses to train herself to be physically fit (she had been a soldier, she needed to return her body to its physical prowess).

Her physical training included gymnastics, hand to hand combat in forms of the countless styles of martial arts, endurance, horse-riding (apparently, her father had decided that his children would eventually play polo), art of weaponry; by which she didn't only mean shooting arms, she meant fucking swords and shields and archery and glaives and all such fighting arms as well.

Being an old Spanish family, meant that you were perfect in the art of war as well.

"Asturias, mi hija." Her father told her, a playful smirk on his face. "You may have magic but why should that be reason for lacking in all other aspects of life? As Asturias, you will have many enemies, why not have the entire battle planned before they have even thought of you as a threat?"

Why, indeed? She loved that man.

Etiquette was something she held grudging appreciation for; she respected the need for etiquette and it's results (a proper posture and finesse at handling yourself could do wonders) but she resented the effort needed.

Her tutor for that particular lesson, was amused at that particular thought when Zatanna had once shared it with her; saying that eventually she would reach a point where everything she will do in the matter of etiquettes would be delivered with effortless expertise.

Zatanna was dying for the day when such became reality.

The young six-year old was pulled out of her contemplative thoughts at the beep of her digital clock, signifying the turn of a new hour.

03:00 am.

Zatanna shifted beneath her sheets, rubbing at her eyes blearily. She was exhausted. And yet those damned nightmares (memories), continued to plague her every night she didn't use the simple dreamless sleep incantation. As it was, she could only use it for four nights a week, else she might become too dependent on the spell and effect her healing process; which, admittedly, wasn't much healing as she still hadn't told anyone and honestly, she didn't want to cause herself more harm anymore, and being so utterly done as she was, Zatanna decided to tell her father as soon as he arrived from his return flight from Barcelona in a few hours (he wanted to come in time to celebrate Christmas; it was an excuse really, none of them particularly cared for the holiday but their mother had loved it so they celebrated for her; to keep her memory alive. Also it was the holiday season and he had no reason to remain in Barcelona. Personally, she had been hoping he would call them home, but sadly those hopes dashed soon enough).

The only reason she had delayed it as long as she had was because she was -foolishly- hoping that the night terrors would fade away and somewhere she also feared her fathers reaction. What if he didn't understand and reacted badly? It was a stupid but blameless thought. Nervousness was guaranteed in revealing the truth of her birth.

Angry at herself, now that she thought about it, because what idiot would cause themselves even more trauma just because of unfounded fear? And Zatanna prided herself in being smart not a moron. It had taken too long, already. She would tell her father everything.

With that notion in mind, Zatanna turned to her side and closed her eyes, praying that she would have a few hours of restful sleep.

She could smell smoke and dust.

The sun shone blearingly through the cracks within the wooden planks covering the windows. The staircase behind her groaned, creaking dangerously.

All her attention, however, was on the blank onyx eyes that stared at her gleefully.

She swallowed thickly, her eyes trained on gun held against the temple of the battered yet alive from of a young boy.

"Please," She spoke, her voice cracking and the sniper rifle held in her arms shook minutely, "Please, don't make me do it."

Cracked lips stretched into a maniacal smile, revealing yellowed teeth.

The trigger pulled.

The body, with wide, hopeless eyes thumped to the floor as if it meant nothing.

The rifle slipped through her fingers as her eyes widened in despair.

She raced forward, easily disarming the gun that had just a moment ago taken the life of its victim; taken it because she wasn't willing to take the life of the offender, because of her moment of weakness.

Her hands reached up, grasping the slender neck and giving it a violent twist-

A sickening snap echoed.

The frail body slumped in her arms.

She collapsed to her knees, holding the body close, cradled in her arms, the onyx eyes now blank only because they were lifeless, the lips remained stretched in a haunting smile.

An agonized snarl left her lips and-

-And Zatanna shot up with a short yell, unconsciously she rolled off her bed, slamming on the ground in a shaking heap of blankets and limbs.

She struggled to breath, panic clawed its way inside her, her heart beat rapidly and she struggled to differentiate -to distinguish- her dreams from her reality.

A face floated above her fallen form; her heart leaped to her throat when she saw black, black eyes staring down at her.

"-hey, hey! Calm, pequeňa bruja, you need to breath. Can you do that for me, querida?" Black eyes morphed back into the brilliant teal-sea green eyes that she was accustomed to seeing on her father's face.

Dimly, she realized that she was momentarily projecting her dream; that she was in a semi-lucid state.

"Papa," She struggled to say, gasping between her breaths. She needed to breath.

"I'm here, mi hija, I'm here."

She rolled on her side, her fathers strong hands holding her close to him, grounding her and calming her.

She couldn't keep doing this.

So, she looked up into her father's face; the face that she and Atticus resembled so much.

"I need to tell you something but I don't know how." Panicked tears filled her eyes, not falling but making her eyes shine; emphasizing the anguish in them.

His eyes search her face, expression grim but calm; reassuring.

"Then show me." He responded, reverting to Spanish, the way she unconsciously had, before continuing:

"Show me everything, pequeňa bruja."

Ignacio Asturias arrived at his house in Mystic Falls a little after five-thirty early in the morning.

The sun peaked over the horizon, turning the midnight blue of the sky into a lightened pale blue. A chilly breeze greeted his presence and he could see the entire mass of his garden covered in pure white snow.

From what Sheila had informed him, his children had insisted upon returning home that night so as to greet him in the morning. Sheila had informed him that she had enlisted Jenna Sommers' (the 19-year old sister of Miranda Gilbert who had returned to Mystic Falls from Whitmore College for the holidays) help to babysit them.

Ignacio noted, as he entered his house, that it was decorated with the finery he had expected; no doubt the work of maids and butlers employed to watch over the residence.

His magic swept outwards to check on the inhabitants of the house; the working staff had left for the holidays so there were only three others occupying the mansion, besides himself, that is.

He felt Jenna Sommers sleeping deeply in one of the spare rooms, her breathing heavy and occasional soft snores escaping her mouth.

Atticus, too, was sleeping peacefully, his breathing even and magic curled around him protectively.

It was Zatanna who worried him, her breathing pattern was erratic and she constantly tossed and turned.

Frowning, Ignacio turned towards her room, taking long strides to reach there. His magic expanded, attempting to surround his daughter in a calming manner but her own magic was attacking in distress; a response to her current sentiments.

He entered the room to hear his daughter mutter under her breath, pleading in low moans, "No, please."

"Zatanna," He called, walking over his daughter muttering a silencing spell around the room, because she needed to calm down. The glass of her ceiling high sliding windows (that led to a balcony) had spider cracks crawling all over them, the items surrounding her bed floating in the air precariously; they were reacting to her volatile magic.

"Zatanna, querida, wake up." He spoke loudly, his hand reaching forward to shake her awake but there was no need; she shot up with a yell, tumbling down the side of her bed, tangled in her sheets, her magic returning inwards to comfort her; resulting in the furniture and other floating objects to fall back down.

Ignacio walked around the bed, watching in alarm as his daughter gasped for breath, she was trembling and her eyes stared up at the ceiling in horrified panic.

"Zatanna," Her eyes caught his and she struggled, trying to breathe. "Its me, hey, hey! Calm, pequeňa bruja, you need to breath. Can you do that for me, querida?"

She stared at him; clarity and recognition lighting her eyes. Her struggles ceased but she continued taking deep shuddering, gasping breaths.

"Papa," She said in pathetic sort of whine, barely managing to speak, but starting to breathe more evenly.

"I'm here, mi hija, I'm here." He soothed, running his fingers through her sweat-laced locks, before rubbing his hand on her back in slow yet encouraging circles.

She turned, so she was on her side and facing him. She stared up at him with a sheen of tears gleaming in her eyes and looked as if she had come to a sound conclusion.

"I need to tell you something but I don't know how." She implored in a hoarse tone of voice, her eyes much too wide and her accent coming through much thicker now that she was speaking in Spanish.

He inspected the desperation lining her expression, the panic, the residual fear but most of all he saw wary tiredness.

This was what had been tormenting her to quite some time now; something she hadn't chosen to reveal till now, that is.

As her father, he had noticed her odd behaviour; the dark circles that weren't meant to be present on such a young face, a weary countenance that made him want to scoop her up into a smothering hug and shower her with over-bearing affections.

This was his child. As if, he would stop her from sharing what had been on her mind for a while now.

"Then show me." He responded, his magic a calm and steady force around them, words spoken in Spanish, before continuing:

"Show me everything, pequeňa bruja."

"How?" And she looked so desperate, so helpless.

He smiled, "We are connected, you and I, through an Asturias bond; a bond of father and daughter. You merely need to let your magic drop its defenses and open your mind, then I shall see only what you show me."

She still looked unsure, but he felt her magic slowly and unconsciously drop its guard, and as her hesitancy continued, he said;

"What if I showed you something first?" He mused out loud, thinking a memory of her mother might suffice.

Zatanna's eyes sparked with interest and this time her hesitance was attributed to the fact that she was unsure whether she should voice out her thoughts or not.

Curious, Ignacio pushed through her magic and focused on the thought she was unconsciously projecting to him.

I wonder if papa would let me see what he did to that woman.

And Ignacio paused contemplatively; his daughter's words resounding in his mind. His daughter's voice had an immaculate and lilting quality to it; her spoken English, much like himself and her brother's, was Spanish accented (a trait Ignacio was sure would never leave them) but her talking style; that is her vocabulary and slangs were distinctly British.

She wanted to know what he did to Abby Bennett and if she could handle watching it, and somehow looking at her face he was assured she could, then who was he to stop her?

"I can, pequeňa seňorita," He said, startling her. "All you need to do is watch."

He softly guided her magic through his own magical barricades, allowing it to connect their minds.

And he showed her.

Abby Bennett took one good look at him and paled.

A flighty little thing, she was. Proven by the fact that she immediately attempted to escape once she found herself in his presence.

"Tsk, I expected nothing more from a pathetic wench such as yourself, Seňora Bennett." He spoke in a faux cheerful voice but his eyes were deadly as the Bennett witch was pinned to the wall by his sheer magical force. "I would like to keep this visit as short as possible, so lets take a walk, shall we?"

"Please, you need to understand! I had no other choice-" She attempted to plead but he waved a hand and her voice chocked away until silence remained.

"Cease your unneeded pleas, I have no interest in listening to them. You will beg only when I want you to." He commented pleasantly, waving a hand so that the shadows of the room rose, surrounding them before falling on top of them, moulding over them.

A sudden feeling of displacement.

The shadows receded.

And they were in the crypt Mikael lay desiccated in.

"So desperate you were to rid of him," He crooned softly. "That you even lost sight of blood-ties and family. Tut, tut, Shame on you, Abby Bennett."

She quivered from where she stood still, her eyes much too wide.

"Do you know what I'm going to do you?" He started conversationally, leaning against the against the stone coffin within which Mikael lay. Abby shook her head, a realization dawning over her features, a realization that she should never have done what she did, that her actions put her against the Asturias; that she had decided her own doom.

"First, I'm going to bind you're spirit to Mikael's physical body," He informed her, a mockingly reassuring look passing his face when he saw her panic, "Oh no, don't worry, I'm not going to link you, What this binding will do is ensure that you will not need food or water to survive; it's a sustainability binding. Killing you will not kill Mikael nor will it kill you, should Mikael die or awaken. In fact, the Original will feel nothing at all about what you would be experiencing. And you're physical need of sustenance in the form of drinkables and eatables will only return should the Original awaken or die."

She looked confused, of course she was, what a dull creature.

"Then," He continued, wanting to be done with it. Staring at his wife's murderer made his blood roar in rage. "Then I'm going to make your pain-receptive brain cells...a little more sensitive," He gave her a ruthless smirk, standing up straight and walking towards Abby's still form (his magic had rooted her in place) and gently grasped her chin, making her stare into his luminous eyes. "I will ensure that there is a constant stream of images your mind comes up with -images that are horrendous, bloody torture; creative methods of pain and your pain-receptors will react ten-fold of what they normally would. And do you know the best part?" He smiled at the tears that filled her eyes, as fear became the only emotion she was capable of feeling. "The best part is; its all in your head."

She was crying now, attempting to speak but failing.

He had made a horrifying promise.

And he had kept it.

.

.

.

He glanced back at the female body lying comfortably on a stone slab, nothing in immediate sight restricted her movements; but she still couldn't move, his magic having formed invisible binds.

She was staring at the ceiling, her mouth open in a silent scream; incapable of producing any sound, because his magic had deemed it so.

"This is the state you shall remain in for the remainder of your pitiful life; unmoving, unable to make a sound and in utter agony yet not a single physical mark on you, you require no food and no water...and when you die; Death shall await you." He tilted his head to the side; his magic forming the final layer of a protective covering around the crypt; so that no one but he and his kin could access it. "Fitting you should remain in the presence of the Original you were so anxious to rid yourself of...Farewell, Abby Bennett, you will not be missed."

And he left without a single glance backward; the presence of his magic remained swirling around and within the crypt; to make sure all his magical conditions remained.

His daughter stared at him with renewed appreciation and admiration.

He was interested to note that there was no disgust or disturbed emotions to be seen.

"Now, I think it's your turn to show me, pequeňa seňorita."

She swallowed; nervousness dancing over her features, before he could see her steel her nerves and look straight into his eyes with an identical set of his own.

And show him, she did.

Zatanna stared at his face, trying to determine his thoughts.

Her heart beat rapidly and loudly; so loud that she was surprised her father couldn't hear it.

His face was utterly blank and indistinguishable but his eyes were a roaring tidal wave; the sea-green had suddenly become more dominant than the teal-green; it was like watching the untamable ocean, wild and dangerous, waves crashing upon each other.

Zatanna shivered.

She had shown him everything. Leaving nothing out, he needed to know and she needed to tell him.

All she could do was wait for his reaction.

His lips parted and he whispered a single word.

"Amazing."

.

.

.

Okay, what in the bloody fuck?

What kind of a reaction was that? Who said 'amazing' after finding out your daughter was in reality a mentally 41-year old woman (if you counted her age in this life as well).

Perhaps he saw her deadpanned, disbelieving expression for he let his lips stretch into a smile.

"Don't you see, mi hija," Her heart soared at the endearment, the fact he called her his daughter quelled the worries that ran rampant within her. "You are a Miracle. A gift of Death-a gift from Death."

Now, she was simply bewildered.

"Your existence in this world is proof to the fact Death wanted you, loved and respected you before you were born as an Asturias." He explained, the concentrated amazement on his face becoming more prominent by each word that escaped his mouth.

"This was a fictional world. How could he- how could anyone have the power to bring me to a fictional world. And why?" She sounded slightly hysterical, even to herself.

Her father smiled patiently. "There are many planes of existence; sweetheart. Ever heard of the multiverse theory?" He asked rhetorically. "Sometimes, mortals who are more sensitive to it, dream or pluck thoughts of a reality they believe to be fictitious and a product of their mind, but is in reality them attuning to different realities. But do you know the one constant these realities have? Death. It is everywhere and yet nowhere...Perhaps a more apt description of Death would be to know it's true name." He paused in his musings and Zatanna perked up in interest -Death had another name? "How are your studies going?"

She stared at him.

What?

"What?" She voiced out loud, because they were talking about Death and where exactly did her studies come in?

"Your history, specifically." He looked expectant for an answer.

"Er...right. I'm quite good at history, if I do say so myself." She admitted, still looking at her father searchingly, because where exactly was he going with this?

"Your Greek mythology?"

"Papa, please don't insult my intelligence, I'm an adult woman in the body of a child." She responded rather dryly.

His smile grew wider. "And according to the Greeks, mi hija, who existed first and began everything."

"Khaos. But why are you aski-" She cut herself off as the implications set in; her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

"Yes, mi hija." Her father looked pleased. "And is death not a form of chaos?"

"Death is Khaos." She uttered.

"An existence present before time. An entity which is everything yet nothing, present in a void between world's and universes." Her father ran his fingers through her hair. "It is known as Death, here, who knows what other names it is known by?"

Her mind whirled with this new tsunami of information; her curiosity lapped it up like a starving dog. Khaos. In this plane of existence, Khaos was present in the form of Death. How utterly intriguing and even more gratifying it was to know that such an entity had claimed them as belonging to it.

"Why me?" She asked, because why indeed? What had she done that had caught Death's-Khaos' attention?

"Who knows mi hija?" He answered, pausing only to get back on his feet and lifting her up in his arms. "Some questions are better left unanswered."

He plopped down on her bed, arranging the covers so that both of them were under it and surrounded by its warmth.

"Thank you, papa." She said, because this situation could have gone in many different directions had she told it to anyone other than Ignacio Asturias.

"You are still my daughter, my gift from Death."

And try as she may, she couldn't stop her lips from twisting into a smile.

"I want to tell Atticus too." She said after a contemplative pause.

She could hear her father hum; the sound louder because of her head placed on his chest.

"After we wake up in a few hours. Better not to show him all your memories."

"Obviously, Papa."

A pause.

"Also, you need therapy."

She snorted and turned her face so it was buried in his chest all the while muffling her chortles.

"I'm serious, pequeňa bruja, and I've decided I'll be your therapist."

Zatanna almost fell off the bed in her tear-filled laughter, feeling lighter than she had in years.

24th December, 1998; Bennett Household, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Atticus stuck close to her ever since her father had taken him aside the previous evening and explained that she was a reborn soul but also 'a gift from Death'.

And Zatanna realised, that he was reassuring her in his own way, that he didn't care she was reborn because she was still his sister. It filled her with overwhelming fondness for her eight-year old brother.

His small gestures spoke volumes to her.

At the moment, the family of three were attending a Christmas Eve dinner hosted by Sheila Bennett that particular year.

The siblings found themselves in the back yard with all the other children making snowmen and having snow ball fights; Mason Lockwood was watching over them, Jenna Sommers at his side, both deeply engrossed in light-hearted conversations.

"Zatanna, look!" Elena called, pointing at her snowman, her brown doe-like eyes gleaming hopefully.

Zatanna gave her a polite yet disinterested smile. "That's nice," She commented vaguely, her eyes following Bonnie and Tyler who had decided to make snow angels.

Elena grew quiet, seemingly unaware of the nudges Caroline and Matt were giving her.

"I'm sorry," She said so quietly that Zatanna barely managed to hear her.

Snapping her head in Elena's direction, she watched as tears welled up in the six-year old brunette's eyes, his lip jutted out in an attempt to control herself.

"What?" Zatanna blurted out, feeling and looking confused. Why exactly was she apologising?

"I'm sorry if I made any mistake." Elena whispered, rubbing at the tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry you don't like me, I try really hard. I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

And Zatanna was stumped.

She had always disliked Elena's role and character in the show. She hid her selfishness behind a holier-than-thou attitude and had a pathetic black and white view of the world. She always wanted people to make her the first priority, to save her without doing anything about it herself, unless of course she wanted to make a show of 'sacrificing herself for her loved ones'.

But she wasn't like that now, was she?

Elena's only flaw, currently as a six-year old, was that she had pleasing personality; she had this need to please everyone and meet their expectations.

Zatanna cursed herself, she was ignoring-projecting her dislike for who Elena would be as an adult to her as a child.

A child who was still innocent.

She had always prided herself in being rational and level-headed and capable of seeing both aspects of a situation but here she was treating a child unfairly.

Zatanna felt guilty.

Granted with the way things were going, Elena probably would turn out the same way as she was in the show unless-

-unless Zatanna changed it.

And she could, couldn't she?

She could change Elena Gilbert. Mould her entire personality.

With this dawning realization and guilt for her unfair actions; knowing she was at fault, Zatanna bowed her head; a complete display of humble regret.

"No, you needn't apologize, it was my mistake." She spoke with a soft smile which she, uncharacteristically, aimed at Elena, who's breath hitched in shock. "I apologize, Seňorita Gilbert, I treated you unfairly."

Elena waved away her apology and with a hopeful smile, asked if she would be interested in making a snowman with her.

Zatanna accepted.

Because she could change the entire course of the show if Elena Gilbert had a different personality. An occurrence, Zatanna would ensure happened.

And why not?

Elena Gilbert had the potential to be a bad-ass individual; only if she had the proper guidance.

Guidance she was freely given in the form of Zatanna Bennett-Asturias.

Her magic curled within her in anticipation.

Additional Information: 'Khaos' is the Greek spelling of 'Chaos'.

Regarding the noble title given to Ignacio Asturias; the title itself is real i.e 'Seňor of Lazcano; Lord of Lazcano' is a real title but it's usage in this story is entirely fictional. As far as I'm aware, in real life this title belongs to the Ducal House of el Infantado.

Edit: Credits to the guest for clarifying who the title of Lazcano belongs to in real life.

Date of Births:

Ignacio Asturias: 12th May, 1968.

Pauline Bennett: 1st January, 1969.

Atticus Bennett-Asturias: 7th August, 1990.

Zatanna Bennett-Asturias: 31st October, 1992.

All other birthdays of canon characters are as have been listed according to Wikia, with the only exception being those who's birthdays have not been given, of which I shall take liberty of giving them specific dates of birth myself.

A/N: This monster was a bitch to write. No joke. Perhaps the longest chapter I have written yet? Yes.

Also, I give you Abby's fate. And Zatanna's big reveal. Yay. And my plans about Elena. Double yay.

Anyways hope you enjoyed, cause I'm certainly looking forward for your reactions.

Again, thank you for all the views, favorites, follows and reviews.

I'd like to thank; AlianaGabriellaWinchester17, Kristina'sMyName, beamer witte, Believer91, RebeliousOne, marlastiano, NellieWolf123, PrincessMagic, Farrah Veelacov, keikei313, bbb671, NicoleP1928 and LoserTrash for leaving your reviews, believe me when I say that's where I found the motivation to write this chapter.

I'd like to further thank Guusjecullen and LillithiaMikaelson for adding this story in their communities; 'Self-Inserts, Original Characters and Klaroline' and 'C'est la vie' respectively.

Also, before I go, spoiler for next chapter; Enzo comes in XD.

Like/Favorite and Review/Comment, please. I respond to all reviews via PM.

Translations:

Seňora Lockwood: Madam/Mrs. Lockwood.

Hijos míos: My children.

Pequeňa seňorita: Little Miss.

Hermano: Brother

Mi hija: My daughter.

Pequeňa bruja: Little witch.

Querida: Dearest/Dear one.

Seňora Bennett: Madam/Mrs. Bennett.

Seňorita Gilbert: Miss Gilbert.

Note: All translations were taken with the help of Google. If there are any mistakes, I would like to apologize as I do not know how to speak the language.

Edit: Corrections to translations made with the kind and welcomed help of Alessandra12, I am extremely and genuinely grateful for her help.

"Mors nobis favet; Death favors us."

-The Asturias Family Motto-

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction; I do not claim any ownership over any characters, situations or anything of relation from the TVD world. I do, however, own the Asturias Family, anything related to them, any other Original-Character introduced and the plot of this particular story.