MYSTIC FALLS WAS THE PLACE where nothing ever happened.
It is a joke that Alyssandra herself often participated in. A small town in Virginia. Quiet, undisturbed. The air is always fresh and calm, the streets buzzing with the smell of unlit cigarettes and booze and teens who should be in school. There is nothing ever serious going on. Nothing to warrant the interest of anyone remotely important.
The people of Mystic Falls live then die.
Maybe if they were lucky enough they had the means to get out of town before they got to the dying part. Meet new people, make new roots. Go to places that they've only talked about in class. Not to say that life there was bad but.
It was dull.
A verse that everybody already knew. You say 'good morning' to the Sheriff when you see her. You thank Roberta after she gives you water in the Mystic Grill- then you wink towards the waiter so he gives you a better drink. And after class, you try to ignore the fact that your twin's best friend is your biggest rival. It was a song and dance that would end after you, just as it all began before you, soothing in the same way the drink the waiter gave burns its way down your throat. But she would never have bargained for the alternative.
It started with a dream, not even on the day of their death but before. Drowning in the same waters where she learned how to swim. The same belt that should've saved their lives choking them instead. A premonition that she ignored- because it was just a bad dream.
After that, the people of Mystic Falls live and die. Then live.
Through their spirit, their body, their sentiments; written in fantasy in journals and diaries and skin, unleashing webs of secrets- some older than the first wind of the first clock.
It was hell.