Late August, 2009

I don't know much about my family.

For some families, there isn't really much to know. For others, there is a wealth of information that few care about. I should have a wealth of knowledge—I certainly care about it. Instead, all I have are a bunch of unanswered questions: when did my family get their magic? Who was the first to become a witch? The first to become a Septe? What is my family's Affinity? What's mine, for that matter? If we're so well-known, then why does no one know how my father died? Why did my mother not want me to control the magic coursing through my veins? And why did she choose banishment over me?

I do know some things, of course.

I know how Lorna Bennett sailed to America from England. No one knows much before her life in America. She was a powerful witch, and quickly married the most powerful man she could find in Salem—Elric Mathers. Maybe it was her health. Maybe it was her love of bright colors. Whatever it was, she was one of the first to be accused of witchcraft when the Trials began. No one could lead that happy of a life in a Puritan society.

Lorna was arrested, imprisoned, and brought to trial. The Salem Witch Trials were completely fabricated; most of those arrested were just normal people that the accusers didn't like for one reason or another. But what the fine citizens of Salem didn't realize was that they they had actually managed to catch themselves a real witch.

Lorna was sentenced to hang, but was too powerful for that to do any damage to her. She faked her death, glamoured herself, and continued living in Salem with Elric Mathers as if nothing happened.

And thus, my family remained in Salem—the witchcraft capital of the United States—for the next three-hundred or so years. They got more powerful; they grew more prominent. My father, Cadoc Bennett, married my mother, Abby Wildes-Bennett. But shortly after I was born, everything changed.

My father was murdered. No one knew how, or who did it. But Dad's mother, Sheila, had a huge falling out with the Council of Magic for their refusal to investigate. She went into self-imposed exile in protest to Mystic Falls, Virginia, and her loss in the magical community of Salem was hugely felt over the years.

That's when the community turned to my mother and me to help fill the hole that her loss created. There were no other high-born witches—or Septes—in Salem. Neither my mother or I, but we had the potential to be. It was in both of our bloodlines. But that attention led to the Council discovering more than they bargained for.

Apparently, the man my mother dated since I was twelve wasn't a witch. So, the Council gave her a choice: never see him again or be banished. She chose the latter.

And that brings us to now.

The taxi rounds the corner of the paved driveway that leads to a clearing with a large, white house situated in the center. It's in the Georgian style, like many of the older homes in New England. It gives off an extremely eerie vibe. In retrospect, I suppose that's what Grams is going for. She should just hang up a no trespassing sign. Still, it makes me feel comforted. It's familiar, when nothing else around me is.

I get out of the yellow car with my three piece luggage set, pay the driver, and wait for him to leave. I know better than try to approach the house.

The front door opens and a middle-aged woman emerges. She's eccentric looking, to say the least. It's all so stereotypical.

Sheila Bennett is tall and slender—a true classic beauty. She reminds me of a movie starlet from the 1940s with her perfectly waved, black hair held back with combs and impeccably tailored expensive clothes.

I'm not nearly as put together as she is. My mom is more free-spirited and usually left me to my own devices. I've developed a style of mostly jeans and sweaters in neutral colors.

"Welcome, child," Grams greets me as I feel the wind shift around me. I know she's letting down the barriers that holds back the supernatural. I'm not powerful enough to do it myself, especially as my grandmother is fully trained.

I continue up to the porch, my bags following along behind me of their own volition.

The house is large and sort of rundown looking on the outside with its white paint peeling and looking dull compared to the black door and shutters. The inside is just as old, but much less run down. I honestly expected the outside to be some sort of glamour to creep the humans out in case one ever made it this far out of town.

The inside is richly decorated with deep, warm colors. The entire place seems a bit dark and dreary, but is comforting. There is no overhead lighting—it's all sconces or candles. The fireplace in the parlor is lit, and that's where Grams leads me.

I settle into the black velvet armchair, tucking my feet under me. She sits on the matching sofa to my right, back straight. If I didn't know her, she would be frightening.

I make a mental note to never need a parent-teacher conference.

"I'm glad you're here with me, Bonnie," she begins, smiling faintly. "Though the circumstances leave something to be desired, I think you being here in Mystic Falls will be good for you."

The knowing glint in her ocher eyes doesn't go unnoticed by me.

I narrow my eyes at her. "What are you keeping from me?"

Grams chuckles, shaking her head. "You have great power, Bonnie. You're a Bennett; it's in your blood. But there is so much that you don't yet know. I know your mother had your best interests at heart. Of course I knew, or I wouldn't have left you with her. But I didn't realize she wanted to leave you so blind. This isn't going to be easy for you. Your magic has been growing since you were born, and there has been no outlet for it to escape. You should expect outbursts of magic until you can properly learn to control it, which can be dangerous for you and everyone around you."

I already know this, of course. The magic under my skin has been itching to escape for as long as I can remember. My mother never wanted me to use it. I've always assumed it's because the power reminded her of Dad. I never wanted to upset her, so I've never tried to harness it.

That all changed the night she left. I exploded. I was upset, and I couldn't hold in my power. I ended up setting our home on fire. After I realized what I done, I tried to stop it. I couldn't. Not even the Council could stop it, and I lost everything—including my mother.

Grams's sharp features soften suddenly. "Don't worry, child. I'm going to teach you. You're meant to be here. Do you understand? Everything has happened for a reason—you're exactly where you need to be."

She would think that—she probably saw it. I can't help but doubt her, but not learning isn't an option. "Just tell me what I need to do."

She smiles in relief.

"We'll start with the basics. You know that each day of the week correlates with an Affinity of Witchcraft. Each day, we will focus on the correlating Affinity. You can have the last week of summer to yourself, but next Tuesday, after school, we will begin with Casting."

Grams is all business. She probably has a lesson plan already drawn out.

"One more thing before bed," she adds, walking over to a coffee table on the other side of the room. She picks up a large, black tome with black swirls all over the cover. There is no title, but it looks ancient.

"This is our family grimoire."

Grams hands the book to me. I immediately feel a rush of energy surge through my veins just by holding it. I want to immediately open it and begin reading, but she gently plucks it back out of my hands.

"There will be plenty of time for that. If I give this to you now, you'll never go to sleep."

She's right, of course.

My bags have already made it to my room. I've stayed with Grams a few times before, so I know how things work here and where my room is.

I stop at the end of the hall in front of a small door that looks like it could use a fresh coat of paint. The doorknob is shaped like a flower with shiny brass petals. A daisy, maybe? I twist it, and the wood groans as the door swings open.

To my right is a dark wooden bed whose four posts are carved with flowers, a matching flower-carved vanity with a marble top, and a delicate nightstand with an old lamp made of yellow glass. Directly in front of me is an armoire. I love armoires. Next to my bed is a small white rug for cold mornings. And overlooking the front lawn is a window seat with white lace cushions. It's light and airy here, unlike the rest of the house which feels mostly like fire.

I put my clothes away in the armoire, tugging on the doors to make sure it's latched. I pick up the small golden picture frame off the trunk before plopping onto my down-and lace-covered bed.

In the picture, I'm four-years-old and sitting on my mother's lap outside a café in Paris. Her cheek rests on the top of my head as I hold my cream puff with both hands. She's just smeared a bit of cream on my nose, and I'm laughing.

"How can I start school next week without you here to give me a pep talk?" I ask the picture. "These kids have to be nicer than at my last school, though, right? Sleep tight, Mom. I'll love you for always."

I kiss my mom's picture and put it down on my bedside table near a slender vase holding a single daisy-like flower with a dark center.

I turn out the light.

─── · 。ﾟ : *. .* : ﾟ. ───

A/N: This story is mostly AU, as you may have noticed. I've taken some creative liberties, nevertheless some plot lines from the show will appear. Let me know if you have any questions! :)

Feedback is always appreciated!

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