Stefan’s Diaries: Origins Chapter 11

The mist rose up around my feet as I walked toward the willow tree. The sun was quickly setting, entirely I could still entertain erupt a shadowy figure nestled between the roots.I glanced again. It was Rosalyn, her ships company dress shimmering in the weak light. Bile rose in my throat. How could she be here? She was buried, her body six feet underground at the Mystic go cemetery.As I walked closer, steeling my courage and grasping the knife in my pocket, I noniced her lifeless eye reflecting the verdant leaves above. Her dark curls stuck to her clammy forehead. And her fill prohibited wasnt torn out at all. Instead, her neck displayed only two peachy little holes, the size of shodding nails. As if guided by an unseen hand, I fell to my knees next to her body.Im sorry, I whispered, staring at the cracked soil below. Then I raised my eyes and froze in horror. Because it wasnt Rosalyns body at all.It was Katherines.A small smile curved her rosebud lips, as if she were simpl y dreaming.I fought the urge to scream. I would not let Katherine die But as I reached toward her wounds, she sat smashing up. Her visage morphed, her dark curls irresolute to blond, and her eyes glowed red.I started backward.Its your fault The oral communication cut through the still night, the spirit hollow and otherworldly. The voice belonged neither to Katherine nor Rosalynbut to a demon.I screamed, captivating my penknife and slicing it into the night air. The demon lunged forward and clutched my neck. It lowered its sharpened canines to my skin, and everything faded to black.I woke up in a cold sweat, school term up full. A crow cawed outside in the distance, I could hear children playing. Sunbeams were mottle along my white bedspread, and a dinner tray was simulateting on my desk. It was daylight. I was in my own bed.A dream. I remembered the funeral, the ride from the church, my exhaustion as I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. It had just been a dream, a product of too much emotion and stimulation today. A dream, I reminded myself again, willing my mettle to stop pounding. I took a long gulp of water straight from the pitcher on the night contribute. My brain slowly stilled, but my marrow squash act to race and my hands still felt clammy. Because it wasnt a dream, or at least not same any dream Id ever had before. It was as if demons were invading my mind, and I was no longer sure what was real or what thoughts to trust. I stood up, trying to shake off the nightmare, and wandered downstairs. I took the back stairs so as not to cross paths with Cordelia in the kitchen. Shed been taking full(a) care of me, just as when I had been a child in mourning for my mother, but something about her watchful gaze made me nervous. I knew shed heard me call out for Katherine, and I fervently hoped she wasnt telling tales to the servants.I walked into Fathers study and glanced at his shelves, finding myself drawn yet again to the Shakespeare section. Sat urday seemed wish a lifetime ago. Still, the candle in the silver candlestick bearer was exactly where Katherine and I had left it, and The Mysteries of Mystic Falls was still on the precede. If I closed my eyes, I could almost smell lemon.I agitate that thought away and hastily picked out a volume of Macbeth, a play about jealousy and love and betrayal and death, which suited my clime perfectly.I forced myself to sit on the leather club head and glance at the words, forced myself to turn the pages. Maybe thats what I postulate in order to proceed with the rest of my life. If I just unplowed forcing myself to take action, maybe Id finally get over the guilt and grief and fear Id been carrying with me since Rosalyns death.Just then, I heard a knock on the door. Fathers not here, I called, hoping whoever it was would go away.Sir Stefan? Alfreds voice called. Its a visitor.No, thank you, I replied. It was probably Sheriff Forbes again. Hed already bring by four or vanadium tim es, speaking to Damon and Father. So far Id managed to beg off the visits. I couldnt stand the thought of telling himtelling anyone where Id been at the time of the attack.The visitor is quite a insistent, Alfred called.So are you, I muttered under my breath as I strode to the door and opened it. Shes in the sitting room, Alfred verbalize, turning on his heel. watch I verbalize. She. Could it be Katherine? My heart quickened despite itself.Sir? Alfred asked, mid-step.Ill be there.Frantically, I scatter water from the basin in the corner on my face and utilise my hands to placid my hair back from my forehead. My eyes still looked hooded, and detailed vessels had broken, reddening the whites, but there was nothing more I could do to make me look, let alone feel, more homogeneous myself.I strode purposefully into the parlor. For an instant, my heart fell with disappointment. Instead of Katherine, sitting on the red velvet wingback chair in the corner was her maid, Emily. She ha d a chair in the corner was her maid, Emily. She had a wicket of flowers on her lap and held a daisy to her nose, as if she didnt have a care in the world.Hello, I said formally, already trying to come up with a way to politely excuse myself.Mr. Salvatore. Emily stood up and half- curtseyed. She wore a simple white eyelet dress and bonnet, and her dark skin was smooth and unlined. My mistress and I join you in your sorrows. She asked that I give you this, she said, proffering the basket toward me.Thank you, I said, taking the basket. I absentmindedly put a sprig of lilac to my nose and inhaled.Id use these in your healing, rather than Cordelias concoctions, Emily said.How did you whap about that? I wondered.Servants talk. But I fear that whatever Cordelias provide you may be doing you more harm than good. She plucked a some blossoms from the basket, twining them into a bouquet. Daisies, magnolias, and bleeding heart will help you heal.And pansies for thoughts? I asked, retentiv eness a quote from Shakespeares Hamlet. As soon as I said it, I agnise it was a foolish statement. How would an uneducated servant little girl possibly know what I was speaking of?But Emily simply smiled. No pansies, although my mistress did mention your love of Shakespeare. She reached into the basket and broke off a sprig of lilac, which she then pushed gently into my buttonhole.I held the basket up and inhaled. It smelled like flowers, but there was something else the intoxicating aroma that Id only experienced when I was near Katherine. I inhaled again, feeling the confusion and darkness of the past a couple of(prenominal) days slowly fade.I know everythings very strange right now, Emily said, breaking my reverie. But my mistress only wishes the best for you. She nodded toward the couch, as if inviting me to sit down. Obediently, I sat and stared at her. She was remarkably beautiful and carried herself with a display case of grace Id neer seen before. Her movements and mann ers were so deliberate that watching her was like watching a painting come to life.She would like to see you, Emily said after a moment.The second the words left her lips, I realized that could never be. As I sat there, in the daylight of the parlor, with some other person rather than being lost in my own thoughts, everything clicked into focus. I was a widower, and my duty now was to mourn Rosalyn, not to mourn my schoolboy deception of love with Katherine. Besides, Katherine was a beautiful orphan with no friends or relations. It would never workcould never work.I did see her. At Rosalyns at the funeral, I said stiffly.Thats hardly a social call, Emily pointed out. Shed like to see you. someplace private. When youre ready, she added quickly.I knew what I had to say, what the only proper thing to say was, but the words were hard to form. I will see, but in my actual condition, Im afraid Im probably not in the best mood to go walking. Please send your mistress my regrets, altho ugh she will not want for company. I know my brother will go wherever she wishes, I said, the words heavy on my tongue.Y es. She is quite fond of Damon. Emily gathered her skirts and stood up. I stood up as well and felt, even though I towered a head taller, that she was somehow more powerful than me. It was an odd yet not altogether unpleasant feeling. But you cant argue with true love.With that she swept out the door and across the grounds, the daisy in her hair scattering its petals into the wind.