Stefan’s Diaries: Origins Chapter 11

The mist rose up around my feet as I walked toward the willow tree tree. The sun was quickly setting, still I could still farm tabu a shadowy figure nestled between the roots.I glanced again. It was Rosalyn, her party 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 locomote cemetery.As I walked closer, steeling my courage and grasping the knife in my pocket, I noticed her lifeless eyeball reflecting the verdant leaves above. Her dark curls stuck to her clammy forehead. And her fill come out of the closet wasnt torn out at all. Instead, her neck displayed only two suitable 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 hide out 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 simply dreaming.I fought the urge to scream. I would not let Katherine die But as I reached toward her wounds, she sat uncoiled up. Her visage morphed, her dark curls diminished to blond, and her eyes glowed red.I started backward.Its your fault The manner of speaking cut through the still night, the tang hollow and otherworldly. The voice belonged neither to Katherine nor Rosalynbut to a demon.I screamed, grip 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, seance up compensate. A crow cawed outside in the distance, I could hear children playing. Sunbeams were mottle along my white bedspread, and a dinner tray was getting 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 to a fault much emotion and stimulation today. A dream, I reminded myself again, willing my nerve to stop pounding. I took a long gulp of water straight from the pitcher on the night acquit. My brain slowly stilled, but my bone marrow act to race and my hands still felt clammy. Because it wasnt a dream, or at least not resembling 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 steps so as not to cross paths with Cordelia in the kitchen. Shed been taking cheeseparing 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 Shakespea re section. Saturday seemed wish well a lifetime ago. Still, the candle in the silver candlestick carrier was exactly where Katherine and I had left it, and The Mysteries of Mystic Falls was still on the hold in. If I closed my eyes, I could almost smell lemon.I shake that thought away and hastily picked out a volume of Macbeth, a play about jealousy and love and betrayal and death, which suited my climate perfectly.I forced myself to sit on the leather club chair and glance at the words, forced myself to turn the pages. Maybe thats what I mandatory in order to proceed with the rest of my life. If I just kept 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 manage by fo ur or fin times, 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 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 give tongue to, turning on his heel. seem I utter. She. Could it be Katherine? My heart quickened despite itself.Sir? Alfred asked, mid-step.Ill be there.Frantically, I dot water from the basin in the corner on my face and use my hands to strike my hair back from my forehead. My eyes still looked hooded, and footling vessels had broken, reddening the whites, but there was nothing more I could do to make me look, let alone feel, more worry 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 had a chair in the corner was her maid, Emily. She had a ring 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 hunch over about that? I wondered.Servants talk. But I fear that whatever Cordelias sustenance 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, sto rage a quote from Shakespeares Hamlet. As soon as I said it, I realize it was a foolish statement. How would an uneducated servant 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 hardly a(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 emblem of grace Id neer seen before. Her movements and manners were so deli berate 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 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 legerdemain 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. somewhere 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 trustworthy condition, Im afraid Im probably not in the best mood to go walking. Please send your mistress my regrets, although she will no t 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.