PORTRAIT OF PENITENCE ⸻ the vampire diaries.

PROLOGUE.

( PROLOGUE —— to the first of the saga )

SOMETHING WASN'T RIGHT.

The dust that sat dormant on the mantle, the strewn magazines, the one-day-old newspaper turned to the pages of the obituary and children's fairy tale books on the coffee table and the troubled minds of the dollhouse's two children truly made that family room the most pitiful sight eyes could lay on.

Their names were Miranda and Jenna, born with a stark eight-year gap between them and brought into the world in the respective order. They sat too stern-faced and heavy-hearted for anyone to consider them children; the youngest, Jenna, was an instance of what being born into a household like the Sommers will do to such a young child –– even those of only eight years.

Miranda, the oldest of the soon-to-be Sommers trio, was the ray of sunshine in autumn. Long dark hair cascading down her to her tiny waist of her tiny frame, a long face with a straight nose, pale, alabaster white skin and dull, chocolate eyes were just to name a few of the sixteen-year-old Miss Mystic Falls' primary features. She wasn't the kind of striking, stunning beautiful like those women in Hollywood or Bollywood films. She was plain like a canvas with no paint but still resembling the starry night, the kind of beauty born from Van Gogh's short strokes of contrasting pastel and dark paints striving towards perfection; in shorter descriptions, she was simple and close to perfection, not only for her looks but also her kind, loving heart.

Jenna, however, didn't need such a detailed description for her eight winters aged self. Born with a shade of dark hair unbefitting her, a small face with a sharp outline of her jaw that sticked out like the outline of a sword cased in its sheathe, and characteristic light eyes almost pushing everyone to question if the two children had any blood connection.

The described children sat on the worse for wear couch, swallowing each scream and cry reaching their ears from the delivery room not even too far away from where they sat. A storm raged on outside as well as inside the Sommers dollhouse.

"When do you think dad's gonna be home?" the younger asked her elder.

"I don't know."

Jenna didn't allow a moment of silence to reside between them for long, "Do you think he's gonna be mad when Holly's not a boy?"

"You don't need to worry about that. Everything's gonna be fine."

"You're doing it again," young Jenna sighed, "you're lying to make me feel better."

What response could you give to a child seeing through the thick web of noble lies you webbed to try and preserve the innocence which had already been stripped from them unbeknownst to your knowledge? Nothing. So, a permanent –– at least for that momentous night –– silence befell the pair again.

In the delivery room, however, things were quite a bit more earsplitting. Not even a moment of silence resided in the room. It was either guttural screams, choked cries, whimpers of pain or the ever so often crackles of lightning that echoed in the room.

"Almost there, Hannah!" the midwife urged her, "Push!"

Hannah Sommers truly wished her breathing stopped when Holiday Priscilla Sommers' first cry in the world echoed through the bricks of the house.

The walls of the house listening intently with pity; this would come to be the first of many cries the baby — and the women in the house — would sob in the shelter of the walls of the quaint house.

{ please, if you have any criticisms for me and my mediocre writing, please don't stay quiet !
i'm eager to hear any tidbit of criticism
so i can better myself and, one day, achieve my
dream of becoming a published writer !
hope y'all enjoy this read ! }