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𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧. 𝑣𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑎

Word count: 2292

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 up at the two portraits that hung above the fireplace. 

It seemed that they were oil paintings, and honestly? They were pretty flattering. She most definitely didn't mind that these portraits were the highlight of the room. 

She stayed in that position for the next ten minutes, the same thought running through her mind over and over again: Was Five ever going to come back?

With a sigh, she got up and walked over to the bookshelf, hoping to find some comfort through words. Tracing her finger along the rows of books, she squinted her eyes and tilted her head as her gaze shifted from book to book. 

She suddenly paused, noticing a book that she had never read before. She pulled it out, her eyes widening when she saw the young Vanya on the cover.

This was her autobiography.

Elizabeth turned the book around, reading the blurb that was written in the back: Vanya Hargreeves is well known for her virtuosic skills as a violinist. Less understood is the role she played as one of Reginald Hargreeves' adopted children, standing alongside—but never counted among—the famous Umbrella Academy super kids. This is her story, in her own words.

Elizabeth then flipped the book open as she took a seat back on the couch. She rifled through the book, reading a sentence or so from each page. She suddenly became a bit nervous as she approached a heading at the very end of the book, which read: SPECIAL NOTE: NUMBER EIGHT.

Elizabeth folded her legs under her as she began to read.

Number Eight was different from the rest of the Umbrella Academy super kids. Not only because she arrived fourteen years later, nor because her number didn't represent her strength or rank. No, Number Eight was different, because she was the sole living person who cared about me.

When Elizabeth had first arrived in September of 2003, I had avoided her. I was afraid she'd treat me the same way the others did, so I didn't give her the chance. I expected her to be prideful, to be as self-absorbed as the others were, especially when we found out what her powers were. She could manipulate energy and was gifted with incredible intelligence. With that, I thought, there's no way she wasn't like the others.

But my mind was soon changed.

November 18th, 2003. Elizabeth came into my room while the others were on a mission, and we simply talked. Talked about my violin, her past life, about life at the towering building we called home . . .

I had never just talked with anyone.

I remember how she formed a ball of great, golden energy in her hand and offered it to me. I remember the tickle it gave me as I held it, and the smile Elizabeth shared. I remember that she knew what my favourite sandwich was—peanut butter with strawberry jam—and offered to make one for me. I remember her calling me her friend.

No one had ever called me their friend before.

That day, I felt the most content I had ever been. But that wasn't the last time that joyous feeling occupied me.

We'd study together, whenever I asked. Even if she was busy with something else, or if she was hanging out with the rest, she would drop everything just so she could help me. I appreciated it. And while we studied, she encouraged me. Told me I was more than smart enough. She said that I didn't need superpowers to be successful, in both algebra and life.