****REWRITING IN PROCESS****
A thousand years ago, seven stars sat illuminated in the night sky, surrounded by the moon, wrapped around its comfort and loving embrace, secured in the safety net that always provided them protection.
Too soon, it all...
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3rd POV
"Maybe so, but where's a little fun without no trouble, Damon?" Darcy singsongs and cuts the call.
She chucks the phone on the sofa beside her and looks up at the occupants in the living room. "Did you get it?" she asked, her limbs jittery with excitement.
"Yep!" Alaric voiced, looking up from his phone and chuckling with disbelief. "I can't believe you stole it."
"Technically, it's not stealing if I didn't take it myself," Darcy grins, winking at Jeremy.
Alaric and Jenna whirl around to the Gilbert boy. "You stole it? But how?!" Jenna gapes incredulously.
Jeremy's cheeks tint pink at the attention now focused on him. He shrugs and zips his lips coyly.
"That's not important right now. We now know who wants the invention," Darcy said. "But the real question is, why?"
Jenna shakes her head and walks into the kitchen. She flicks the tab on the kettle and then pulls four mugs out of the cupboard next to the fridge. The History teacher watches the strawberry blonde before walking over to the sofa where his work bag is situated and pulls out a faded sheet of A3 paper. He unfolds it and peers down at it as he sets it on the coffee table in front of Darcy. "Last night, when we were going through the journals, this fell out. I figured it was yours. I didn't know you could draw?"
Darcy sighed and wiped her face with her hands. She lowered them and picked up the drawing off the table, a sad smile playing on her lips as she traced her index finger over the faces. Her eyes trail over the family portrait of nine individuals who invade her sleep on a nightly occurrence - the sleep she has been avoiding for the past three nights in fear of the ever-increasing mourning that seeps from them.
Her eyes pause on a laughing man with a gorgeous long pale mane, his arm thrown over a girl's shoulder with equally beautiful hair but dark. A familiar girl could be Darcy's twin, but she somehow knows she is not.
"Who did you think I learnt from? I learnt from Darcy," Jeremy speaks up wearing a proud smile, which soon evaporates into a gloomy frown remembering Darcy hasn't put a pencil to a paper and created a piece of art in a year, which for Darcy is absurd. Before his parent's died, he and Darcy would stay up most nights, when the dreams became too much and pick them apart, drawing them out before they became lost in the sea of forgotten memories.
"This is brilliant! You could almost mistake them for being realistic. The lines and details are amazing," Alaric praises. He pauses, eyeing her with a knowing glint but asks anyway. "Who are they?"
Darcy glances at Jeremy, earning an encouraging head nod. Her throat burns as she turns the piece of art over, showing the cursive writing written on the back.
