"This is Belle Gilbert. And that is Daria Mikaelson.""
"I'm confused."
"They're the same person. Belle doesn't know she's Daria. She doesn't know she's the most powerful thing in the world."
...
Three Months after Jenna Sommers died and Stefan Salva...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sunday, March 9th, 2042.
I quit the cigarettes.
It was a filthy habit anyways, and I didn't relish in it. No matter how much my anxiety levels would decline by the contaminated venomous fumes coming out of the dimly lit cigarettes. My new year's resolution was to quit smoking the cigarettes that I would purchase from the local corner shop whenever I was stressed out. The way that I have to substitute it for red wine, but red wine is good enough for me. The glass sits down on the folding table.
In the six months that have passed since the second book has been published, shipped out into the world for just under 500,000 viewers have already read both books. I'm sitting upon my balcony, constantly criticising my work, things I could have improved, things I could have changed if I had done it differently.
I sip another sip of my wine, inactively lying on the deck chair with my bun up and in my older jumper, with my white and blue chequered bottoms, my socks resting on the edge of the corroding avocado-coloured balcony, my blonde wavy curls are frustratingly trying to seepage out of the bun frantically, like prisoners in a confinement centre.
"Your mother called once more."
Amara's voice calls out from the patio doors as she slides them open with her manicures, one hand on the patio door, the other holding her crystal glass of wine she had poured the both of us five minutes ago. Her hair is in a pigtail but she is also in her sweats, her extremely comfortable sweats, looking as gorgeous as she did when I first leased the apartment to her. She is also holding a roasting hot red wine as she sits in the other patio furniture chair next to me.
My mother has called me nine times in three days to discuss about my book but each time I have unnoticed the call and let it hang straight to voicemail. I choose to ignore most of her calls, because I only pick up the phone when my father calls me about how he is.
"Oh, I bet she did." I simper at Amara, sipping my wine as she slips down next to me and gives me one of those looks.
"Oh, she did."
My overly infuriating mother decided to visit me six months, and though she asserted that I was coming over for Christmas with my sister, her bothersome perverted husband, Sam, who constantly looks at my tits when I talk to him and I am 100% positive he is cheating on my sister with his secretary, Angela. I found her Facebook, almost every single picture her tits are out. Ah, my sister's messy life. As for my father, I rejected the offer and comprised the offer to come over, so that I would head over there myself, but then pretended that my flight got cancelled. It worked miraculously in my favour as I got to spend it with Robert and Amara.
