ℍ𝔸𝕌ℕ𝕋𝔼𝔻 - ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴋᴀᴇʟꜱᴏɴꜱ

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓

❧ "it's not going to be enough" ❧

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Amalie sat on a bench in the town square, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the empty streets. Mystic Falls hadn't yet begun to wake, and for a moment, it felt like the world belonged to her alone. The air was thick with a stillness that pressed in on her, wrapping her in silence.

Amalie's mind drifted, circling the questions in her mind that wouldn't go away. Rose's werewolf bite had reappeared, worsening by the hour. The wound was brutal, festering, and Amalie couldn't shake the sense of dread building in her chest— the feeling that Rose's life was slipping away. She'd seen the expression Damon wore when he thought no one was watching—an uneasy mixture of helplessness and frustration. She knew that feeling all too well.

Then there was the mess with Stefan and Damon. She hadn't really figured out where she stood with Damon yet. It felt like a tangled web of mistrust, loyalty, and something else she didn't want to name. And Stefan, newly freed from the tomb, courtesy of Elijah. Stefan, who had killed her without remorse, or so she thought. They hadn't really talked since they first saw each other again, she was avoiding him, but their relationship was just so complicated. Amalie wasn't sure where she fit into any of it.

And then... Elijah.

Elijah, who occupied her thoughts. She'd been convinced he was the enemy, that his loyalty to Klaus would outweigh anything else. But then he was here, giving her gifts— gifts —as if she somehow mattered to him. There was something strange in his gaze when he looked at her, something that only left her with more questions than answers.

As if summoned by her thoughts, she felt his presence appear beside her, so silently that it didn't even startle her. She turned to see him seated beside her on the bench, his posture calm, his expression as serene as ever. Somehow, she'd expected him; as if some part of her had known he would come.

"I never cared for observing mortals," he noted softly, his voice the gentle rumble of stone smoothing over water.

Amalie looked at him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Why is that?"

Elijah's gaze remained fixed forward, his expression unreadable. "Their lives are too...normal. Too small, in a way." His voice was low, tinged with an emotion she couldn't quite name, as though he were more invested in their fragility than he'd ever let on.

"Normal sounds kind of nice sometimes," she replied quietly, the sadness in her voice more vulnerability than she'd intended. A strange relief washed over her in his presence, a relief that she couldn't explain but felt down to her bones.

He turned, his gaze softened as he looked at her, his eyes holding a quiet intensity that made her breath catch. "How are you doing this morning, Amalie?" He asked, his voice gentle, his concern sincere. And though he was an Original—capable of anything and answerable to no one—there was an unmistakable tenderness in his tone.

She hesitated, her gaze drifting down to the cobblestones, the weight of everything pressing on her shoulders. Her fingers traced the hem of her sleeve absently. "Can I ask you something?"