ℍ𝔸𝕌ℕ𝕋𝔼𝔻 - ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴋᴀᴇʟꜱᴏɴꜱ

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓

❧ lockwood garden ❧

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

The Lockwood drive stretched out before Amalie and she ascended the stone steps toward the grand estate, her arm linked loosely with Jenna's. The warm afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the lawn and the guests tricking in, their laughter and polite murmurs carrying on the breeze.

Jenna had invited her to this Historical Society tea party, and Amalie hadn't hesitated to accept. Jenna was a good friend—kind, oblivious to the supernatural chaos of Mystic Falls, and refreshingly normal. Spending time with her felt almost...human.

"I'm so glad you're here," Jenna said brightly, giving Amalie's arm a quick squeeze. "It's been ages since I had someone to actually enjoy these things with. And who knows?" Her voice took on a conspiratorial lilt. "You might have a little more fun than you're expecting."

Amalie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Should I be bracing myself for something?"

Jenna grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let's just say there's someone here who might make this more interesting. Do you remember Elijah?"

Amalie kept her expression carefully neutral, her tone nonchalant. "Tall, dark, impeccably polite? Rings a bell."

"That's the one!" Jenna beamed as they reached the front door. "I think he might have taken an interest in you. And honestly, who could blame him?"

Amalie chuckled softly, shaking her head as they stepped inside. The grand foyer welcomed them with the soft strains of classical music and the faint clink of glassware. Guests mingled beneath the glittering chandelier, their voices blending into a gentle hum.

Jenna's attention quickly shifted, her gaze lighting up as she spotted Andie Starr, the local news reporter. "Oh, there's Andie! I'll catch up with you in a bit," Jenna said, squeezing Amalie's arm before heading off.

Left to her own devices, Amalie made her way toward the refreshment table. She skimmed over the delicately arranged platters, suppressing an eye roll at the bite-sized offerings that seemed more ornamental than edible. She reached for a glass of champagne, taking a small sip and savoring the faint fizz. It wasn't exactly her drink of choice, but it would do.

Her eyes wandered across the room, and almost instinctively, they found him. Elijah stood near the far wall, his polished demeanor barely masking his growing discomfort as Carol Lockwood chattered away, her smile fixed and unrelenting. Amalie watched with amusement as he nodded at all the appropriate moments, his posture impeccable but his patience clearly wearing thin.

When his gaze caught hers, she couldn't help but smirk, lifting her glass slightly in a silent toast. Elijah's lips twitched in what might have been a plea for rescue, but he endured another moment before finally extricating himself with a graceful excuse.

He crossed the room with practiced ease, his steps measured, and his presence commanding without effort. When he reached her, the faintest glimmer of relief shone in his eyes.

"I hadn't anticipated the endurance required for small talk here," he said in a low murmur, his voice carrying a note of dry humor.

Amalie raised her glass, her smirk deepening. "It's not for the faint of heart. Especially when Carol Lockwood's involved. She could talk the legs off a chair."