𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃 | multi

𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆

Astara Vex sat cross-legged on her bed, the quiet hum of the city outside her window a distant reminder of the life she was leaving behind. The sounds of New York were a symphony she knew by heart—cars honking, the distant wail of sirens, the rhythmic shuffle of hurried footsteps on pavement—but today they felt too loud, too insistent, as if trying to pull her back from the edge of her decision. With a sigh, she pushed her thick, raven-black hair behind her shoulder, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone and the soft glow of her sun-kissed skin.

Her room, though tidy, bore the marks of a life split between worlds. From the glittering mermaid necklaces that sparkled in the soft light to the shells and sea glass that lined the shelves, it was a museum of who she was—a creature of the ocean, trapped in the confines of a city that never truly felt like home. With one final glance at the framed picture of the New York skyline on her wall, she felt a pang of longing. But then she reminded herself that Mystic Falls awaited, a place known for its secrets, whispers, and dark corners. It was time for a change.

Astara lifted a deep crimson silk dress from the bedspread, holding it against her body with a smile that was both wistful and hopeful. Red was her color, the hue of passion, of fire, and of the sea's most dangerous waves. It reminded her of the tides, how they surged and retreated, and how her heart was like the ocean: vast, untamable, and ever shifting.

A soft, melodious hum escaped her lips as she folded the dress, a song from the old sea, the one her mother would sing to her as a child before the water claimed her. Her mother's voice, deep and soothing, echoed in her memory. "Remember, Astara, you are as old as the ocean and as deep as its secrets," she would say, a playful wink in her eye. The saying had become a mantra over the centuries, a reminder that even as a creature of the sea, she was timeless and powerful, more than just a girl with the charm of the waves.

The moving boxes lay scattered around her, each one a potential vessel for the few items she would take with her. A silver locket with a blue sapphire stone that caught the light like a star, her grandmother's ornate comb carved with delicate sea patterns, and a diary from the late 1800s—tales of far-off lands and sunken ships. The rest of her belongings would remain behind, waiting for her return or perhaps a new keeper who would love them as she once did.

The cluttered table near the window held an assortment of makeup, tiny vials of sea-scented perfume, and a journal that she hadn't opened in years. She picked it up, fingers tracing the weathered leather cover, and opened it to a page where she'd scrawled a note in ink that had long since faded to a whisper: "Do not forget who you are."

A soft breeze floated in through the open window, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of salt and freedom. It was like a call, an invitation to leap from the edge of the known into the great, untamed world that lay ahead. Astara closed her eyes and breathed in deep, feeling the familiar, comforting pulse of the sea in her veins, even here in the heart of the city that never slept.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror across the room. Her eyes, dark and shimmering like the deepest part of the ocean, were rimmed with kohl, accentuating their otherworldly quality. Her skin glowed with an inner light, as if she carried the warmth of the sun and the cool touch of the waves wherever she went. She ran a hand over her hair, long and wavy, cascading like ink over her back. Beautiful, she thought, but it was a beauty that felt as if it belonged to another time, another place.

A soft knock at the door startled her, and she turned, a smile spreading across her lips as she thought of how silly she'd been to let the city make her feel small. It was time to reclaim who she was. Astara pulled herself from her reverie, setting the diary down and slipping the dress into a carefully packed box. She looked around once more, a mix of nostalgia and excitement filling her heart.

Goodbye, New York. Hello, Mystic Falls.

With a final glance at her reflection, she whispered to herself, "It's time for the next chapter."

The last box was taped shut and labeled with her neat handwriting: Astara Vex – Mystic Falls. It was a promise, a reminder, and an omen all at once. She could already feel the draw of the town, like a song on the wind, mysterious and inviting. The water in her veins thrummed with anticipation.

Astara Vex was ready. And so, with a last deep breath and a touch of her hand to the sea-glass necklace at her throat, she took one step toward the door, leaving behind the city that never slept and the girl who once called it home.