After 90 years of running, it had to come to an end. She found herself in Mystic Falls, a place she'd be dreading to go to but it was bound to happen. Luna Salvatore, the youngest Salvatore, arrived in Mystic Falls. Little did she know, her coming t...
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Time moved weirdly in a prison world. The sun and the moon darted through the sky a little faster, like they were racing to reach the horizon.
Snow fell at the same time every day, and the only reason Luna knew was because the shape and position of the clouds carrying the snow were the same every single day, without fail.
The Northern Lights scrawled across the sky when night fell were no longer a phenomenon that fascinated Luna.
It felt like a mockery. The colours were free to bleed into the sky without bounds, while Luna was a caged bird. The size of the cage was irrelevant; without freedom, insanity was inevitable.
However, some of Luna's habits proved useful in the prison world. Her lack of feeding in the real world meant she'd grown somewhat resistant to calcification.
Not entirely — but at least she could delay it because she was not willing to desiccate for her mother. Maybe it was selfish, because the others had done so with little hesitation. But she was already dead; good deeds would get her nowhere.
She fought off the weakness that tempted her aching body and kept her eyes fixed on a random painting hanging from the wall in front of her.
Then the white light her mother had spoken about clouded her vision. Though her hand gripped the wooden armrest hard enough for splinters to coat her palm, and she knew the world around her wasn't disintegrating, she couldn't see anything.
She couldn't hear anything aside from a deafening ring that didn't subside even once the light did.
Luna stood up quickly, glancing around once, trying to find an anomaly in her surroundings. Nothing was out of place.
She frowned. Was someone coming in, or going out? Were new people bound to the prison world, or had those there been plucked out to leave Luna alone?
Though she tried to avoid the table of desiccated heretics, who'd once been her lively companions, she had no choice.
Her head rounded the corner, peeking in to their bodies fixed in the same place as when she'd arrived months before.
That was the only time she felt relief seeing their bodies. Until she heard a noise, and her senses had been electrified and put on edge, thinking it was her mother.
But then she heard voices. Distinct voices that she could never mistake for another's. The cadence, the unmistakable snark that she used to hate so much.
She was still adjusting from the blinding light and the shaking of the ground when she rushed through the hallways, which now, when it was most important, seemed more winding and eternal.
Once she reached the front room, she froze, and the air around her seemed to follow suit. Luna thought her mind was fabricating voices and figures to console herself, to make her entrapment seem less miserable.
