𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐄 || 𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐉𝐀𝐇 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍

𝟏𝟕.𝟎

[THE BIRTHDAY]

c'est la vie.

    THE AIR IN TENNESSEE was thick and humid, carrying the smell of damp earth and the faint trace of petrol from the idling SUV.

A few days had blurred into a week, and for Juliette, time was only marked by the slow rotation of motel rooms and the angle of the sun through dirty windows.

Nothing felt real anymore.

Nothing, except Elijah.

Having him there, even as a faint, glowing outline that only she could see, was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely. She had got good at talking to him without being obvious about it. She barely moved her lips.

She directed her gaze just past him rather than directly at him. She pretended to be talking to herself, which wasn't far from the truth.

Klaus's hearing was sharp enough to catch a whisper from three rooms away, and Stefan, even buried under the Ripper, was observant in a way that unsettled her.

She couldn't afford to slip up.

But the nights were something else entirely.

Every time she closed her eyes, Seraphina was there. The dream never changed. The warm golden light of her old life was slowly draining away, turning a sick, bruised purple. Elijah's face going grey and hard.