Skye's eyes were fixed on the stark white wall, unblinking, unseeing. Her heavy lids lagged with each slow, deliberate blink, irises locked in place, as if her mind had short-circuited, struggling to process.
Her movements were mechanical, stripped of all purpose, while delicate features remained frozen in an expressionless mask.
The steady ticking of a clock somewhere in the background was the only sound infiltrating the void. Each beat landed heavy in her ears.
One. Two. Three.
Cracked lips parted slightly, the taste of blood still fresh, staining the soft flesh.
She hardly noticed the presence that entered the room.
Muffled voices. A distant hum, like a whisper through cotton. She ignored it.
Another beat. She flexed her fingers. Another beat. Footsteps. Another beat—her vision was obstructed by a familiar face, pristine and heartbreakingly handsome.
She closed her eyes.
"Skye?"
Her name was spoken softly, carefully, as if testing the weight of it on his tongue. A breath slipped past her lips before she pulled in another, resuming her blank posture.
No response. No movement.
Warm fingers brushed against her cheek, the heat almost foreign to her skin.
Breath mingled with her own.
"Skye." Again, this time firmer.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
Cobalt blue met forest green. A clash of fire and ice.
She did not blink. Did not shift. But she tilted her head, an almost imperceptible movement. Her mouth closed.
Stefan took it as a sign to move, his hands framing her face, forehead pressing against hers. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm so sorry."
Still, she did not react.
She studied him, the boy she loved, and saw the sorrow woven into his gaze, the way grief clung to him like a second skin.
A flicker of something—almost like an instinct to flinch—stirred within her, but she crushed it beneath a wall of steel.
She had cried enough.
Broken down enough.
Felt enough.
She was done.
When she did not answer, he exhaled sharply, a grimace twisting at the corners of his lips. He turned slightly, exchanging a glance with the figure behind him.
Her brother.
Niklaus stood in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, blood splattered across his shirt like war paint. His expression was unreadable.
"I told you," he said simply, his voice detached. "She's in shock."
She swallowed, the sound too loud in the silence. Then, for the first time in hours, she spoke.
"I'm not in shock."
The words were flat, devoid of emotion. She pulled away from Stefan's hands, gaze shifting to Klaus.
"I'm fine," she repeated at the arch of his brow.
"Skye—"
"I'm fine."
Stefan straightened from where he knelt, hands raising slightly in surrender. "We're just trying to help you."
Her expression snapped into something sharp. A glare, cutting and cold.
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To Be Or Not To Be » Stefan Salvatore
Fanfiction"Believing in love doesn't make you a fool, it makes you human." [A complete rewrite] [Season 3 and onwards]
