CHAPTER FIVE  /  ACT ONE

Grievance.

                             Days slipped by as Stefan dedicated himself to training Gwen in control. In his eyes, her progress was easy. She tackled all manner of animal blood, mastering the art of hunting herself. Through it all, she never wavered, never grumbled, never refused.

That's what he believed.

But unbeknownst to him, after every meal, Gwen would find herself on the floor in the bathroom, her body wracked with sickness as she expelled the blood of innocent bunnies into the toilet bowl.

She was giving it her all, truly. But her body rebelled against the taste lingering in her mouth, the scent invading her nose, the sight staining her skin. It was the one aspect of being a vampire that made her truly sick.

Seated on the icy tiles of the bathroom floor, knees drawn tight to her chest, Gwen's lips bore the telltale stain of blood. With a deep breath, a groan escaped her as she shuddered.

Slowly, she uncurled her legs, pushing herself up from the floor. She wiped the fresh blood from her lips with the sleeve off her sleeve, thankful for her red blouse.

Exiting the bathroom and slipping out of the guest bedroom, Gwen descended the stairs into the kitchen.

Her gaze fixed on Damon, who stood at the stove, frying something. She froze in her tracks, observing in silence. Following Stefan's advice to steer clear of him, especially after he'd caught her in her moment of weakness, she'd gone to great lengths to maintain her distance.

The greater the distance between them, the better.

"You gonna say something or just keep staring?" Damon's voice cut through the air, without a glance over his shoulder. "I promise, I look better up close."

A faint blush tinged Gwen's cheeks as he flirted, a familiar tactic that never failed to disarm her.

Shaking her head slowly, she settled onto a seat at the kitchen island opposite from him. Damon stole a brief glance at her before returning his attention to the sizzling pan of pancakes.

"Sorry. I just..." Her voice faltered, the words feeling feeble as they left her lips.

"Is Stefan here?" Her voice didn't rise above a whisper. Damon frowned for a split second before he turned around and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "It's just that there's something I wanted to talk to him about." Her hands clenched against her thighs. She wasn't sure why she felt so anxious lately.

The Salvatore turned away and shrugged his shoulders. "He left. Said he had some errands to run and he would be back in about an hour or so, I think."

"Oh.. alright." Her eyes dropped to her lap, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "About what you saw the other day.." she began tentatively. "I just.. I don't want you to believe that I'm struggling with this.. thing. I'm fine, honestly. And Stefan said I'm even getting better at managing my bloodlust."

His brow creased ever so slightly. She could tell he disagreed, but he said nothing. "Right."

"So.. if you could just keep what you saw to yourself.." She sighed, reaching up to brush her fingers through her hair. "It would mean a lot to me. Really."

He hummed thoughtfully for a moment before stepping back to face her.

"Alright." His expression softened. "If you really want me to do that."

She smiled lightly. "Thanks." With that, footsteps emerged from the hallway behind the kitchen archway as two sets of feet descended the staircase. Stefan appeared from around the corner first, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth as well.

"'Morning Gwen. Are you ready?" He approached the three of them, leaning casually against the doorway.

"Uh.. I was thinking we could do something else today." Her tone was light, and she forced herself to laugh a bit, hoping it would make it seem like she didn't feel as awkward as she did. Stefan raised a dark eyebrow curiously.

"Like what?"

"I want to.. visit my old home. I'm sure it's abandoned and forgotten by now but.." She shrugged a little. "I just would like to know what's become of it. And it's far off on the outskirts of town, I doubt anyone will be near."

The Salvatore looked hesitant, and his gaze shifted between the two of them for a long while. Finally, he nodded. "Well, I uh.. I guess that's fine. We'll get going then."

"Really?" She perked up instantly.

He nodded, and then motioned to himself. "Yeah, come on." He pushed off the wall, gesturing for her to go ahead. Gwen shot one last glance at Damon, who merely shrugged and went back to his business. With a soft smile, she turned to follow Stefan out the front door.

                             The crisp morning air surrounded them as they trudged through the woods, the sounds of their boots crunching against dead leaves and twigs breaking the silence. The sun shone brightly overhead, not bothering to hide its presence behind thick gray clouds.

Gwen led Stefan far on the outskirts of town, the path winding between large trees which were covered in moss and dirt. When she'd told Stefan about where they were going, he did seem a bit skeptical. But he did trust her nonetheless.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, she slowed to a stop. Stefan stopped beside her, frowning as he peered at where she'd stopped. They'd reached an oak tree, one that seemed to tower over the rest.

And behind the tree stood a white house, seemingly untouched by time. It looked like something straight out of a dream, if you asked her. But despite it's old, decrepit appearance and dilapidated exterior, much different from the house she grew up in, it was hers.

Gwen couldn't help but take in a sharp gasp. Stefan followed her line of sight, and when he saw the structure before them, his eyes widened.

Though the estate was old, it was clear to him that at least some point in time it was cared for, maintained, and inhabited. There was a withered garden, a porch on the house. Some flowers lay broken in pieces on the lawn. A small birdhouse perched atop a roof beam. Even though most of the roof tiles had rotted away from decay, remnants of green vines still wound along the sills and chimneys.

Gwen's heart ached as she reminisced about living there, running through the grasses, chasing squirrels, chasing a rabbit.

"So this is where you lived, huh?" The Salvatore brother finally spoke, standing beside Gwen. She nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from the beautiful estate.

"It's pretty far out of town." He added, looking back to the empty woods.

"Mmm.." She hummed. "My father liked his privacy."

Stefan chuckled lightly under his breath. Then a gust of wind blew against them, knocking both of them back on their heels.

To Stefan, it was nothing–but to Gwen, it was a sign to keep going.

One foot at a time, they walked towards the old gate, pushing aside fallen branches and dead shrubs until they came to stand outside the crumbling brick walls surrounding the home.

Gwen took in a quick, shaky breath, the memories flashing through her mind all at once.

At the center of the yard stood an aged fountain, its once graceful angel now frozen in rust. One her brother used to read by whilst Gwen played in the garden, running amongst the poppies. It was just like she remembered it to be.

Except for the four stones standing before the fountain.

Gwen quickend her pace at the sight of them, a look of confusion on her face and Stefan followed suit.

As she stood before them, her heart fell into her stomach once she realized they were tombstones. One for each member of her family.

The first read "Robert Hale" for her father. The second, "Lucille Hale" for her mother. The third, "Byron Hale" for her brother.

And as she read the last, the blood ran cold through her bones and the color drained from her face.

"Gwendolyn Hale".

For a moment she was silent, her hand clutching tightly onto the fabric of her blouse. She stared down at her own gravestone, her fingers trembling slightly beneath her touch.

"Gwen?" The silence shattered at the sound of Stefan's voice. She quickly pulled her gaze from the gravesite, meeting his curious gaze.

"Are you okay?" His voice sounded faint and far away in her ears. She cleared her throat a bit before taking a few steps forward. She reached her grave, her hand lingering on top of the carved letters for a brief second.

"I'm dead." She said softly, swallowing the lump in her throat as her body began to tremble once more. "I died." A strange sensation crept into the pit of her stomach, leaving her uneasy.

Of course she knew she was dead. But now.. she *knew*. It finally hit her.

That this wasn't an afterlife. This was Hell.

Stefan stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Gwen. I understand, I—"

"This was a bad idea." She whispered, staring at the tombstone again. "We should leave."

"What are you talking about?" His grip tightened momentarily, but didn't pull her back. "You wanted to come here for a reason. You should stay."

Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but her voice was inaudible. A gust of wind blew past, rattling the tree above them, and she glanced up, her chest clenching as she met his confused gaze.

"You're right." She cleared her throat as she stood up straight. The stray tear which ran down her cheek quickly blew away from the wind. "Sorry I just.. I didn't expect to see that—them.. here."

Stefan stood beside her, silently watching her as he waited patiently. After a moment he placed a hand onto her back. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Her answer was quick, yet ingenuous. "I mean.. I'm fine."

Gwen wiped a stray tear from her cheeks, she turned back to Stefan. "I wanna go inside now."

The Salvatore nodded empathetically as the two passed the front gardens and ventured inside.

The estate was old, rusted, and was scattered with cobwebs, dirt, and rotten wood. Bugs crawled beneath their feet, startling Gwen.

It was almost unrecognizable to her as she tried to remember what it used to look like. It felt surreal standing in a home which used to be grand and lively a little over a week ago to her.

"Wow," She whispered under her breath as she explored the kitchen and the living area. "It's so.. old now. It didn't look anything like this."

"145 years can do a lot." Stefan spoke up.

She looked back at him, frowning as she continued to digest the reality of the situation. "Right.."

Turning away, Gwen bolted up the stairs, the vampire trailing behind. They entered her old bedroom, greeted by a scene of disarray: a shattered vanity mirror, a rumpled bed, torn drapes, and a shredded portrait of Gwen suspended above her bed.

"What happened here?" Concern tinged his voice as he surveyed the damage.

"I... don't know," she mumbled, her confusion mirroring his own. "I left my room clean before... before everything. Why does it look like this?"

Her gaze swept the room, landing on a diary lying neatly amidst the chaos on her bed.

"A diary?" Gwen murmured, taking the book in her hands and flipping through the pages. As she skimmed through, she recognized the elegant handwriting as her mothers. Stefan came up behind her, scanning her features as she read the book.

Eventually, she landed on a certain page which stuck out to her. One marked with the same date as the raid. The date of her death. Taking a seat on the bed, she hesitantly began to read.

August 17th, 1864

Today, Gwen and Byron fell terribly ill, confined to their beds since dawn. They were as pale as ghosts, moving slowly, barely able to utter a word. Their condition only worsened as the day wore on. It seemed like some kind of plague had descended upon them.

Sadly, it was the worst possible timing, with the raid on Mystic Falls set to happen after nightfall. Robert, being the overbearing man he is, insisted that we stay indoors at all costs to avoid any danger. He cared little of their wellbeing, solely focused on his odd obsession with the supposed vampires of this town. He forbade me from seeking help from the doctor, but I couldn't bear to see my children suffer so.

Part of me always thought the tales of vampires were nothing but fanciful stories concocted by the paranoid men of our town, aimed at targeting innocent folk. Yet, I had kept a vial of vampire blood that Robert had taken from the home of Guiseppie Salvatore a few months ago just incase he needed it for an "important occasion".

He never explained why he held onto it all this time, despite despising vampires and anything to do with them. Perhaps it was for a moment like this, when he needed it most. Regardless. it didn't matter what he planned to use it for. This was far more important.

In a desperate attempt to ease my children's suffering, I added the vampire blood to the soup I served them this evening. When I saw their condition improving with each passing moment, I was utterly shocked. Perhaps even terrified.

I've always been a woman of reason, not one to believe in myths. But this discovery has left me questioning everything.

Gwen looked up from the book, then to Stefan, her eyebrows furrowed. "To become a vampire, you have to die with vampire blood in your system, correct?"

"Yeah." He nodded, taking a seat beside her.

"I remember this day." She continued. "My brother and I were ill, she panicked all day believing we were on the verge of sudden death then she served us this soup. It says here she laced it with vampire blood."

"Do you remember how you died?"

Gwen took a deep breath before beginning to ponder on his question. "It's all a blur, really. I don't remember much."

She bit her lip, brainstorming hard. "I remember.. sneaking out after my miraculous recovery to hide away to my secret spot by the lake where I'd go everyday for peace. My mother wanted me to stay inside and wait until tomorrow but I insisted on going. So I snuck away."

"I honestly believed the raid in Mystic Falls was nothing more than a rumor the townsfolk had made up. I didn't believe it was actually happening until I was caught in the middle of it."

"So you were killed?" He questioned.

"..Yes," She recalled. "I was shot. I must've died and.. come back to life."

A short silence came between them as she tried to remember everything that occurred that night. "I died and came back.. they were rounding up all the vampires in the tomb underneath the church when I woke up, hungry for blood. I remember attacking one man and feeding from him. They must've knocked me out again and put me in the tomb. That's it, really."

Stefan nodded, noticing her solemn expression as she stared down at her mothers diary.

"Although I do remember something else." She said. "One of the men, he kept calling me Katherine.. isn't that the woman you thought I was?"

Stefan's ears perked at the mention of her name, meeting her eyes. "Yes, it is."

"Who is she?" She whispered.

The vampire hesitated for a moment as he searched for the right words. "She's.. someone Damon and I used to know in 1864."

Gwen raised an eyebrow. "And you thought she was me?"

Stefan nodded, though his discomfort was evident. Noticing his reaction, she turned back to the diary and found the final entry. Her expression shifted to concern as she saw the scratched handwriting and drops of blood on the page.

Hesitantly, she began to read aloud. "It's been eight months since Gwen's death. Robert left, and Byron hasn't left his room since, leaving me alone in this empty, decaying house. Some nights, I swear I can hear Gwen's voice, just like before. Her chatter used to irritate me, but now it's all I crave."

Taking a deep breath, she fought back tears. "...the rest of the town sees me as a charity case, pitying me. I still don't know why they took my daughter in the raid, and after all this time, I don't know if I have the strength to find out. I'm too tired to take care of myself anymore. It all feels like a waste."

Her trembling fingers traced the words on the page, stumbling upon another passage, her heart sinking as she read on.

"And sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, I find myself considering the unthinkable. The pain of Gwen's absence is a heavy burden, one that I am not sure I can bear much longer. The loneliness consumes me, and the thought of joining her feels like the only comfort left in this world."

She paused, the weight of those words hanging heavily in the air as she struggled to contain her emotions. Just under the last sentence, a splatter of blood covered the page.

She quickly rose from the bed, setting the book to the side before pacing the room. "Did she—did she kill herself? I.. did she–did she do this because of me? Because of what I–"

As she continued to hyperventilate, Stefan stepped forward, gently grasping her shoulders as she began to crumble. Her words stumbled out in a torrent, tears streaming down her cheeks in uncontrollable waves.

Before long, she felt his comforting embrace, his arms enveloping her, offering a lifeline while she drowned in her sea of despair.

"It's okay." He hushed her, rubbing her back comfortingly. "It's gonna be okay."

Stefan's comforting hug melted her tension away, her tears staining into his shirt. After a moment, she reluctantly pulled back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze fixed on the ground. "I'm sorry," she murmured softly, her voice trailing off as she turned away, avoiding his eyes.

Stefan reached out to offer comfort once more, but she pulled away, her pacing echoing across the room, her lip quivering as she bit down, drawing blood. "My mother—" she began, her words a jumble of anguish. "She—she always struggled in her mind, but I never imagined.." Her voice trailed off into the silence, punctuated only by the sound of her footsteps.

Gwen noticed the blood on her lip and hastily wiped it away with her sleeve.

"What happened that night wasn't your fault," Stefan insisted, his voice gentle.

"No," she countered, shaking her head adamantly. Clutching the diary to her chest, she declared, "It was." With resolve, she turned to leave, her footsteps echoing as she stormed out, leaving Stefan standing alone in the empty room.

Gwen remained in the guest bedroom, enveloped in grief, her solitude a shroud around her fragile heart.

The memory of just days prior, when her life danced with the joy of family, haunted her relentlessly. She could almost feel the warmth of their love, now lost to the icy grasp of death. In a cruel twist of fate, she found herself transformed into a creature she scarcely recognized—a monstrous version of her former self, orphaned in the blink of an eye.

She dreaded the thought of succumbing to the same fate as her mother, yet she struggled to find a single reason to resist. The diary lay heavy in her hands, almost begging her to open it. For hours, she sat on the floor, her back against the bed, clutching the diary tightly, but unable to muster the courage to delve into its depths. Fear held her captive, its grip tightening with each passing moment.

Without exchanging words, they shared the weight of the heavy silence, Stefan settling beside her in solidarity.

"Are you okay?" he ventured softly.

Gwen kept her gaze averted, offering only a muted nod. "Yes."

Time stretched on in a short silence until Stefan reached into his pocket, pulling a gold ring, its diamond polished clean. Intrigued, Gwen turned to him, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"I found this in your room after you left," He explained. "Thought you might want something to remember your old home by."

Gwen accepted the jewelry, holding it delicately between her fingers. "This belonged to my mother," she murmured. "She meant it for me when I  was to be wed.. too late for that, I guess.."

With a grateful smile, tears of happiness welled in her eyes. "Thank you, Stefan."

He gently clasped her hand, a silent reassurance. "You're welcome."

In that moment, as their gazes locked, Gwen's heart swelled with gratitude. With Stefan's unwavering support, she discovered a newfound sense of belonging. Though their connection was forged in tragedy, she found comfort in the quiet strength of their bond, realizing that in Stefan, she had found her guiding light.

She carefully slipped the ring onto her finger, admiring the rock.

Moments later, they both heard a faint knocking echoing from downstairs. "Who is that?" She wondered aloud.

Shrugging, Stefan joined her as they exited the room.

Gwen's gaze wandered the familiar halls of the boarding house, her fingers absently toying with the necklace's charm as they approached the front door.

With a sudden creak, the door swung open.

"Stefan?" a female voice called out.

Weird. That voice sounds just like..

Raising her head, Gwen's heart plummeted as her eyes met those of the stranger standing before her—an exact replica of herself, a clone, staring back at her.

As the shock settled in, the air in the room seemed to thicken, growing heavy and oppressive, as if the very atmosphere mirrored their disbelief.

"You must be Gwen.." The girl spoke as she stepped closer, eyeing her up and down with a tilted head. "I'm Elena."

The brunette stood there in shock as she watched her come closer before turning to Stefan. "What's going on?" Her voice shook. "Why does she look just like me, Stefan?"

His eyes remained focused on the ground before turning to Elena. "We don't know yet."

"I thought you said I looked like Katherine. Who's this?"

"Gwen, maybe you should sit down."

Gwen's voice trembled with accusation as she demanded answers, her eyes darting between Stefan and the clone. "Who is she? Are there more like her? What else have you been hiding?" Her tone grew increasingly confrontational as confusion and fear gripped her.

Stefan moved closer, attempting to placate her rising agitation. "We don't know if there are more, and we don't understand why you two look alike," he explained earnestly. "And as for Katherine... we don't know where she is."

Elena interjected cautiously, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "I only learned about you when you were rescued from the tomb a few days ago. We're just as lost as you are."

"This doesn't make any sense.." She breathed.

"We know."

Bewildered, Gwen stared at her doppelgänger. Her eyebrows were knitted and her mouth agape whilst she tried to grasp this abnormal situation but she couldn't think of a single answer as to why this was happening. She stepped closer to Elena until they were face to face as the Hale examined her.

Her eyes, nose, mouth, hair, the smell of her blood.

Dark veins appeared underneath her bottom eyelids, the urge to feed overcoming her until she felt Stefan's hand on his wrist pull her back. "Gwen."

She snapped out of her haze and the veins disappeared in an instant. "Sorry." She said meekly as Elena stood shakenly. "I'm still new at this."

"It's okay." She took a deep breath.

Gwen couldn't tear her gaze away from Elena, her mind swirling with conflicting emotions. She shouldn't be feeling the way she felt about blood. Reliving what it was like to experience her first kill which only drew her to want more.

She couldn't deny the pull she felt towards sinking her fangs into her flesh and sucking her blood. Was it because of their odd connection? Possibly. Either way it didn't matter.

She could tell Elena was someone special to Stefan, so she was certainly off limits to even lay a finger on her.

But damn, how she wanted to.

AUTHORS NOTE
tell me if u see any misspells or mistakes pls

wonidollie