Stefan’s Diaries: Origins Chapter 2

The next afternoon, I found myself sitting on a stiff, low- back downed velvet chair in the Cartwrights sitting room. Every date I shifted, trying to find a spot of comfort on the hard seat, I felt the gaze of Mrs. Cartwright, Rosalyn, and her maid fall upon me. It was as though I was the subject in a portrait at a museum or a character in a rough drawing room drama. The entire front room reminded me of a set for a playit was hardly the type of place in which to relax. Or talk, for that matter. During the stolon fifteen minutes of my arrival, wed haltingly discussed the weather, the new store in town, and the war. subsequently that, long pauses reigned, the further sound the hollow clacking of the maids knitting needles. I glanced at Rosalyn again, trying to find some snubg somewhat her person to compliment. She had a pert showcase with a dimple in her chin, and her earlobes were small and symmetrical. From the half centimeter of articulatio talocruralis I could come across b elow the hem of her dress, it seemed she had delicate bone structure. equitable then a sharp pain gun for hire up my leg. I let out a cry, then looked down at the floor, where a tiny, copper-colored dog-iron about the size of a rat had embedded its pointed teething in the skin of my ankle. Oh, thats Penny. Pennys just saying hi, isnt she? Rosalyn cooed, scooping up the tiny puppet into her arms. The dog stared at me, continuing to bare its teeth. I inched removedther back in my seat.Shes, uh, very nice, I said, even though I didnt rede the point of a dog that small. Dogs were supposed to be companions that could keep you guild on a hunt, not ornaments to match the furniture.Isnt she, though? Rosalyn looked up in rapture. Shes my very best friend, and I must say, Im terrified of her going exterior now, with all the reports of animal murdersIm telling you, Stefan, were so frightened Mrs. Cartwright jumped in, running her detention over the bodice of her navy dress. I dont unde rstand this world. Its simply not meant for us women to even go outside.I hope whatever it is doesnt attack us. sometimes Im scared to step foot outdoors, even when its light, Rosalyn fretted, clutching Penny tightly to her chest. The dog yelped and jumped off her lap. Id die if anything happened to Penny.Im sure shell be fine. After all, the attacks have been happening on farms, not in town, I said, halfheartedly trying to comfort her.Stefan? Mrs. Cartwright asked in her shrill voice, the same one she affected when she used to chide Damon and me for susurrant during church. Her face was pinched, and her expression looked want she had just sucked on a lemon. Dont you designate Rosalyn looks especially beautiful to sidereal day?Oh, yes, I lied. Rosalyn was wearing a unrelenting brown dress that matched her brownish blond hair. Loose ringlets fell about her skinny shoulders. Her outfit was a direct contrast to the parlor, which was decorated with oak tree furniture, brocade chair s, and dark-colored Oriental rugs that overlapped on the gleaming wood floor. In the far corner, over the marble mantel, a portrait of Mr. Cartwright stared down at me, a stern expression on his angular face. I glanced at him curiously. In contrast to his wife, who was overweight and red-faced, Mr. Cartwright was ghostly pale and skinnyand slightly dangerous-looking, like the vultures wed seen circling around the battlefield last summer. Considering who her parents were, Rosalyn had actually turned out unco well.Rosalyn blushed. I shifted on the chairs edge, feeling the jewelry box in my filch pocket. Id glanced at the ring last night, when sleep wouldnt come. I recognized it instantly. It was an emerald circled by diamonds, made by the finest craftsmen in Venice and worn by my mother until the day she died.So, Stefan? What do you think of pink? Rosalyn asked, breaking me out of my reverie.Im sorry, what? I asked, distracted. Mrs. Cartwright s acerbic me an irritated look.Pink? Fo r the dinner next week? Its so mannikin of your father to plan it, Rosalyn said, her face bright red as she stared at the floor.I think pink would look delightful on you. Y oull be beautiful no matter what you wear, I said woodenly, as though I were an actor reading lines from a script. Mrs. Cartwright smiled approvingly. The dog ran to her and jumped onto a pillow next to her. She began stroking its coat. Suddenly the room felt hot and humid. The cloying, competing scents of Mrs. Cartwrights and Rosalyns perfumes made my head spin. I sneaked a glance at the old-timer grandfather clock in the corner. Id been here for only fifty-five minutes, still it might as well have been fifty-five years.I stood up, my legs wobble beneath me. It has been lovely visiting with you, Mrs. and Miss Cartwright, but Id be backward to take up the rest of your afternoon.Thank you. Mrs. Cartwright nodded, not rising from her settee. Maisy forget show you out, she said, lifting her chin toward their ma id, who was now dozing over her knitting.I breathed a sigh of relief as I left the house. The air was modify against my clammy skin, and I was happy that I hadnt had our coachman wait for me I would be able to clear my head by walking the two miles home. The insolate was beginning to sink into the horizon, and the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine hung heavily in the air.I glanced up at Veritas as I strode up the hill. Blooming lilies encircled the large urns flanking the path to the front door. The discolor columns of the porch glowed orange from the setting sun, the ponds mirror-like come in gleamed in the distance, and I could hear the faraway sound of the children playing come the servants quarters. This was my home, and I loved it.But I couldnt imagine sharing it with Rosalyn. I shoved my go bys in my pockets and angrily kicked a stone in the trim down of the road.I paused when I reached the entrance to the drive, where an unfamiliar coach was standing. I stared with rar itywe rarely had visitorsas a white-haired coachman jumped out of the drivers seat and undecided the cab. A beautiful, pale woman with cascading dark curls stepped out. She wore a billowing white dress, cinched at her narrow waist with a guggle-colored ribbon. A matching peach hat was perched atop her head, obscuring her eyes.As if she knew I was staring, she turned. I gasped despite myself. She was to a greater extent than beautiful she was sublime. Even from a distance of twenty paces, I could see her dark eyes flickering, her pink lips curving into a small smile. Her thin fingers touched the blue cameo necklace at her throat, and I found myself mirroring the gesture, imagining what her small hand would feel like on my own skin.Then she turned again, and a woman, who must have been her maid, stepped out of the cab and began fussing with her skirts.Hello she called.Hello , I croaked. As I breathed, I smelled a heady combination of powdered ginger and lemon.Im Katherine Pierce. A nd you are? she asked, her voice playful. It was as if she knew I was tongue-tied by her beauty. I wasnt sure whether I should be mortified or thankful that she was fetching the lead.Katherine, I repeated slowly, remembering. Father had told me the story of a friend of a friend down in Atlanta. His neighbors had perished when their house caught fire during General Shermans siege, and the only survivor had been a sixteen- year-old female child with no relations. Immediately, Father had offered to board the girl in our carriage house. It had all sounded very mysterious and romantic, and when Father told me, I saw in his eyes how much he enjoyed the idea of component as rescuer to this young orphan.Y es, she said, her eyes dancing. And you are Stefan I said quickly. Stefan Salvatore. Giuseppes son. I am so sorry for your familys tragedy. Thank you, she said. In an instant, her eyes became dark and somber. And I thank you and your father for hosting me and my maid, Emily. I dont hol d out what we would have done without you.Yes, of course. I felt suddenly protective. Youll be in the carriage house. Would you like me to show you?We shall find it ourselves. Thank you, Stefan Salvatore, Katherine said, following the coachman, who carried a large trunk toward the small guest house, which was set back a bit from the main estate. Then she turned around and stared at me. Or should I call you Savior Stefan? she asked with a wink before turning on her heel.I watched her walk into the sunset, her maid trailing her, and instantly I knew my life would never be the same.