When I had no humanity, I had grown accustomed to the three months I was kept in the cellar. It was a timeless place, dark, with a certain stench of old blood. The moment where I opened my eyes and found myself back in the cellar, I wasn't able to breathe. My limbs contracted as I tried to pull my arms from the burning ropes, my chest aching with each little movement. There was a ringing in my ear, a buzz, like being uncomfortably close to a horn.

   My mind raced with the images of my teeth sinking into necks, drinking people dry and enjoying every moment of it. I remembered the moments where I had no humanity, each and every one. Teeth gracing against skin, blood dripping from my fingers and mouth, bodies dropping around my feet as I moved without a care.

   "Sorry, Love," a soft voice said.

   I looked up from the ropes to see Enzo walk in. There were gloves in his hands, and he was holding a water bottle with little violet petals floating around. I remembered meeting him in the streets as I was making my way to Caroline's house, how he injected me with vervain in the neck and said he was on Lily's side.

   "Enzo..." My voice shook as his name left my mouth.

   He stopped in front of me and leaned down a bit. "It will only hurt for a second." He opened the bottle and began to pour its contents over the ropes. "Deep breaths, Clara."

   The moment the liquid touched my skin, I screamed. It was a familiar burn, one that I knew more than anything else in the world. I had drank vervain, had it poured over me, had someone wrap their vervain-soaked hand around my heart. Vervain was a familiar burn, more than the kisses from someone I loved.

   I breathed through gritted teeth, my hands tightening their holds on the arms of the chair. "What is wrong with you?" I hissed at him. 

   "Someone killed Malcolm," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Lily needs to retaliate."

   "By torturing me?" I let out a groan and flexed my fingers, hoping that the pain would somehow subdue. "I had nothing to do with Malcolm's death!" Flashes of Damon and Stefan pouring vervain on me appeared, their distinct voices saying that I should turn on my humanity. 

   Enzo grabbed the back of the chair and pushed his face closer to mine. "Look, be happy I'm the one who grabbed you," he softly hissed. "I don't want to think what would happen if the others did. I'm the closest thing you have as a friend in here."

   "Friends?" I resisted the urge to spit on his face. "Friends don't really like being tied up with vervain ropes. No matter how kinky you think they are."

   "You've been here before," he said in a nonchalant tone, standing tall. "Three months, wasn't it?"

   I clenched my jaw, my lips trembling still. The images of being in the cellar flashed through my mind again, over and over. The three months I had spent in the dark, bled out over and over again, tortured with images of my past and murder. I knew it was because they wanted me to turn on my humanity, but the pain was still there. Never did I imagine being back in the cellar, tied up on a chair with vervain ropes. I needed to get out. 

   Enzo turned to get out, pulling off the gloves and throwing them to the side.

   "Enzo, please!" I didn't need to fake the tears, because the pain was enough to bring them out. The images were enough to bring them out. "Please..."

   He stopped and turned towards me, his face showing no emotions. Despite what he had done, I saw the look in his eyes. It reminded me of the look he had when we went to Georgia to find Stefan, the look when he found me crying outside the house. After several seconds of just staring, he sighed and walked back towards me. "I hate whiners," he said, kneeling down and loosening the ropes around my arms. 

   I stopped panting and glared at him. It was the small comfort of not burning that much that gave me the strength to break the ropes and choke him with it. Before he could free himself, I head butted him hard enough that he fell. I used the little strength I had left to break the ropes around my legs. When I stood, I broke one of the legs from the chair and leaned down, glaring at him.

   "Deep breaths, Enzo," I mocked, stabbing him in the thigh. His groan was a small act of vengeance for pouring the vervain on the ropes.

   I pushed myself up and sped upstairs, towards the front door. Before I could even reach the door, a blonde girl stood in the way. She had her arms crossed, a small and devious smile decorated on her lips. She tilted her head to the side. "Leaving so soon?"

   I grimaced and turned around, only to be blocked by a woman with dark coloured hair. Her hands were holding a jean jacket, a small and playful smile on her lips. Unlike the blonde woman, she looked more devious. She wiggled her fingers as a greeting.

   "It's all right, you two," Enzo said as he appeared in the doorway. "I've got her."

   "Do you?" The blonde woman glared at him, a slight hint of hate in both her face and voice. "Because it certainly doesn't look like it. What's the expression, finders keepers?" She stood by Enzo and mumbled something as she waved her hands. 

   I felt the floor first, then the deep sleep. The women must have been Heretics, considering that they were living in my house. My hate for them would rise even more if I found one of them in my bedroom, with my clothes, going through my belongings. 

   A groan escaped my mouth, both from the sleep I was put in and because of my arms. My wrists were chained, and I was hanging from the ceiling like some sort of drying meat. I tried to move, try to fix my composure, but it burned. Both arms, my wrists, and how I had the majority of my weight on my toes.  Every part of my body burned.

   I groaned again and looked at the room, seeing the blonde woman putting on makeup. "What did you do to me?"

   "What Lorenzo should have done," she said, not bothering to turn around. She picked up a syringe from the table in front of her and waved it. "Vervain."

   I breathed in deeply, but that made the pain worse. Even the smallest movement caused me to sway, to try and stand better on my toes. "It hurts..." It was the vervain on my system, but the strain my arms were in.

   The woman nodded and looked at me through her mirror. "My family ran a slaughterhouse when I was growing up. It was all well and good until they found out I was a siphon-freak-of-nature. Then, they were more than happy to hang me with the cattle." She finally looked over at me and smiled. "So, been there, sister. Just be happy I didn't hang you by your feet like we do with the cows."

   "I never asked for your life story," I groaned out. Every moment that passed was more painful. The frustration made me move, which made my arms feel as if they were being pulled from their sockets. "What do you want from me?"

   She laid whatever piece of makeup down and turned to look at me once again. "We have a burial to go to," she said. "My girlfriend thinks her outfit has to be fashion-forward. I disagree. What do you think? Nora, show us!" She glared at me. "Help us, and perhaps I can find a small stool for you to stand on."

   "I feel silly," a voice said from outside the room.

   "I'm sure your beautiful, my love," the blonde woman said, standing.

   "Nobody wears this anymore."

   "You wore that dress for Queen Victoria's funeral. It's stunning!" 

   The dark-haired woman—who I now figured out was named Nora—walked in. She wore a full-length, long-sleeved black funeral gown, a black hat perched on her head. With each movement, she looked more self-conscious. Even more when she stood in front of the mirror. 

   I had seen dresses like that before. My own grandmother and mother had worn them, I had worn them. But it had been so long since I've seen one and had grown so accustomed to the recent fashion that I snickered. 

   Nora turned towards me, mortified. She then turned towards the blonde woman. "See?" She picked up her skirts and stomped out of the room.

   The blonde woman sighed. She picked up an eyeliner pencil and marched towards me, her blue eyes burning right into mine. "I asked for advice, not mockery!"

   I licked my lips and let out a small huff of a laugh. "You should listen to your girlfriend, because absolutely no one wears anything like that." I saw the hatred in her eyes, the pencil turning in her hand. I didn't need magic to know what she wanted to do with that pencil. I cleared my throat. "Look, I used to live here. I think I have a great style, although my great-niece might think otherwise. My room was the one with the grand piano; there might still be some dresses in the closet. If none of them are to your liking, one of my friends used to live here as well. I'm sure a few of her dresses are in a closet somewhere."

   I said no names, especially Elena's. If they knew about her, what we had done with her body and where it was located... They were powerful, considering that the whole town was given to them. They would find a way to kill Elena.

   "I'm curious," the blonde woman suddenly said. "What do you think of this colour?" She held up the eyeliner pencil. Blue, or teal, or some shade between blue and green. 

   "Great," I nodded. "Vivid. It will totally make your eyes pop!"

   She turned the pencil and pointed the sharp end towards my left eye, inching it closer. "Do you think it'll make your eyes pop?"

   I held myself as still as I could. If I moved one bit, the pencil would be in my eye. But, these were Heretics, and they were capable of anything. I prepared myself for her to stab my eye. When she lowered the pencil, a breath left my mouth.

   "If you ever embarrass my girlfriend again..." Her voice was cold, deadly. She stabbed the pencil into my neck, a wicked grin appearing on her lips as I screamed out in pain. 

   I reminded myself that this was nothing. I had been through worse. Helen Otto, her torture, the way she had ripped my skin and broken my bones and soaked me in vervain. 

   The blonde woman, who I still didn't know what her name was, pulled the pencil from my neck. She stared at the blood, smiling. When the wound was healed, she stabbed me again. She pulled the pencil out then pushed it onto my shoulder, the wood digging right through my bone. I flinched, my arms pulling more on the chains. My left arm was pulled from its socket, making me scream out once again. 

   By the end of her game, the liner was on my shoulder and scissors were in my abdomen.

   This was nothing.

   I didn't know how much time passed after she finished, but it had been hours. No longer could I feel my left arm, and the blood from the open wounds already stained my shirt and jeans. I breathed in deeply, trying to ignore every stinging sensation all over my body.

   "Ouch," someone said. I looked up to see another blonde woman, much taller than the other one. She had her arms crossed as she assessed everywhere her friend had stabbed me in. "Nora or Mary Louise?"

   "The blonde one," I said. It took me a moment to remember that Nora was the girl with the dark hair, the one that wore that old dress. "Mary Louise."

   The blonde woman in front of me nodded. "Lucky," she said as she turned towards the table. "She's the nice one."

   "Not if you laugh at Nora," I mumbled, staring as she picked up a thick book.

   She gave me a look. "You didn't..." She laid the book beneath my feet, allowing me to stand on it.

   "Like I did it on purpose!" I snorted, as the small comfort of my arms dangling allowed me to breath a bit better. "That dress was terrible!"

   She laughed. "The Queen Victoria one? Oh, you shouldn't have said anything. It would have been hilarious." She crossed her arms once again.

    I let out a weak chuckle. "What, you don't get along with them?"

   "Once," she responded. Her hand wrapped around once of the scissors in my abdomen and she pulled. "I made a snide comment about Nora's hair—" She pulled the other scissors. "—and Mary Louise poisoned my food for a month." She pulled the pencil from my shoulder. "They're the worst."

   I let out an unsteady breath. "I appreciate the help, but I need one more gracious favour from you—push my arm back into its socket."

   She didn't say anything. Instead, she laid her hands on both of my shoulders. I bit my lip to keep the scream silent, or as silent as possible. There was no count down, no warning. She pushed my arm back into place and I bit my lip harder, drawing blood. Once the arm was in, I let a breath of relied leave my mouth.

   "Thanks."

   "I can help," she said as she took a step back. She held her hand up in front of me and closed her eyes. "Phesmatos extendas lomiano..."

   "Why the hell are you in here?" Mary Louise appeared behind her, arms crossed and glaring. 

   The woman raised the bloody eyeliner. "Looking for this," she said, laying her hand on her waist. "See, I heard of this new fashion trend called hooker chic. I figured you'd have something. Thanks!" She walked out, her heels echoing against the hardwood floor.

   "What did she say to you?" Mary Louise stared at me with a brow raised, her head tilted slightly to the side.

   I kept silent and glared, imagining causing her the same pain she caused me. My silence angered her. She kicked the book from beneath my feet and grabbed me roughly by the arm. After a few moments, her hand began to burn. She tried again, her hand ending burned once again.

   "Look at that," I hummed. I mentally thanked the blonde woman for doing the spell, for preventing Mary Louise to torture me again. 

   "That bitch!" Mary Louise stomped towards the table and grabbed a syringe. "Good thing I don't need to touch you to do this." She stabbed my arm, the pain beginning once again. Vervain.

   The pain was harsh, as if my insides were liquefying with every small movement that I made. If I breathed, it burned. The sounds around me became a buzz, tuning in and out. When I looked up, I noticed Nora wearing a short black dress. It was better than the one before. I didn't remember if it belonged to me or to Elena.

   "Cute..." I breathed. I hoped that the small compliment would soften Nora towards me.

   She looked surprised at my simple word. For a moment, she stood there to stare at me. She cleared her throat and nodded once. "Thank you."

   The edges of my vision become blurry as she walked away. I blinked, tried to get one of the effects from the vervain to wear off. The burning was fine, I could deal with that. What frightened me most was when we passed out, because we were vulnerable then. They could do whatever they wanted with me.

   I was terrified of dying.

   The daylight from the window moved as I faded in and out of consciousness. Each time I felt myself go under, I blinked and tried to stay awake. Just like every time I tried, I failed miserable. At the sound of footsteps, I forced myself to stay awake. Stefan walked in through the door.

   I blinked. "Stefan..." I breathed his name like a small prayer. "Is it actually you or am I hallucinating?"

   He stared at me for a moment, examining the chains. "What did they do to you?"

   "For one, I'm sure I have more vervain than blood in my system," I said, a small chuckle following afterwords. Even that burned.

   "I'm going to get you out of here." He began to pull on the chains. "Hang on."

   "Already doing that," I drawled, blinking once again to stay awake. When the chains broke, I crumpled to the floor. A groan escaped my mouth, both from the fall and the vervain that was still in my system. I turned on my back and inhaled deeply, enjoying not hanging. "I can't feel my arms..."

   Stefan let out a small chuckle and shook his head. "Looks like I'm gonna have to scoop you up and carry you out of here." His hand went towards my back, but he pulled away quickly. He stared at me for a moment, eyes wide with confusion. "It's like your skin is vervain."

   I groaned, both in annoyance and pain. "That girl's spell..." I pushed myself up with the strength I had and rubbed my eyes to push away the tiredness.

   "Hold on," Stefan said. He left for a moment, then sped back in with a jacket in his hands. "Now, what spell?" He knelt beside me, helping me pull it on.

   "One of the Heretics was torturing me—surprise. Then this other girl came in and said she would help me." I glanced back at him. "I thought the spell would only affect them..."

   "It's all right," he nodded, giving me a gentle smile. "When we get out of here, we'll call Caroline first. She would have come, but I told her not to. Then, we'll call Bonnie. There's got to be a way to get rid of this. As for now, we have to..." He trailed off as his eyes wandered up to mine. He swallowed hard. "We have to avoid skin-to-skin contact."

   I nodded and pulled myself up, then leaned against the table for support. If my skin burned him wherever he touched, I thought it would be best to not stand close to him.

   "I'm gonna call Damon and tell him we're ready."

   The table I leaned against began to shake. I pushed myself away and stared at it, then stared at the room as it followed as well. "Stefan, do you feel that?" The house followed suit, rumbling.

   He took a close step towards me, grabbing my arm protectively. "What's happening?"

   I breathed hard, my hands closing into fists. "I don't know, but it feels like I'm being pulled..." I glanced over at him, brows furrowed.

   "I don't—" He was yanked backwards by some force, flying out of the house through the window.

   "Stefan!" I ran towards the window. The same invisible force yanked me to the opposite direction. I held on to whatever I could, but the force was stronger. I tumbled down the stairs, landing at the bottom of the staircase with a huff and a groan.

   An emotionless Enzo stood there, hands on his waist. "Okay, invite her in." He spoke to the woman that stood beside him, holding on to several papers.

   The woman smiled smugly. "Clara, please come in."

   The pulling stopped. I breathed out and closed my eyes, allowing myself to enjoy the small comfort of nothing. The pull was familiar, something I had felt when the house was given to Elena. The ownership must have changed, which meant that the woman that gave me that shit-eating smile must be the new owner.

   "Sorry, love," Enzo said, grabbing me by the arm. "You brought this on yourself."

   "How?" I glanced at him as he pulled me up the stairs. Carefully. As if he cared about how weak I was. "You were the one that brought me here. You were the one that brought me into this." I stopped walking and glared at him. "I've been through worse torture than what they've done to me. Tell them to step up their game." I yanked my arm away from his hold and walked up the stairs myself, holding on to the bannister for support. Once I was at the top of the stairs, I glanced back down at him. "I'll never forgive you for this, Enzo."

   He clenched his jaw as he stared up at me.

   "Or should I call you Lorenzo now?"

   "Call him whatever you please, just shut your mouth." Mary Louise walked in, bumping her shoulder against his as she made her way up the stairs. She grabbed my arm and gave it a tight squeeze. "Come on, then." She dragged me towards a room, throwing me inside. 

   There was too much vervain in my system. I fell to the ground, as if I had been knocked down instead of just pushed. When I looked up, I realised that it was my bedroom. There were still so many of my things there, but none of them important. Stefan must have taken those things to Caroline, which made me thankful.

   "You can try to get out, but I think that'll be hard," Mary Louise said, a wicked grin on her lips. She waved her hand over the doorway as she muttered something, a spell. When she finished, she waved and walked away.

   The bed didn't look comfortable. Instead, it looked as if it would swallow me whole if I even sat on it. I decided to sit on the piano bench, and stare at the moving curtains and the dim sunlight coming in through the window. 

   I wondered if I would ever find my bedroom comfortable as I did before. At that moment, it reminded me of the cellar.

   When night fell, Nora walked in. "Don't get cocky. You're still spelled into the room, but I figured you could use some space to stretch your legs, and maybe give this a read." She tossed a brown, leather journal onto the piano.

   I stood and crossed my arms, glaring at her. "What is it?"

   "I know you think Valerie was doing you a favour, that she's the nice one." The smile faded from her lips. "Trust me, she's the worst of all of us." She gestured towards the journal with her eyes. "It's Stefan's. She never goes anywhere without it."

   I glanced towards the journal. My hand itched to reach for it, to open it and read. I stopped myself and looked back at her. "What is she doing with Stefan's journal?"

   "It's the first thing she looked for when we realised we were stuck in 1903. The entry for July 15, 1863 should tell you why."

   My arms slowly uncrossed when she said the date. "What date?"

   The smile became wider on Nora's face, more wicked. "You should know, Clara Forbes." She turned and strutted out of the room.

   I reached for the journal and opened it, skimmed through the many entries until I found the one for July 15, 1863. The date I knew well, had experienced it myself. It was the county fair. My siblings and I had splurged in it, with many sweets and foods and the few wonders back then. Stefan had been there, had spent the majority of it with me.

   I began to read the entry:

I just had the strangest encounter outside the county fair. I met someone. A girl. We only spoke for a moment, but her name is Valerie, and she may be one of the most wonderful girls I've ever met.

   I closed the journal and stared at the front of it for a moment. We had spent that whole day together, until he decided to sit on a bench and begin to write in a journal. I had gotten bored and said that I was going to go buy some sweets. When I returned, he was nowhere to be seen. I spent the rest of the day with my sisters, both having fun and mourning that Damon was at war. At night, Stefan returned with a smile. He said that he had gotten bored waiting and decided to explore the fair for a while, and he had not realised how much time had passed. I had believed him, because why would he lie about that. After so many years, I realised that it was because of Valerie, the Heretic that helped me against Mary Louise and Nora. 

   I glanced at the door and swallowed hard, wondering if Valerie knew who I was. My name was across many pages of the journal, entries of little moments between Stefan and I back then. I swallowed hard. If Valerie knew who I was, and she was still smitten with him, would she act like Katherine?