2012 — Mystic Falls, Virginia

   The past and the present collided with one another. She could hear them collide, see them collide like the car that had wrapped around the tree all those many years ago. The memories passed through each other like a photograph that had been overlayed with another, over and over again until her head spun and her eyes shut. 

   Florence didn't know how many days had passed since she was kept in the Salvatore cellar, but she did know that her insides were beginning to shut down. The small amount of blood she was given daily made her feel as if she were swallowing sand, and sometimes she just had to spit it out. It was too much. She felt as if she were back at Whitemore College, the image of her dear brother sometimes appearing besides whomever stood by the cellar doors.

   He stood behind the doors, arms carefully to his side as his brown eyes bore into hers. "Subject 63584," he said. "Desiccating due to the lack of blood it has been given."

   Florence inhaled deeply through her mouth, the air ripping through her throat like claws. "Is it that fun to see me desiccate, Grayson?" she asked. "Are you having your laugh now that you couldn't when you were alive?"

   They Grayson that stood in front appeared as if had been part of an old photograph that had been bent and folded in someone's pocked for a long time. His edges were frayed, and his face appeared as if someone had scratched it. Yet, she could still see him as clear as the day she was brought in by John. 

   Grayson tilted his head to the side as he looked at her. "Subject 63584 can still move and speak, even after a thirteen hour operation the day before. It seemed that there was no serious effect."

   Florence nodded, her head lulling to one side. "You and your little operations," she hummed, the disgust in her voice clear as the buzz of a fly. "You enjoyed them, didn't you?"

   "I never enjoyed those operations," he said. "I did them for the best of humanity. It was rather fitting that vampire blood is like an universal medicine that could cure anything." His frown deepened. "Except cancer."

   "Poor you," she muttered, her head lulling to the other side. She could hear the faint thump of a heart somewhere around her, smell the faint scent of blood. For another short moment, she felt that she was back at her cell room in Whitmore College. 

   She could smell the blood that had pooled around her from the cuts, from the hits. She could hear the many heartbeats of those that surrounded; the doctors that moved outside her cell and the people that moved upstairs. They were all unmistakable. She had memorised them all, in every way possible. 

   Grayson Gilbert had the scent of a cologne Miranda had gifted him during their first wedding anniversary. He wore it every day, the distinct scent of sweet and citrus, combined with the coffee that he had spilled on his shirt the majority of mornings. Everyone in the room called him Doctor Gilbert, and they praised him every moment they could. 

   Another doctor accompanied him, with a whitened beard and even whiter hair. He had been there the longest, the position above Grayson's and every other doctor. Out of everyone there, he was the one that performed the most operations, the doctor she had considered her brother right next to him. When the elderly doctor died, Grayson took over his position.

   Florence swallowed hard and looked to the cellar door. Grayson had disappeared, along with every other scent and noise that belonged to the past. Another figure had taken his place, another man. Taller, with more broad shoulders, hair much darker.

   She remembered have had thrown a water balloon once at him.

   To his side, a man with hair much lighter and a stance with his arms crossed in front of him. She remembered him most. The way his lips used to crook to one side when he smiled, and the way his eyes reminded her of summer, and the way his mouth tasted of mint.

   "What do you two want?" she asked, closing her eyes and throwing her head back against the wall. She sat on the small cot by the bed, her arms laid lazily over her thighs. If she swallowed, she could taste the remnants of the blood from between her lips and gums that had been there from yesterday. It was like swallowing beach sand. 

   "Like every other time we have been here, Florence." It was the shorter one who had answered.

   Stefan.

   Florence opened her eyes and let her head lean on her shoulder, watching the two men from behind the cellar door. "I once heard the more a vampire spends with their humanity turned off, the harder it is for it to return." Her eyes landed on the man—the boy with summer in his eyes. "I've had mine off since 1994. You do the math."

   "Eighteen years," he said with a nod. "I've done the math ever since you died, Flo."

   She pushed a pout on her lips. "I would call that romantic, but it's weird to be hung up on someone for almost two decades."

   "Try almost two centuries," the taller figure added. 

   "That's your problem," she mumbled, eyeing him. Once, she had been terrified of him. She had thought of him as a serpent that was ready to strike at any given moment. That had been years ago, when she was human. As she stared at him, she felt nothing. 

   If she were let out she could pull his head clear from his shoulders.

   "I guess we're going to have to make this a little bit harder," the taller one said. He stood still for a moment, staring at her, then left. 

   Florence let her eyes move towards the shorter one, letting them fall on his neck instead of his eyes. Her mind flashed back to that cold summer night in July. In her bedroom, the way his lips had moulded with hers, the way his hands roamed around her and made her feel warm. She had smiled as they kissed, even laughed as he pushed her against the floor and kissed her neck. 

   In the beginning, she had continuously relived those happy memories. Each happy memory that she had lived, she relived them over and over again. If she didn't remember them well, she would search and search until a hint of happiness would peep through. They appeared quick, like watching out of the window of a car as it sped down the road. 

   There had been many times she wished for those memories to last longer than the few seconds.

   Florence inhaled deeply and shut her eyes for a moment, trying to control her breathing and the hunger that surged through her. When she opened her eyes there were three other figures standing by the boy with summer in his eyes. The eldest Salvatore stood to his side, followed by her niece, and an unfamiliar blonde woman dressed in a sheriff's uniform. It was the woman who captured her attention. She was familiar.

   The woman's mouth fell open as she took a step forward, her hands wrapping against the bar of the door. "Is that Florence Gilbert?" she asked, her voice soft and hurt. "How..."

   "She died with vampire blood in her system," Stefan said as he looked down at his hands. "The car crash killed her."

   The woman laid her hand over her mouth and shook her head, the blue in her eyes becoming glossy. "How-how can this be? I went to her funeral, and saw her mother so many times after that..." She trailed off as she continued to stare. 

   "My sweet brother forced blood down my throat so I could complete the transition," Florence said, rolling her eyes until they landed on the woman again. "How was my funeral, by the way. I always wanted to know."

   "It was a joint funeral," the woman replied after a large gulp of air. "Your mother had a joint funeral for your father and you."

   Florence clenched her jaw. There was something in her chest, like a twist of skin. She felt as if she had fallen on her back, the force knocking the air from her. Memories of her father rushed through her mind: tight hugs after a swim meet, the cheering, the pride in his voice as he told everyone that Florence Gilbert was his daughter. 

   Her hands closed into fists. 

   The blonde woman cleared her throat. "You don't remember me, do you?" She waited for an answer, but it never came. "I'm Elizabeth Forbes."

   "I know who you are," Florence said with a bored tone. "You used to hang out with Miranda all the time. You had a baby, too—Caroline."

   Sheriff Elizabeth Forbes nodded, smiling. There were a few tears pricking the corner of her eyes, but she continued to smile. Her chest felt tight as she stared at the dishevelled girl that sat behind the cellar bars, on top of a hard cot. That very girl had been someone she knew well, the sister-in-law of her childhood best friend. That girl used to babysit her own daughter when she was a baby, with smiles and laughter and the jokes that she would be her aunt and teach her about everything when she grew up. Never did she imagine that she would turn into a vampire, even less see her after thinking she had been dead for the past eighteen and a half years. 

   "Nice girl," Florence continued. "Annoying as hell, but nice." She pushed herself from the wall and leaned forward, face darkening as the scent of the woman's blood wafted to her. It was sweet, like being inside of a candy store and being told she could take whatever she wanted. She stood and faltered towards the cellar door. "It's sad that she turned out like me; dead and a monster. You probably hate her, too."

   Sheriff Forbes took a step back as her eyes widened. "I don't hate Caroline for being a vampire."

   Florence tilted her head to the side. "But you did," she softly said, laying her forehead against the cool iron of the cellar bars. "Grayson hated me, too. Y'know, before he died and all." A terrible smile appeared on her deathly white lips, the cracks spreading and allowing the bit of blood that she had left to make her lips red. She pushed herself from the bars and ambled backwards towards the cot, until the back of her knees touched the metal and she sat.

   The fright in the sheriff's eyes made her feel warm inside, almost giddy. It reminded her of a movie scene, with her the villain and those on the other side of the bars were the heroes. It was their story, she came to realise. She was, in fact, the villain in their stories. It would end in bloodshed. Theirs or hers.

   She would prefer it to be theirs. 

   "What's wrong with her?" Sheriff Forbes asked, glancing at the Salvatore boys that stood to each of her side. "This is not the Florence Gilbert I remember."

   "She has her humanity turned off," Elena answered with a sigh, crossing her arms in front of her. "I think it happened a few months after she was tortured by the Augustine Society."

   "Come on, Elena. We're all adults here—well, sort of. Biologically." Florence shrugged her shoulders and let a small and sarcastic pout fall on her lips. "Her father—the wonderful Grayson Gilbert—was the one who tortured me. For the good of medical science, he would say." An emotionless laugh escaped her lips. 

   She remembered her brother well, especially his eyes. The brown of his eyes had been deep, almost black when she stared into them beneath the florescent lights of the surgery room. There had been many times where she wished there had been some kind of emotions behind them, a sign that he was sorry. She had pleaded with his name many times, cried with each cut and dig and burn. Yet, never did she see a flicker of any other emotion in his eyes. Anger was the only one.

   Florence knew well that Grayson hated her when he died. 

   Sheriff Forbes shuffled in her place, her hand moving towards her belt as she craned her head high. She had dealt with criminals, with drug addicts, and teenagers who thought they could do everything in the world. Every once in a while, she had dealt with the occasional supernatural crime. A death at the hands of a vampire, which she always said was an unfortunate animal attack—not that she was wrong, in a way. She had also experienced her only daughter, the light of her life, become a vampire. 

   But, Florence Gilbert had been a child when she last saw her. She had smiled, she had laughed, and she had danced all silly with baby Caroline. Then, she unexpectedly died. She remembered the amount of police cars and the ambulance in front of the old Gilbert residence, the wails of Constance Gilbert.

   "Your mother loved you so much," Sheriff Forbes said, her voice cracking. She swallowed hard and opened her eyes wide, blinking the few tears away from her face. 

   Florence stilled. 

   "It was your mother that found your body," Sheriff Forbes divulged. "It was seven in the morning, and the street was covered with police and firefighters. I went outside to see what happened; all I could hear was your mother screaming as you were taken out of the house in a stretcher. Inside a body bag."

    Florence tried to picture it. She imagined her mother walking into her room to wake her up, the soft and tired voice after a night of a restless sleep. Her mother's hand as she tried to shake her shoulder, harder when she realised that her daughter wasn't waking up. She could vividly imagine her mother pulling her head towards her chest and screaming for her to wake up, screaming for someone to help her. The police cars that arrived, the ambulance, the firefighters, the street busy with whispers of what happened at the Gilbert residence. She could imagine the nosy neighbours, their comments about how sad it must be that Constance Gilbert had to deal with the death of her husband and daughter, just a day apart from each other. 

   The young Gilbert girl felt an ache inside of her. It twisted harshly, a pinch at every bit of her skin. Her throat began to ache with each careful swallow, and the walls around her began to spin. She closed her eyes and tried to inhale a breath, but found that she couldn't breathe correctly. Her hands shook, and her chest felt as if someone were pushing down with all their might.

   "Flo?" Stefan opened the door and stepped in, hurrying towards her. He laid his hands on her cheeks, making her look up at him. "Flo, hey, you're fine."

   "Is it working?" Elena asked in a whisper, her eyes strained on her aunt.

   "A bit more," Damon answered. "I think we found her weakness."

   Elena looked up at him. "What is it?"

   "Family," he said, looking back at the young girl. "I think her weakness is family."

   Florence opened her eyes and breathed harshly, the brown in them turning a deep red as she glared at Stefan. Once, she had enjoyed the gentle touches. She pushed his hands away and tried to control her breathing, to control the ache that protruded at her chest. "If you all have nothing better to do than bother me, how about leaving?" She glanced at Damon Salvatore, her eyes trailing to Sheriff Forbes and lastly her niece. "If you think speaking about my mom will get me to turn on my humanity, you're wrong."

   Stefan frowned and knelt in front of her, taking one of her hands in his. They were cold. "I visited her after you died," he divulged in a soft voice, staring into the brown of her eyes. They were the same colour as back then. "You told me to compel you from her memories... I almost did."

   "Why didn't you?" Florence raised a brow. It was a strange thing that dwelt inside of her, a biting curiosity that made her need to know.

   Stefan allowed a small smile to spread around his lips. It was the smile of finally knowing that the girl he had loved all those years ago was in front of him, alive. Damaged, probably beyond repair, but alive. "Because it was the only way to keep the memory of Florence Gilbert alive," he said. "Because I wanted to know that you had been real, that you had existed; that you gave me the best summer of my entire life."