1993 — Mystic Falls, Virginia

   The hospital room was as devoid of beauty as she was of hope. Its walls were a simple creme, not peeling or dirty, just creme. There was no decoration save the limp curtain that separated his bed from the other. It was perhaps one the kind of green that reminded people of spring-time and hope, but it had faded so much that its hue was insipid. On the bed was her brother, an IV attached on his arm, a heart monitor, an oxygen tube wrapped around his head. He was alive, just there, a tight hold on the string between Life and Death.

   Florence sat on the chair against the wall, brown eyes half-devoid of life as they stared intently at Grayson. She had spent that past three hours sobbing, realising many things at the same time. For one, her father died. She had been right next to him, touched his shoulder, saw the bone on his chin and the few ribs that had pushed through skin. His body had been taken to the morgue. Her mother had been notified of the accident, and she became half of the person she was when she arrived at the hospital to see a bloodied daughter and a half-dead son.

   Secondly, she died; she had twenty-one hours to decide whether she wanted to become a vampire or die entirely. The thoughts revered in her head, along with the image of her deceased father and Grayson's pale body on the hospital bed. Her head was full of thoughts she wanted to push to the back, but they resurfaced stronger and with more menace. The image of her father replayed, over and over, to the point where she knew she saw him die. She felt herself die again and again; her lungs caved into themselves and blood pooling in her mouth.

   "It wasn't your fault," she heard a soft voice say besides her.

   Florence didn't have to turn herself to know that it was her brother standing there. "It was," she said, her voice hoarse. "It's all my fault." She covered her face with her hands and let the sob she had been holding down escape. "I shouldn't have ran from home, John. I should have stayed at home and listened to what they had to say, maybe then..." She closed her hands into fists, hearing the soft crack of her bones. "Maybe then Dad wouldn't be dead and Grayson wouldn't be dying..."

   John took a seat besides her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his chest. "Florence, none of this was your fault," he repeated, squeezing her shoulder. "Listen, you're still a kid, so how the hell do you know how to deal with this? If I were you, I would have done the same, but I didn't... I didn't run away because I was expecting this to happen. They fought too much, but stopped when you came into the room. Why would they want to let their precious daughter know that they were continuously fighting over little things?"

   "You hate me too," she realised. She pushed his arm away and stood. "I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry that Mom and Dad expected too much of me while they expected little of you; I'm sorry that you think that I'm some precious kid that needs to be protected at all costs. I don't need to be protected and I certainly don't need you to spit comforting words at me while hating me!" She breathed hard and tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Her emotions had been heightened Stefan had told her, and they would become worse if she decided to go through with the transition.

   John raised his hands in defence. "Chill, Flo..."

   "Chill?" She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I can't chill, John!" The sobs left her mouth without warning, raking through her chest as the tears fell down her cheek freely. She grabbed on to her chest, the empty ache digging deeper and deeper. "Dad's dead, Grayson's dead, and I'm..." 

   "You're what?"

   "I'm dead," she whispered, allowing those words to sink freely into herself. They hadn't when Damon told her that she died, they especially didn't when Stefan embraced her. Being in that hospital room with the heart monitor being the only sound she heard made her realise it; the realisation that her father had died and Grayson could at any moment made her realise it.

   Florence Louisa Gilbert had died.

   "You're not dead," John softly said. He stood and pulled her to his chest. "You're not dead, Flo, so stop saying that..." He brushed his hands through her hair, allowing her to sob against his chest.

   If you only knew, she thought, tightening her hold around him. If you only knew that I died in that car with Dad.

   John pulled away and pushed a backpack towards her chest. "I brought you dry clothes," he said. "They're warm, by the way. I put them in the highest setting in the dryer before coming. You're welcome."

   Florence thanked him and walked out of the room, the blinding white lights immediately getting to her. Stefan mentioned that she would become vulnerable to many things, including her hearing and her vision. She could hear the electricity buzzing between the walls, see it in the fluorescent light bulbs. The hallways was much brighter, making her squeeze her eyes shut several times for that small comfort of darkness. She heard the many voices of the hospital, all clashing together as if she were at football game. For a moment, they sounded as if she were underwater.

   When she was in a swimming meet, she would hear the loud chanting of those in the bleachers. They were all a kaleidoscope of words and voices, all combined for wanting one victor. Some screamed and cheered her name, the school name, the school mascot, or for other members of the Timberwolves Swimming Team. Once she dived into the water, all those voices that she had heard so clearly were blocked by the water that came into her hears. She heard them as if they were in another plain of existence.

   She came onto an empty restroom and immediately walked in, locking the door behind her. The mirror in front of her revealed the same girl she had seen every morning: curled brown hair, almond shaped brown eyes, her oval shaped face with her olive complexion. There was nothing different, nothing strange. Slowly, she undressed herself. When she looked back at the mirror, she saw the blood the rain couldn't get rid of caked on her skin. Her stomach was covered in blood, sticky and decorating almost from her neck to her thighs. She brushed her fingers against her stomach, leaving a clean mark of skin between the blood. 

   "I'm dead," she whispered to the her in the mirror. She shivered at the cold air that touched her skin and immediately got to work in cleaning the blood as much as she could. The sink was covered in red water, a bit of it on her feet and on the floor. By the end, she was shivering as if she had entered a refrigerator naked. She dried herself with the paper towels and immediately dressed herself in the clothes John had brought her. As soon as they touched her skin, warmth spread through every inch of her. She pulled on the apricot coloured knit sweater and let out a breath she had been holding for too long, the small sense of comfort returning to her. 

   There were three knocks on the door as she pulled on her shoes. She looked up and shivered, the cold returning to her. "I'll be out in a moment!"

   "It's me," Stefan's voice rang through the small restroom. "Flo, you alright in there?"

   At the sound of his voice, Florence stopped. It reminded her that she would be like him if a drop of human blood fell on her tongue. She pushed those thoughts back and jumped to the door to open it. "I'm fine," she said, completely pulling it on and straightening her posture. "I'm fine."

   "No, you're not," he said, taking a step closer to her. He grabbed her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, Flo..."

   She pushed a grin to form on her lips. "It wasn't your fault, so you don't..."

   "Stop," he quickly said. "Don't say that, because you know as much as I that it's my fault." He let go of her hands and looked down, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have come back to Mystic Falls, maybe then you would still be—"

   "Alive," she finished for him. The very word made her insides churn, made her chest squeeze and her throat ache. "I want to blame you too, but the only person I can seem to actually blame is myself." Her lips quivered as she tried to stop herself from crying but the tears pushed through. She ended up with a sob escaping her mouth, loud enough for the nurses that passed to listen to her. 

   Stefan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her towards his chest, letting her cry there. He gently allowed his hand to move up and down her back. With each sob that escaped her mouth, he pulled her closer until his head fell on top of hers.

   Florence held on to him as if her were the only thing keeping her afoot. She didn't know how to let go, knowing that if she did something terrible would happen. "It should have been me," she sobbed into his chest. "It should have been me!"

   Those five words left her mouth like a prayer, repeated like a mantra.

   Stefan pulled away and laid his hands on her cheeks, making her look up at him. "No," he said, eyes wide with a hint of panic. "No, Flo, it shouldn't have been you. You didn't..." He choked on his words and swallowed hard. "You shouldn't have died tonight. You don't deserve this to happen to you, because you're... God, Florence, you're the best damn thing about Mystic Falls—the reason why I chose to stay." He let out a smile, wide, full, and it almost reached his eyes. "Every day that I saw you, I thought I couldn't get any happier. The way your eyes crinkle when you smile, how your tongue slightly sticks out when you're deep in thought, how you look at me with those big brown eyes and I swear that my heart completely stops." His thumb ran up and down, gentle circles across her skin.

   Florence stared up at him, the tears welling up in the corner of her eyes. They fell freely, one chasing the other. Her hands gripped on to him tightly, as if he would disappear if she even let her grip loosen. She swallowed and shook her head. "Don't do this to me, Stefan," she croaked. "Please, don't, because then I'll want to keep living."

   His fingers curled at the back of hear ears. "I need you to keep living," he softly said as he shook his head. "Not just for me, but for your mother and Grayson. What would happen to them if you were gone, huh? They already lost your father, they won't bare to lose you. I can't bear to lose you."

   "I still have twenty-one hours," she tried to reason, nodding. "I still need to think about it, Stefan."

   He nodded. "Okay," he hummed. "In the next twenty-one hours, I'm going to show you why you should continue living."