Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

⚠️ Reader Advisory: This story contains references to alcohol and drug abuse, as well as potential emotional triggers. I ask for your understanding and suggest caution while reading, especially if you are sensitive to these topics. Please proceed only if you feel comfortable.

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"An invisible string connects those destined to meet... Regardless of time, place or circumstance...

The string may stretch or tangle, but it will never break."  

— Ancient Chinese belief.

In China, legend tells of gods tying a red cord around the ankles of soulmates, binding them forever. No matter the time, distance or obstacles, these souls will find each other. The longer the string, the deeper the melancholy of separation; the shorter, the closer the happiness.

No matter how many loves cross their path, only the other end of the string will bring true love.

In Japan, where the myth took root, the cord began to connect the little fingers, symbolising a spiritual bridge to eternal love — the "Unmei no Akai Ito", the red string of fate.

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The scorching sun of Mystic Falls bathed the town in golden light that Monday morning, turning the streets into a mosaic of flickering shadows. The sky, a crystalline blue, seemed to mock the heat that made the asphalt shimmer and the trees' leaves droop, exhausted.

In Christopher Webster's — Chris's — apartment, in the heart of the town, the warm aroma of coffee mingled with the sweetness of toasting bread, filling the small kitchen with a deceptive sense of comfort.

Josette Saltzman, seated at the polished wooden table, scribbled in a diary filled with pink and yellow post-it notes, her fingers tapping a worn pencil. She wore a light white cotton blouse, sleeves rolled up to ease the heat, and a flowing yellow linen skirt that brushed her knees. Her brown hair, tied in a loose ponytail, let stray strands cling to her damp neck, gleaming under the light streaming through the window.

Josie felt the weight of a melody that wouldn't let her go. It was a soft ballad, with piano chords that seemed to echo from a distant place, as if belonging to another life. The notes came in fragments, like pieces of a puzzle she couldn't solve.

Who are you?, she thought, writing in her diary: 'A void that defies explanation, a heart that won't give up.'

The words weren't about Christopher. And that, no matter how much she tried to ignore it, made her chest tighten, as if a part of her was lost, waiting to be found.

— Memory —  

Josie sits on a wooden bench by a river reflecting an orange sky. The air smells of wet grass and ripe cherries, a sweetness that makes her breathe deeply. She doesn't recognise the place, but it feels like home.

A figure sits beside her, indistinct, yet their presence is warm, like an embrace that needs no words. She holds a paintbrush and the canvas before her bursts with colours — deep blues, vibrant reds, as if painting a broken heart.

"Do you promise we'll meet again?" asks a soft voice, not her own. Josie tries to answer, but the image fades, leaving only the echo of an ache in her chest.  

— End of memory —

Josie blinked several times, returning to the present, her pencil still in hand. What was that? It wasn't the first time these visions had appeared, like waking dreams that made no sense.

She shook her head, trying to shake off the feeling, and glanced at the coffee mug before her, the dark liquid now cold, beside two slices of toast with strawberry jam she'd barely touched.

"Babe, aren't you going to finish your breakfast?" asked Christopher, his voice gentle but tinged with impatience, pulling her from her thoughts.

Josie looked up, offering a weak smile. "Sorry, I got distracted with lesson planning." She closed her diary, the sound of pages brushing against each other echoing in the stuffy kitchen. "Got any campaign events today?"

Christopher, tall with neatly combed blonde hair, exuded a natural charisma that felt rehearsed. He wore an impeccable grey suit, a sky-blue tie perfectly knotted, and his green eyes sparkled with the confidence of someone who knew how to charm a crowd. 

As a candidate for a seat on the Mystic Falls council, his campaign consumed his time with meetings, speeches, and handshakes at local events. Leaning against the counter, he held a green apple, the crisp sound of his bite blending with the hum of the ceiling fan.

"Yeah, I've got a meeting with supporters this afternoon and a dinner with sponsors tonight" he replied, his voice brimming with energy. "But I swapped tomorrow's event with Spencer so we can go to your sister's exhibition next week." He smiled, but there was a distance in his gaze, as if the campaign were his true priority.

Elizabeth Saltzman, Josie's twin sister, is a talented photographer and was former model, running a sought-after studio for events and magazine covers. The upcoming exhibition had her radiant, and Josie felt proud, but also a pang of envy for how easily Lizzie embraced the spotlight — something Josie had never craved.

"She's unstoppable right now" Josie murmured, shrugging. "I think I'll have dinner at Milton's house tonight and then head to my apartment. I need to finish a song."

Christopher frowned, tilting his head. "I still don't get why you don't record a demo and send it to a label. Josie, your songs are incredible. You're the best singer I know."

She rolled her eyes, an almost instinctive gesture. "I don't want people to know my songs," she replied, her voice sharper than intended. "Only you, Lizzie, MG and my mum know I write music. As far as anyone's concerned, I'm just a simple music teacher."

Christopher laughed, the sound light as a breeze but with a hint of condescension. "A music teacher who'll be late for the school where her mum's the headmistress if she doesn't hurry up."

Josie checked her phone and widened her eyes, her heart racing as she saw she had only twelve minutes to get to school. She leapt from the chair, nearly knocking over her mug, and rushed to the bathroom, her white trainers echoing on the wooden floor. As she brushed her teeth, the mirror reflected her flushed face, not just from the heat but from a growing unease.

The songs she wrote — verses about longing for someone she'd never met, about a void she couldn't explain — weren't about Christopher. They were for someone else, someone she felt deep in her soul but couldn't name.

"Don't drive too fast!" Christopher shouted, laughing, as Josie grabbed her backpack and dashed out, the door slamming behind her, the sound echoing down the corridor.

In the car, the open windows let in the hot air, heavy with the scent of dry grass and warm asphalt. Josie turned on the radio, but the upbeat pop song couldn't drown out the melody echoing in her mind.

It was as if the notes were calling her to a place — or someone — she didn't yet know. She stopped at a traffic light, the heat making her blouse cling to her skin.

• ❅ •

On the outskirts of Mystic Falls, in a street lined with tall trees, Hope Mikaelson's house stood with quiet elegance. It was a two-storey home, its white walls and wide windows reflecting the morning sun.

In front, a small garden displayed two slender palm trees, their green leaves swaying in the warm breeze, flanking a stone path to the front door.

In the back garden, a divided pool — one shallow section for children, another deeper — shimmered under the sun, next to a brick barbecue and a colourful trampoline where Eleanor loved to play. The sound of rippling water mingled with birdsong, creating a peaceful retreat.

Inside, the grand entrance hall had a pale marble floor and a curved staircase leading upstairs. To the left, a door opened to the garage, housing a sleek black car and two vintage motorbikes — a passion of Hope's.

To the right, the hall flowed into a spacious living room with grey velvet sofas and a stone fireplace, connected to a modern kitchen. The kitchen, the heart of the home, featured a black granite island in the centre, surrounded by high stools, and smelled of fresh coffee and herbs from a small basil pot on the counter.

Upstairs, three bedrooms, each with its own en-suite bathroom, offered privacy and comfort. Hope's room, decorated in navy blue and beige, had a king-size bed and a window overlooking the garden.

Eleanor's room was a riot of colour, with pink walls, scattered toys, and a dragon poster on the door. And the guest room, in neutral tones, remained untouched, its white bedspread pristine. 

At the end of the corridor, a closed door led to Hope's office, a space Eleanor rarely saw, where her mother spent hours immersed in private thoughts.

Hope stood in the kitchen, the aroma of black coffee enveloping her as she oversaw Eleanor's breakfast. She wore a casual black shirt, the top two buttons undone, and beige trousers that fluttered in the breeze from the open window. Her auburn hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and her blue eyes, intense as the sea, watched her daughter with affection.

"Eleanor, come on!" she called, her voice firm but warm, as she adjusted the silver bracelet on her left wrist.

Eleanor, seven years old, appeared at the top of the staircase, bounding down with a mischievous leap. She wore the new school uniform — a navy skirt and a white shirt with the embroidered logo — and held one white trainer, her other foot bare, her brown plaits bouncing.

"I'm coming, mommy!" she shouted, racing down the stairs, ignoring Hope's warning.

"Eleanor Mikaelson, what did I say about running on the stairs?" Hope crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile.

"Sorry, mommy..." Eleanor replied, hugging her mother's legs, the strawberry scent of her shampoo filling the air "but we're in a hurry!"

"And whose fault is that?" Hope asked, crouching to her daughter's level. "Where was your sneaker?"

"Couldn't find it" Eleanor said, shrugging with feigned innocence. "But it's here now!" She held up the trainer like a trophy, making Hope laugh.

"The same sneaker I left next to your uniform?" Hope took her daughter's hand, leading her to the kitchen island, where a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice awaited. The clink of Eleanor's spoon against the bowl filled the silence as Hope sipped her coffee, the bitter aroma rousing her.

Hope had moved from New Orleans to Mystic Falls the previous week, seeking a fresh start. Her family owned several galleries and other businesses, but she wanted something of her own.

Though she managed the town's gallery, her sanctuary was the privacy of her home, where she spent hours in her office, lost in thoughts she kept to herself.

Watching Eleanor, she thought of a project she'd started the night before — something she didn't share, not even with her daughter. For some reason, it felt incomplete, as if missing a vital piece.

— Memory —  

Hope stands on a hill, the warm wind blowing through her hair. Before her, a woman plays the piano, her fingers dancing over the keys with a grace that stops Hope in her tracks.

The music is soft but carries a sadness that grips her heart.

"You're so far away" the woman murmurs, not looking at her. Hope tries to reply, but the scene dissolves, leaving only the echo of the melody.  

— End of memory —

Hope blinked, returning to the present, the warm mug in her hand. What was that? She shook her head, trying to dismiss the feeling, and looked at Eleanor.

"Can I play on the trampoline after school?" the girl asked, wiping a drop of milk from her chin.

"If you finish your homework first, then yes pumpkin" Hope replied, kissing the top of her daughter's head. "Now hurry or you'll be late for your first day."

On the way to school, the car's air conditioning battled the heat, and Eleanor chattered about a cartoon full of dragons and princesses.

Hope smiled, half-distracted, her mind on the gallery and the strange unease that wouldn't leave her. She parked outside the school, a red-brick building with wide windows, and helped Eleanor out, holding her pink lunchbox.

"Right" Hope said, crouching to her daughter's level. "You're a Mikaelson and what don't Mikaelsons do?"

"We don't bow to anyone!" Eleanor replied, her chest puffed with pride, making Hope laugh.

"Exactly! You'll be fine." She kissed her daughter's cheek and handed her the lunchbox. "If I can't pick you up, I'll send Evie, okay?"

"Auntie Evie!" Eleanor exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. "I like her, mummy. She lets me eat cookies."

"Of course she does" Hope murmured, chuckling, as she watched her daughter run to the gate, her plaits bouncing.

• ❅ •

In the music room, heat seeped through the half-open windows, carrying the distant sound of birds and the murmur of children in the playground.

Josie, her white blouse now crumpled and yellow skirt sticking to her legs, arranged the instruments. A glossy black grand piano stood in the corner, beside a rack of colourful tambourines, white plastic recorders, a wooden xylophone with a warm, metallic chime, and a small, polished violin that seemed to call out for someone.

The air smelled of floor wax and Josie's floral perfume, mixed with the sweet scent of the instruments' varnish.

"Right, boys and girls" Josie announced, clapping her hands to get the class's attention. "We have a new student today. Would you like to come up and introduce yourself, sweetheart?"

All eyes turned to Eleanor, who stood with a confidence that seemed too big for her seven years. She walked to Josie's side, her uniform pristine, and lifted her chin, recalling her mother's words.

"My name's Eleanor Mikaelson and I'm seven," she began, her clear voice echoing in the room. "I moved here with my mum on Thursday."

Josie smiled, the heat feeling less oppressive in the face of the girl's energy. "I'm Josie, your music teacher. Do you play any instruments?"

Eleanor hesitated, but her eyes sparkled. "I play the violin, my mum made me learn but it's kind of boring... I really want to play the drums!" she said, her enthusiasm making the class giggle.

Josie raised an eyebrow, charmed. "Drums, huh? That's a bold choice. I'm sure we'll find something to make you shine." She gently touched Eleanor's cheek, and the instinctive gesture made her heart tighten, as if she recognised something in that smile she couldn't explain. "You can sit down, sweetheart."

Eleanor scampered back to her seat, and Josie turned to the class. "Since we have a new student, how about we show her what we've learned?" The children's excited shouts filled the room, and Josie laughed, picking up a red tambourine and setting the rhythm.

The sound of tambourines, recorders, and the xylophone mingled with laughter and off-key notes. Eleanor tried the tambourine, but the rhythm eluded her, and Josie promised they'd try the drums next lesson.

When the bell rang, marking the end of the lesson, Josie sighed with relief, her body tired but her spirit light. Teaching music to children was chaotic, but it was the kind of chaos that made her feel alive. As she tidied the instruments, she found a folded piece of paper inside the piano's lid. Curious, she opened it.

"Dear stranger,  

I write to you because I feel you in every note I compose, in every void I carry. My songs speak of a place I don't know, of a love that defies explanation.  

I don't know who you are, but I know you're out there, waiting...

Until I find you, I keep you in the chords I play and the longing I don't understand.  

With love,  

Josette Olivia Saltzman"

Josie frowned. She didn't remember writing it. The handwriting was obviously hers, but the words felt like they came from another life. She tucked the letter into her pocket, her heart racing and headed for the school exit.

Outside, the heat was almost unbearable, the asphalt reflecting the sun like a mirror. Children ran in all directions, some waiting for siblings, others for parents, while the school bus honked in the distance. Josie waved to a few students when she heard a high-pitched voice.

"Miss Josie!" Eleanor ran towards her, followed by Evie Young, a slender Black woman in a light floral-patterned dress that fluttered in the warm breeze. About Josie's age, 25, she had a warm smile that seemed to light up the surroundings.

"Auntie Evie, this is Miss Josie!" Eleanor said, pointing at her teacher. "She's going to teach me the drums!"

Evie laughed, extending a hand. "I'm sure Eleanor's mum will love buying a drum kit if that's what she wants."

"Are you sure sweetheart?" Josie asked, raising an eyebrow, making Eleanor's eyes shine brighter. "That's a noisy choice."

"Her mom loves art in any form" Evie explained, her voice full of affection. "If Eleanor wants to express herself with drums, Hope will find the most expensive kit in the shop."

"Good to know there are parents like that" Josie said, smiling, but feeling that familiar pang in her chest, a longing she couldn't explain. "I'm sorry but I've to go now, I've more lessons to plan for the rest of the week."

"Bye, miss Josie!" Eleanor hugged Josie's legs, the spontaneous gesture making her laugh.

Josie said goodbye and walked to her car, the reflection in the rearview mirror showing a smile she didn't know she still had. As she started the engine, her phone buzzed and "Lizzie 💞" appeared on the car's screen.

"What do you want, Liz?" Josie asked, answering.

"Good afternoon to you too" Lizzie replied, her mocking tone filling the car. "How's my little sister on this sweltering afternoon?"

"Just get to the point" Josie insisted, rolling her eyes but smiling.

"I need you to pick up some things for me" Lizzie said. "I'm finishing an important set for tomorrow and I'm missing materials."

"I'm on my way" Josie sighed, changing her route to her sister's studio.

"That's why I love you, sis!" Lizzie exclaimed, hanging up with a squeal.

Josie shook her head, the car's heat mingling with the weight of that unfinished melody. She stopped at Lizzie's studio, a large space with white walls covered in framed photos and rolls of fabric scattered on the floor.

Lizzie, her blonde hair in a messy bun and wearing a light geometric-patterned dress, darted about, holding a camera.

"Finally!" Lizzie exclaimed, seeing Josie enter with the bags. "You've saved my life, sis."

"Don't exaggerate" Josie replied, setting the bags on a table cluttered with brushes and paint cans. "What's so urgent?"

"I need to finish this set for the exhibition" Lizzie said, pointing to a blue fabric backdrop mimicking the sky. "It has to be perfect! Oh, by the way, how's Chris? Always campaigning, I bet?"

Josie hesitated, her smile fading. "Yeah, he's busy. Meetings, dinners... you know how it is."

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, sensing the hesitation. "Everything okay between you two? You seem... distant."

"It's fine" Josie lied, shrugging. "I'm just tired. How about you? How's the exhibition going?"

Lizzie grinned, her eyes sparkling. "It's going to be epic, Jo, you'll love it! Maybe you'll even get inspired to write a new song!"

Josie laughed, but the mention of music brought back the void. "Maybe" she murmured, saying goodbye to her sister and returning to her car. The melody in her head seemed louder, as if calling her to something greater.

• ❅ •

At the gallery, Hope oversaw the team unpacking a large canvas, its blue and gold tones reflecting the sunlight streaming through the windows.

The air smelled of fresh paint and wood, and the sound of boxes being opened mingled with the hum of the air conditioning.

Eleanor did her homework in a corner, sitting cross-legged, the scratch of her pencil on paper echoing through the space.

Suddenly, the world seemed to slow. The worker's sounds grew muffled, and the heat from outside flooded the gallery, sending a shiver down Hope's spine. She looked at her hand and saw a bright red string tied to her little finger. The string stretched out the door, as if beckoning her.

Without thinking, she followed it to the entrance, her heart pounding. On the street, she saw a tall brunette woman with bags in her hands, hurrying around a corner. 

The string flickered and a strange warmth coursed through Hope before it vanished, leaving her dazed.

"Hope? Everything okay?" Evie asked, snapping her out of the trance.

"Yeah" Hope murmured, glancing at her hand where the thread was gone. "Let's get back to work." She forced a smile, but the feeling that something had changed lingered.

• ❅ •

Josie, across town, hurried with the bags Lizzie had asked for, the weight of the art supplies making her sweat in the heat.

Mystic Falls' streets buzzed with life, the sound of chatter and the scent of coffee drifting from a nearby café.

Stopping at a traffic light, she felt a sudden void, as if she'd forgotten something vital. She looked at her hands and saw, for a moment, a red string tied to her little finger. A shiver ran down her spine and her heart raced. She turned, searching for the thread's source, but there was nothing. When she looked again, the string was gone.

The light changed and Josie crossed the street, the melody in her head louder than ever. Something was shifting and she felt it in her soul.

Chapter Text

In the previous chapter: 

The light changed and Josie crossed the street, the melody in her head louder than ever. Something was shifting, and she felt it in her soul.

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Early Morning, 1:00 AM, Hope Mikaelson's House, Mystic Falls

Hope's office was a sanctuary of shadows, where moonlight slipped through half-open curtains, casting silvery streaks across the polished wooden floor. The light danced over the canvas before her, where the figure of a brunette woman came to life, stroke by stroke, like a secret refusing to stay buried.

The sharp smell of fresh paint mingled with the scent of varnish and a faint trace of cinnamon from a forgotten candle on a shelf crammed with jars and brushes. Each brushstroke was hesitant, almost painful, as if Hope feared the image, so clear in her mind, might vanish upon touching the canvas.

Her red hair spilled over her shoulders, loose and tangled, strands clinging to her sweaty neck. Her linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, was streaked with dried paint, splotches of blue and red smeared across her forearms and even on one cheek, where she'd rubbed her hand without noticing.

The house was wrapped in an almost oppressive silence, broken only by the ticking of a wall clock and the distant ripple of water in the pool outside, stirred by the cool night breeze.

Hope paused, her brush hovering, blue eyes fixed on the brunette figure — wavy chestnut hair falling to her shoulders, gentle eyes that seemed to meet her gaze with an intensity that made her tremble.

Who are you?, the question echoed in her mind, unanswered, like a void growing deeper each day. The red string on her finger pulsed, warm, almost burning, like a heart beating in secret.

Since she'd seen it the day before, waking from a dream she couldn't recall, unease had become a constant companion, a weight in her chest she couldn't explain.

She dropped the brush, which rolled across the tabletop, leaving a streak of dark blue on the worn wood. Sinking into the chair, her hands shaking, she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling hard, as if she could tear out the longing consuming her.

It wasn't just the absence of something lost, but the certainty that someone was slipping away, like fine sand through her fingers, leaving only the echo of an ancient promise.

Suddenly, a melody flooded her, soft and bittersweet, like a whisper from another time: 'I have loved you for a thousand years...'  The notes were strange, yet they felt etched into her soul, as if they'd always been there, waiting.

The auburn girl closed her eyes, her breathing uneven and let the music envelop her. It was a lament, a promise, a longing without a name. At that same moment, a hundred kilometers away, Josette Saltzman played those same notes on her piano, binding them through an invisible thread that spanned the distance.

"Why do I feel you?" she murmured, her voice hoarse, nearly swallowed by the silence. She leaned against the wall, her head tilting back, red hair brushing her neck.

The brunette on the canvas seemed to watch her and Hope felt a tightness in her chest, as if she'd lost something essential centuries ago.

Outside, the trampoline swayed in the wind, its metal creaking in a low lament and the pool reflected the moon, a shattered mirror holding secrets.

Who are you and why do you call to me like this?, she thought. 

• ❅ •

Morning, 7:00 AM, Josie Saltzman's Apartment

The castle ballroom was a breathing dream, with iron chandeliers casting a golden glow that flickered on gray stone walls.

The scent of fresh roses, arranged in crystal vases, blended with the warm tang of melted wax dripping slowly from candelabras.

The sound of violins floated, delicate as a whisper, while figures in period attire twirled in a dance that seemed eternal, their muffled laughter mingling with the clink of crystal goblets.

Josie felt the weight of her yellow dress, the rough velvet chafing her skin, the corset squeezing her chest until it nearly stole her breath. She stood rooted to the polished marble floor, her heart gripped by a longing without a name. Her hands, clad in lace gloves, trembled as they touched the red thread glowing on her finger, stretching across the ballroom like a living bond, pulling her toward a place she couldn't see.

In the distance, a red-haired woman danced, accompanied, her scarlet dress swirling like flames in a sea of shadows. Her loose hair fell in waves, grazing her bare shoulders and her blue eyes met Josie's for a fleeting moment, sparking with a promise that ached.

The world stopped and Josie felt her name caught in her throat, a silent scream that wouldn't escape. She tried to follow the red string with her eyes but it seemed to dissolve into the crowd, like mist at dawn.

"Josie!" Lizzie's voice cut through, pulling her back. Her sister, in an emerald-green dress that shimmered in the light, gripped her arm, her blue eyes gleaming with a mischievous secret. "This is your dream, Jo! The wedding you always wanted! Don't get lost now, sis."

"Wedding?" Josie frowned, her voice trembling, her fingers still clutching the invisible string. "Lizzie, who is she? The redhead?" she asked, her gaze darting to the figure.

Lizzie smiled, enigmatic, tilting her head to the right. "Silly! Who do you think she is, Jo?"

Before she could answer, the ballroom faded, the violins fell silent and Josie opened her eyes.

She was in her apartment in Mystic Falls, her body aching from falling asleep at the piano. Morning light filtered through crooked blinds, casting shaky stripes on the worn wooden floor, where dust danced in the sunrays.

The smell of cold coffee lingered, coming from a forgotten mug on the table beside a pile of notebooks crammed with scribbled lyrics, some smudged by dried tears.

A nearly wilted plant in the corner seemed to accuse her of neglect and the silence was heavy, as if the apartment held the echo of her loneliness.

Josie rubbed her eyes, her heart still racing, the dream's images clinging to her mind like sticky cobwebs. The redhead, the red string, the longing — they were too real, too tangible, like a wound that refused to close.

She sat up, her fingers brushing the piano keys, the chipped varnish scraping her nails. The melody that had haunted her since the previous day — since she'd seen the red string fade from her finger — was alive, pulsing like a second heart.

She closed her eyes, letting her fingers dance and the music came to life, pure and bittersweet, a lament that seemed to call out to someone she'd never met. "I have died every day waiting for you" she sang softly, her voice trembling, barely a whisper. "Darling, don't be afraid / I have loved you for a thousand years..."

The words were hers, yet they felt stolen from another time, another life. The longing was an abyss, swallowing her whole, and Josie felt hot tears stream down her face, dripping onto the keys. She grabbed her notebook, her pen shaking, and wrote the lyrics, the words smudged by the drops. Who was the redhead? Why did she feel like a part of her, lost for centuries?

She looked at the letter from the day before, folded on the table, her handwriting but strange: 'Until I find you, I keep you in the chords I play and the longings I don't understand...' The paper trembled in her hands, and Josie took a deep breath, her chest tight.

When had she stopped being enough, for herself, for others? The day was beginning, but the void lingered, an echo that wouldn't let her go.

• ❅ •

Midday, 12:00 PM, Mystic Falls School

The stifling heat in the music room was suffocating, like a heavy blanket pressing Josie's cotton blouse against her skin.

The walls, covered with colorful tambourines and faded posters of musical notes, seemed to close in, and the hum of an old fan mingled with the clumsy sound of the drum set Eleanor Mikaelson was trying to play. The girl's red hair, tied in a messy ponytail, swayed with each strike, the drumsticks hitting with an almost tangible fury.

Her blue eyes blazed, filled with a rage Josie recognized — the same she sometimes felt when the void consumed her.

Seated at the piano, Josie watched, her hands resting on the keys, the worn varnish under her fingers. She was about to call Eleanor when Ed, a boy with messy hair and a cruel smirk, approached, his voice sharp as a blade. "Your daddy doesn't want you, Eleanor, that's why he never shows up! All the kids already know it!"

Eleanor froze, her face flushing red, her fists clenched so tightly the drumsticks trembled. "Shut up!" she screamed, her voice breaking and shoved him hard. Ed fell, crashing into a wooden bench, and yelled, drawing curious stares. Chaos erupted, with kids pointing, some laughing, others whispering.

Josie rushed over, her heart pounding, her sneakers squeaking on the slightly sticky floor and stepped between them, holding Eleanor by the shoulders, as if she instinctively knew where to touch the little redhead.

"Enough, both of you!" she said, her voice firm but gentle, her brown eyes seeking to calm the girl. Ed, grumbling, was pulled away by an aide who appeared quickly, while Eleanor trembled, her eyes brimming with tears, the drumsticks falling to the floor with a dull thud.

Josie knelt, wrapping her in a tight hug, feeling the small girl's body relax against hers. "You're safe with me, sweetie" she murmured, stroking her red hair, which smelled of strawberry shampoo. "What happened? You can tell me."

Eleanor sniffled, her face buried in Josie's shoulder, her voice a faint whisper. "Daddy... he's never here and when he shows up, mommy cries. I don't want her to hurt because of him."

The words hit Josie like a blow, echoing her own void, a pain that felt ancient, as if she and Eleanor shared a hurt she couldn't explain. "Sometimes, people hurt the ones they love without meaning to..." she said, her voice trembling, her fingers gently squeezing the girl's shoulders. "but you're so strong, Eleanor, and your mommy has you, doesn't she? That's more important than anything, little bear."

Eleanor nodded, wiping her tears with her sweater sleeve, and Josie smiled, hugging her tighter, feeling the red thread pulse on her finger, as if it recognized the girl's pain. The moment was interrupted by a teacher, who led them to the principal's office.

In Caroline Forbes' office, noon light streamed through tall windows, reflecting off the polished wooden desk, where a coffee mug gave off a bitter aroma. Photos of Josie and Lizzie, taken at a summer picnic, decorated a shelf, beside a wilted plant that seemed to beg for water. Caroline, her blonde hair tied in an elegant bun, watched Eleanor with a mix of firmness and empathy, her hands clasped over a school report.

Hope Mikaelson entered, her red hair loose, falling in messy waves, her blue eyes blazing with a mix of anger and concern. She sat beside Eleanor, placing a protective hand on her daughter's, her fingers gently stroking. "Good afternoon, Ms. Forbes" she said, her voice tense, almost a growl. "Can you tell me exactly what happened?"

Caroline waited for Josie to leave, closing the door with a soft click, the brunette unaware of the redhead who'd just entered. Then, she adjusted her glasses, a habitual gesture for delicate situations and took a deep breath. "Good afternoon, Ms. Mikaelson. Well, it seems Eleanor pushed a boy, named Ed, after a taunt about... her father. It was a physical reaction, which requires us to suspend her for the rest of the day."

Hope clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, her face hardening. "Excuse me, Ms. Forbes, but provoking my daughter has no consequences? I was very clear about her father's issue when I enrolled her here! No one hurts my daughter, no one!"

Caroline raised a hand, her voice calm but firm. "I believe you, Ms. Mikaelson, and Ed will definitely be punished. He has a history of taunting — issues at home, absent parents — and he's already in counseling. He'll be suspended for two days, but we need to help Eleanor respond without violence. She's intense and that's a strength, but also a challenge" she explained, without hinting at her deep knowledge of the Mikaelson history.

Hope relaxed slightly, but her eyes still burned. "I try to teach her to channel her anger. She plays the violin and... well, she paints with me too, but her father... he's a trigger. He comes and goes, leaves her confused. How do I protect my daughter from that?"

Caroline leaned forward, her eyes softening. "With time and support. We have a mediation program at school and Eleanor could benefit from it. Josie, for instance, is great with kids like her. I hear she's already helping Eleanor with the drums and I think she'd be an excellent mentor. In fact, Eleanor reminds me a lot of Josie, you know? Always defending those she loves with all she's got."

Hope furrowed her brow, the mention of Josie sparking curiosity. "The music teacher? Eleanor won't stop talking about her. Who is she, anyway?"

Caroline smiled, adjusting a photo on her desk. "My daughter. She's shy but she has a huge heart. Maybe you'll meet her soon." She looked at Eleanor, who was shrinking in her chair, and softened her voice. "Eleanor, I know you're hurting but you're strong. We'll work on this together, okay?"

Eleanor nodded, her eyes fixed on the floor, and Hope squeezed her hand, her heart tight. "Let's go home, pumpkin," she murmured, standing, her mind swirling with the mentioned name.

• ❅ •

Afternoon, 12:49 PM, Hope's Car

The afternoon sun filtered through the car windows, warming the interior, where the smell of old leather mixed with the faint lavender scent of an air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.

Eleanor sat in the back seat, her red hair now loose, free from the ponytail, her hands fidgeting with a drumstick she'd pulled from her backpack.

The silence between her and Hope was heavy, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the distant chirping of birds outside.

Hope glanced in the rearview mirror, her blue eyes meeting her daughter's, who looked away, shrinking. "Ellie, my sweetie..." she began, her voice soft but a bit firmer, "want to talk to me about what happened?"

Eleanor bit her lower lip, the drumstick twirling between her fingers. "Ed's stupid, mommy! He said daddy doesn't want me, but I know he does... don't I?" Her voice wavered, and a tear fell, which she wiped away angrily.

Hope pulled the car over to the side of the road, her heart aching, and turned back, reaching to touch her daughter's hand. "Listen to me, my little angel... your dad has his own problems, but you're my whole world... you don't need him to be strong or loved. You've got me, always!"

Eleanor sniffled, squeezing her mother's hand. "But you get sad because of him and I don't want you to cry, mommy."

Hope smiled, her eyes glistening, and leaned forward to kiss her daughter's forehead. "Sometimes I cry because I love you so much it doesn't fit inside me! You make me happy, Ellie. Listen, how about we grab some ice cream and you tell me what teacher Josie's taught you so far?"

Eleanor gave a shy smile and nodded. "Auntie Josie's cool. She said I can play like a rockstar!" Hope laughed, her heart a little lighter, and started the car, the image of Josie lingering in her mind like a mystery.

• ❅ •

Night, 9:03 PM, Josie Saltzman's Apartment

The soft glow of the lamp cast trembling shadows over the piano, its chipped varnish faintly gleaming in the yellowish light. Crumpled papers, filled with unfinished lyrics, littered the top, some spilling onto the floor like autumn leaves.

The scent of marshmallows, from an extinguished candle, mingled with the heavy warmth of the night, seeping through the half-open window, carrying the distant chirping of crickets.

Josie played that new song she wrote called "A Thousand Years," her fingers dancing with an urgency that hurt her soul, the lyrics cutting her like a blade:

"And all along I believed I would find you,  

Time has brought your heart to me...

Each note was a trapped cry, a longing that consumed her more and more. The void in her chest was an abyss, and Josie felt adrift, as if searching for something she'd never had.

The image of the redhead from her dream returned, those blue eyes that seemed to know her better than she knew herself. When had she lost herself like this?

Suddenly, the door opened and Chris walked in, his suit slightly rumpled, his phone glued to his ear, his voice falsely warm. "Yeah, let's schedule the dinner for tomorrow. Perfect." He hung up, tossed his jacket onto the couch, and looked at Josie with a tired smile. "Hey, babe. Still up? Composing?"

Josie stopped, her fingers hovering over the keys, her heart racing faster. The frustration, simmering for months, rose to her throat, but she tried to hold back. "You're late again, Chris... do you forget I exist?" she questioned, her voice low.

Chris sighed, slumping onto the couch, legs crossed with a casualness that irritated her. "Babe, I'm swamped with the campaign. You know how it is, just until the elections."

The brunette laughed, a bitter sound, her fingers gripping the notebook so tightly the paper crumpled. "I know how it is?! It's been five months since you touched me, Chris! Five months of me trying to talk properly, to hug you and you turn to your phone or walk out the door! Do you remember the last time we had dinner together? I do, because I cried alone afterward."

Chris rubbed his forehead, his face hardening, his eyes flicking to his phone, which buzzed with a new message. "Josie, you're overreacting! It's temporary! After the elections, I'll make it up to you, I promise! We'll go on a trip, just the two of us."

The anger erupted, and Josie stood, tears burning her eyes, her voice breaking. "Make it up to me? I don't want promises, Chris! I want to feel you, I want you to want me, to see me! Four years and I'm a ghost in your life! When did I stop being enough?!"

He hesitated, standing, his eyes cold, almost impatient. "Josie, you're being dramatic! Listen, I don't have time for this now." He approached, placing his hands on her shoulders, his touch mechanical, without warmth. "We'll talk better tomorrow, okay? I've got a dinner with sponsors now."

Josie stepped back a little, tears streaming down her face. "Go, then, but don't expect me to wait for you forever."

Chris kissed her forehead, an empty gesture, grabbed his jacket, and left without looking back. The door closed with a click that echoed almost like an end.

Josie collapsed onto the couch, her body shaking, her hands covering her face completely. "When did I lose myself?" she murmured, her voice swallowed by the silence, as the red thread glowed, as if calling her to another place — or another person.

• ❅ •

Next Morning, 8:00 AM, Mystic Falls School

The school courtyard simmered under the sun, the hot asphalt exuding a tarry smell that mixed with the scent of dry grass carried by the breeze. Kids ran, their high-pitched voices filling the air, while colorful backpacks swung on their shoulders, some falling to the ground with giggles.

Josie exited through the side door, her chestnut hair loose over a light red blouse, her forgotten bag in the car forcing her to turn back. She felt the red thread pulse again, strong, almost visible, and stopped, her heart racing, her breath caught in her throat.

She looked around, her brown eyes searching for something — someone — in the crowd of parents and kids. In the distance, a red-haired figure stepped out of a black car, her hair glinting in the sun, but the crowd swallowed her before Josie could make out her face. The red thread stretched, hot, as if pulling her, and Josie pressed a hand to her chest, the longing gripping her like a claw tearing through.

Hope, parking in the courtyard, felt the same vibration, like an electric current running up her arm. The melody from the previous early morning echoed in her mind, so clear it seemed to play right there, and an ancient void overtook her, deep, as if she'd lost something centuries ago. "Why do I feel like she's here?" she murmured, her hands gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles white.

Evie, in the passenger seat, frowned, her floral dress flowing, her black hair tied in a loose bun. "You okay, Hope? You've been out of it since yesterday." Hope nodded, but her blue eyes scanned the courtyard, searching for a figure she didn't even know how to picture.

Josie was already walking away, her steps slow, her bag bumping against her hip, the red thread stretching further between them, a bond that trembled but didn't break.

For a moment, the Mikaelson glanced in the rearview mirror, and the brunette turned, feeling that same familiar void. But distance won, and the moment passed, leaving only the promise of a meeting that fate was holding in store.

• ❅ •

Afternoon, 3:00 PM, Mystic Brew 

Earlier that morning, the Mystic Brew café was buzzing with life, the aroma of roasted coffee mingling with the smell of freshly baked pastries. Wooden tables creaked under the weight of mugs and plates, and the sound of muffled laughter filled the air.

Elizabeth Saltzman, her blonde hair loose and a blue dress highlighting her eyes, laughed at a joke from Milton Greasley, or MG, as everyone called him. To her left, Kaleb Hawkins and Jed Tien, holding hands, exchanged knowing glances, the silver ring on Jed's finger glinting in the light.

"Babe, you've got to check out the new gallery that opened yesterday!" MG said, his glasses slipping down his nose as he gestured. "I saw a poster this morning while having breakfast but it looked like it wasn't fully ready yet!"

Kaleb nodded, his deep voice brimming with enthusiasm. "Jed and I stopped by today! It's got amazing paintings and an artsy vibe that's totally your thing."

Jed smiled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Plus, Evie, who runs the place, I think, is a sweetheart! You'll love her."

Lizzie tilted her head, intrigued, tapping her fingers on her mug. "Hmm, maybe I'll swing by before heading back to the studio. Thanks, guys" she laughed, ruffling MG's hair.

After half an hour, she said goodbye to everyone and while walking, her mind was already planning the visit.

At the gallery, the afternoon sun poured through tall windows, making the paintings gleam like stained glass. The scent of fresh varnish mixed with a fruity perfume, perhaps Evie's, who moved with precision, arranging frames with steady hands.

The sound of boxes being opened echoed, blended with the giggles of Eleanor Mikaelson, who darted between the artworks, nearly bumping into a bronze sculpture.

"Careful, Ellie!" Evie called, laughing, as she adjusted a canvas. But she noticed a female figure who'd been inside for a good while, a bag slung over her shoulder, her curious eyes scanning the space. Deciding to introduce herself and see if any help was needed, she approached. "Welcome! I'm Evie Young, I noticed you're interested in the pieces. Need any help?"

Lizzie smiled, extending her hand. "Elizabeth Saltzman, pleasure. I heard about the gallery when I was lunch and had to come see it. I loved all the displayed works, I'll admit, but my biggest curiosity is about what's behind that black curtain over there?" she pointed to a closed-off area, where the light barely penetrated.

Evie hesitated briefly but then smiled. "Come on, I'll introduce you to Ms. Mikaelson. She can explain it better."

In an instant, Evie led the blonde to a red-haired woman organizing brushes on a table, her hair half-loose falling over a rumpled linen blouse. "Hope, this is Elizabeth, she's curious about the gallery's closed section."

Hope looked up, her blue eyes flashing with a mix of caution and curiosity. "Hope Mikaelson, pleasure" she said, wiping her hands on a paint-stained cloth. "Well, the closed area is for works by world-renowned artists. And soon, if all goes as planned, I'll have some of my own displayed there."

Lizzie tilted her head, feeling a strange familiarity with the redhead, as if she'd seen those eyes before. She brushed it off, smiling. "That's amazing! Look, I'm a photographer and I'm organizing an exhibition in two days, and I think you should come! It'll have artists from all over!"

Hope crossed her arms, a bit hesitant, the red thread pulsing on her finger again, a warmth spreading up her arm. "I'm not sure it's my kind of thing. I'm more of a stay-in-the-studio or at-home type."

Lizzie laughed, making some lively gestures. "Oh, you'll love it! My twin, Josie, she's a music teacher and will probably play one of her original songs! Yeah, yeah, she's shy, I know, but when she plays or sings... well... it breaks anyone's heart!"

The name Josie made Hope freeze, the melody echoing in her mind again, and the red thread glowed, almost visible. She glanced discreetly at a canvas in the corner — the brunette figure she'd painted the previous early morning. Who is this woman who won't let me go?, she thought.

Evie stepped in quickly, resting a hand on Hope's shoulder. "Go, Hope. It'll do you good to meet new people and Eleanor's so excited!" she smiled at the girl, who approached, holding a drawing of a drum set with a red thread. "But if it makes you feel better, I can come too." 

"It's for Aunt Josie!" Eleanor said proudly, showing the paper. "Mommy, you've got to meet her! She's the best teacher in the world!"

Lizzie ruffled Eleanor's hair, laughing. "See? Even Eleanor agrees! You can't say no now!"

Hope hesitated, the void in her chest giving way to a promise she didn't understand. She looked at Eleanor, the drawing in her daughter's hand like a thread pulling her toward destiny. "Alright, alright" she said, her voice soft but firm. "We'll go."

Eleanor grinned, hugging her, and Hope knew the next day would bring more than an exhibition — it would bring the start of something that would change everything.