Pink

When I woke up again, there was a change of clothes on the antique sofa - a faded pair of jeans, purple t-shirt and a flimsy jacket. It didn't look like anything of mine so I assumed that it had belonged to someone the Salvatore brothers may have killed. Getting to my feet, I looked down at the lint and gauze that had covered my shoulder with a keen sense of disgust. Despite all that I had seen, I still found the sight of blood distasteful. Peeling the plaster off, I threw the blood filled gauze into a corner and rubbed my shoulder. Dressed, I opened the door and made my way to the hallway.

The house was large, I would give them that much. A little too grand for my taste, but definitely ancient. Must have been one of those colonial - passed - down - generations type of deal. I wondered what generation the brothers would have been a part of and then decided that I didn't need to know. The way vampires looked and their real age had an awful way of not correlating at all.

I found the winding staircase with little difficulty and padded down the carpeted steps rather hesitantly. Mama had told me that I could trust these vampires, well, one of them at least. She had told me that they would find some way to help me, and know exactly what I meant when I told them about the Originals. Even more so, these vampires would be the ones to lead me to the one Original that I needed to meet; Klaus. The Original Half Breed. I shuddered at the prospect.

Surprisingly, the bottom floor was devoid of life. Or undead life, if you wanted to get technical.

I did a quick sweep of the rooms, found one locked; didn't want to snoop, and made my way to the obvious kitchen. The room looked crappy; a dusty collection of put together cabinets, a double door refrigerator and an old countertop. There was no stove or oven. It just finally dawned on me that with two vampires living together like the brothers, the kitchen was naturally expendable. It was just my luck to be starving hungry with no money and no one to call for help. I thought fleetingly of Harry once more, then pushed the sadness away. There had been enough of that.

Walking over to the window by the front door, I peeked out the corner of the curtain and hissed when the morning light caught me off guard. The blinding whiteness incapacitated me temporarily and shuffling backwards, I kept my eyes squeezed shut for as long as possible. Without my shades, my disorder had me as powerless as the demons I despised in the bright sun.

The brick wall that hit me knocked the air out of my lungs and with eyes still smarting, I spun around. Stefan Salvatore, the younger brother, stood before me; dark features fixed in an expressionless drawing. "Are you okay?" he asked, moving a hand forward. Taking a step back, I shot his hand, and then him, a dirty look. He watched me for a minute then said, "Damon's out."

I said nothing. Finally, standing before me, was the infamous Stefan Salvatore that I'd so often heard about. Back when Mum had realized just how many vampires were out there, and how closely connected we were to their kind, she'd made sure that I knew about the going ons of the world that while she publicly and privately acknowledged, wanted me to never be a part of.

"Our job is to observe and keep watch, Miranda," she always told me. "Never get involved. Never get connected."

But she had gotten involved, hadn't she? Too involved. My mind went back to that moment, the blood and the pain and I blinked. No more, I told myself. No more.

Stefan's impatient voice broke through the reverie."We got the phone call from your mother too late. If we had known earlier, Damon would have done something."

I didn't miss that he had conveniently left himself out, "You and my mother were never good friends, were you?"

The man's face was stone cold - "No, we were not. We hated each other, actually."

"I remember her telling me something about Damon having a vegetarian douche bag of a brother," the grin I gave him was as fake as the facade he was putting up. He snickered, "I'm not "vegetarian" anymore, if it helps any."

I shook my head, "It doesn't. It's still blood either way." And the distaste I felt for the substance crept it's way into my expression. Stefan looked amused, "Funny that," he pointed at my face, "coming from a Pierce. Your family has a way of sucking the life out of things."

It was my turn to laugh, "You just had the misfortune of being duped by one, Stefan. And it's my mother's family, mind you. Not mine. I was just born into the wrong genetic line."

He waved his hand dismissively. "You say potatoe, I say tomatoe."

"That doesn't make sense," I told him flatly, all humour gone from the room now.

"My brother doesn't keep friends, mind you," Stefan said after a moment of silence, "he just uses people and then disposes of them. I don't know what his deal with your mother was." He had turned and was making his way to the liquor cabinet. I almost kicked myself because I hadn't noticed it before. The glass shelves were filled with almost every spirit known to man. Imagine throwing a party with that stock lying around. I watched him pull out a tumbler of whiskey and pour himself a shot, "Gimme one of that, would you?"

He smirked up at me, "Aren't you a little too young?" I just stared at him. Of course I was "a little too young," but if he thought that that was going to stop me then he was sorely mistaken. "You don't have any food in this house," I said instead, as if that was supposed to justify my having a drink at god-knew-what 'o'clock in the morning.

He shrugged and poured me a glass. "Suit yourself."

Swallowing the burning amber liquid and feeling it settle in was pure heaven. There was nothing like it. I hadn't had a decent drink in ages. Finishing the whiskey, I handed Stefan the glass for a refill. He cocked an eyebrow and poured me another. My stomach started on a rampant march. Fuck, was I hungry or what.

"So, how does this vegatarian thing work?" I said, looking through the bottles in the liquor cabinet. Stefan walked to the sofas and took a seat. Grabbing the oldest label I found, I followed him and took the seat opposite his. Opening up the bottle, I poured it's contents into my glass until it was half full, then stopped. Breakfast was served, it seemed like.

Stefan ignored the question and watched me for a second, "Why are you here, Miranda?"

I took a swig out of the bottle before replying, "That's a good question."

The man waited. Taking another swig, I looked up at him.

"I'm here because my mother thought that you would be able to protect me."

Stefan raised an eyebrow. I could almost see the scoff spew out of those lips. My grip on the glass tightened and I looked to the wall. Anything was better than the expression he was giving right then.

"Why would your mother think that we'd protect you? Well, definitely not me..." he followed that with a lazy once over, "but Damon? Have you met my brother?"

I ground my teeth and set the bottle down on the coffee table that separated our seats. Yes, I'd met him. He had murdered the only human being that I'd actually ever trusted enough to visit again, after all those years and he'd attacked me. While I was still in my towel. My cheeks burned at the memory but I fought to keep the blush away. Stefan was watching me like one would a slightly amusing puppet show.

"Well..." I started, but couldn't finish. Why had my mother thought the Salvatore brothers capable of an emotion other than self loathing and - I glanced quickly at Stefan - self righteousness? It was obvious that Stefan wanted no part of the drama that my person brought. I couldn't blame him. I wanted no part of the drama that my person was bringing myself. How could I ask that of a total stranger?

"Because Stefan..." Damon's voice cut through the silent room like a knife. Both Stefan and I turned to see him standing behind my seat, eyes boring through mine. I gulped. Something about the man made me feel terribly self conscious, and inexplicably frustrated. A very large part of me still wanted to kill him. The smaller, more rational part was trying to calm that part down.

"...Courtney Pierce pissed off some very, very powerful ex-friends of ours." He grabbed the bottle from my hand, closed the cap and put it back into the liquor cabinet. Stefan looked up at his brother, confused.

"The Tomb Vampires? I thought they'd all died?"

Damon chuckled, "Wrong guess, right Miranda?"

And they both glanced at me. I let my empty hand fall to my lap and looked at the rug beneath my feet. I wondered what difference my answer would make to their reply to my mother's last request. If they turned me down, after how far I'd come, I wouldn't know what else to do. The plan in my head hadn't been worked out that far ahead. It had just ended at getting to the Salvatores'.

I nodded.

"What did Courtney do, Miranda?" Stefan asked. His voice had turned angry and if his expression was anything to come by, I had a pretty good guess that he knew what I was going to say next.

"She stole something from someone." The words were barely a whisper. I could still see that night play out in my mind. The fear, the torture, the pain in my mother's eyes when she realized that I was still in the house.

"Tell him who she stole it from, little girl." Damon edged on. I gave him the most scathing glare that I could and looked up at Stefan.

"Rebekah Mikaelson. She stole it from Rebekah Mikaelson."

"And what did she steal?" It was Damon again, in that condascending way that I was beginning to learn belonged only to him.

"The stake Michael carved from the white oak tree."

A moment of silence followed.

"And why would you need our protection?" Stefan had already looked away. My story, I could tell, was beginning to bore him. He had had his share of Original family. He wasn't looking to add any more to it; not for my sake at least.

"Because I killed Rebekah and Elijiah; and now, she's after me for revenge."

"It gets better after this," Damon told his brother. I didn't bother looking back at the man.

"Who's coming after you?"

I sucked in the deepest breath I could and met Stefan's gaze dead on.

"The Original Witch."