Picking up a hairbrush, she looked into the mirror and froze. For a moment, she held her breath, examining the almost-stranger in the mirror.
She looked older. Not too old, but like she was in her mid-twenties. Her hair was shorter, falling just past her chin, and there were a few tiny lines beginning at the corners of her eyes, as if she’d been squinting in the sun. Elena tilted her head, watching the swing of her hair against her cheek. She looked good, she thought.
In the life she’d lived with Stefan, Elena had drunk the Waters of Eternal Life and Youth at age eighteen, and stopped getting older. Stopped changing. She hadn’t wanted to age while Stefan stayed young, had wanted to be by his side for eternity.
It had been the right choice when they had been together. After Stefan had been killed, it had seemed like living death to go on without him forever, to never grow old or have the possibility of having children. Now she would get to change. She had grown up, and she would keep aging.
As she turned away from the mirror, Elena’s gaze fell upon something on her bedside table that she hadn’t seen before: a golden ball, just the right size to fit comfortably in her palm. Picking it up, Elena pressed the catch and watched the ball unfold into a small golden hummingbird set with gems.
The music box Damon had given her.
Was it possible? Had they found each other again, somewhere in the intervening years between Fell’s Church and now? Her heart began to pound wildly, full of hope.
Carefully, she put the music box back on the table. There was a crisply folded note next to where it had stood. Elena picked the note up with shaking hands and unfolded it.
Well done, Elena. Here is a small souvenir of your past life, as a token of our regard. Enjoy your humanity—you’ve earned it. I hope you find your true destiny. Mylea
The Celestial Guardians had given her a piece of the life she had lost. It was a kind gesture, she knew, but it pierced a whole in her heart. A token could never replace the love she had sacrificed. No home could be home without someone to share it with.
Stepping out onto the balcony, Elena gazed over the city before her, and felt her mouth drop open. Far away, over the rooftops, she could just glimpse the Eiffel Tower.
“Hideous,” she suddenly remembered Damon saying, that last day together in Paris. “A truly tragic streetlamp.”
Elena stifled a giggle. She thought it was beautiful, anyway.
Wow. She lived in Paris.
Energized, Elena turned to the task of figuring out just who Elena Gilbert was in this new future. She rifled through her drawers, read her own papers, sorted through the mail. Rummaging through the cupboards and refrigerator, she devoured the chewy bread, soft cheese, and crisp fruit she found inside.
By the time a couple of hours had passed, she knew that she worked at an art gallery. She had an undergraduate degree in art history, from the Université de Paris. Apparently, Elena had come to Paris for a junior year abroad from the University of Virginia—not Dalcrest College—and never left, finishing her education here.
She had lived alone in this apartment for two years, according to her lease. There were notes from friends in both English and French—and it was a relief to realize that she could read French much more fluently than she had been able to in her old life. Elena smiled over a gossipy birthday card from Aunt Judith that made it clear that she and Robert and Margaret were just as happy in this life as in Elena’s previous one.
There was no sign of any romance. Elena’s heart ached a little at that. But who could she have loved after the Salvatore brothers?
Just as Elena was sweeping papers back into her desk drawers, there was a tapping at her front door.
Leaping up, Elena rushed toward it. It was Bonnie, she was sure of it, or Meredith. She could picture them here. Meredith probably had helped Elena pick out the chic outfits. Bonnie must have cast a protection spell over the whole apartment.
She flung open the door.
“Elena!” said the dark-haired girl on the other side, her arms full of shopping bags. Elena had never seen her before. She kissed Elena enthusiastically on each cheek in greeting. “Can I leave these here? Come on, we’ll be late.”
She said it all in French, very fast, and Elena was relieved to realize she spoke and understood French as well as she read it.
A name popped into Elena’s head, along with a remembered warm affection. “Veronique,” she greeted her friend. “Where are we going?”
Veronique made a little moue of pretended offense. “You forgot our Sunday lunch?” she asked. “The others are probably already there.”
The restaurant at which they had lunch was as stylish and tasteful as the rest of Elena’s new life. The two friends waiting for them there were as lovely as Veronique was. They jumped to their feet and kissed Veronique and Elena on both cheeks, laughing. Elena laughed with them, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that these were people she loved.
She just wished she could remember them properly.
After a few minutes she got them all straight. Veronique was talkative and bossy, with a quick, good-humored smile. She was a stockbroker, and she and Elena had been roommates in college. Elena had a flash of memory: Veronique, softer and younger, her hair tied up in a sloppy bun, hollow-eyed from staying up late studying for exams.
Lina was quieter and more soft-spoken, with huge dreamy eyes and long light-brown hair. She worked at the gallery with Elena and was the niece of the owner.
And Manon, sharp-witted and sarcastic with very short, very pale blonde hair, was a graduate student at the Sorbonne, doing a joint degree in art history and law. She had gone to university with Elena and Veronique.