I do not own TVD or TO.

Wow... it's been four months since I've updated this story. Which is weird because it pops into my head at least once or twice a day.

I don't know about everyone else who writes, but I've found that being stuck in self isolation has actually given me writer's block. I'll either be staring at my laptop or a blank sheet of paper and have no inspiration, or be half asleep in the middle of the night and full of inspiration.

Something about being stuck inside. It's just different when it's not your choice keeping you home, you know?

Anyway, I've gotten off topic.

Here is the newest chapter of SAF, several weeks and writing sessions in the making. There's some cuteness, some ELEJAH, some KLAROLINE and some hope for the hopeless.

January 24, 2013

Warm sunlight streamed through the window and kissed her pale skin. She knew without opening her eyes that she was bathed in gold. She also knew that a pair of eyes watched her, examining every dip and curve of her body from the mussed hair around her face to the sheet draped dangerously low on her hips.

She stretched her arms, arching her spine in a decidedly feline gesture.

Giddy amusement bubbled through her chest, and she cracked one eye open in search of the growl that had accompanied her stretch.

"You're up early," she smiled. Every muscle longed to borough into the blankets until dawn gave way to noon – or at least a good cup of coffee.

Why did he have to be an early riser?

"The morning sun offers the best light," his eyes darted to the canvas. He added a touch of red to his creation, stealing more than one look toward the bed. "Don't move; I'm almost finished."

"That won't be a problem," she mumbled, closing her open eye.

Without a proper wake up call she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. She had every intention of laying there until he brought her a cup of coffee, or woke her in another way with a pleasant shock to her system. She just had to doze and wait for him to finish.

Doze and finish... doze... finish...

Finish?

She pushed up on her elbows and flipped over, eyeing the easel and paint stained hands with an uncomprehending suspicion.

"What are you doing?" Her bleary eyes narrowed.

He gave her a cheeky grin, turning the canvas for her inspection.

"I saw an opportunity and had to immortalize the moment."

She squinted at the paint, still wet in places. Slowly, the image came into focus: tousled curls, smooth skin and a sated smile. The intensity of her shriek was matched by her flush.

"Klaus!"

Elena rolled her eyes and passed into the compound's kitchen. She wished she could say that it was the first time Caroline's voice had rudely interrupted a deceptively peaceful morning, but sadly it was a common occurrence.

Somebody always yelled to kick off the daily dose of chaos.

The typical instigators were Caroline, Kol and Miranda.

"Good morning."

She looked up to meet Elijah's laughing eyes.

"Morning," she grinned, circling around the island and lifting her chin to meet him halfway in a kiss. "Any idea what that was about?"

"No, but I don't hear screaming," he steadied Miranda where she perched on the counter. "Or any other sign of a fight so they can sort it out for themselves. I have my hands full right here."

"I can see that," she surveyed the counter. Miranda took up a small portion of it, but ingredients covered the rest. "What are you two up to?"

Miranda patted the glass bowl at her knee and lifted the whisk with both hands.

"She was just about to mix the pancakes, right sweetheart?"

"Mix," she grinned. Her small hands brought the whisk down in the centre of the bowl.

Flour and sugar billowed up in a cloud. Milk and egg splashed the counter, and the family found themselves covered in powder.

"Okay," Elena wiped flour from her giggling girl's nose, "I think we need to review the difference between hit and mix."

One of these days she would stop joining them for practice and lessons.

Some day soon she would no longer be subjected to the scorn and scrutiny of her ex-best friend.

There would come a time when she didn't need them, when she understood the power she possessed.

The day was coming; it had to be coming, but sometimes it felt like an eternity away. There were never ending moments that made the time stretch on forever.

She fell into one when Monique had sat up and rolled her eyes at the genuine concern because 'no, Davina, I was obviously not possessed,' and 'I was channeling the ancestors' and 'how are you ever going to be a decent witch if you can't tell the difference between channeling and possession?'.

To be fair she hadn't said the last one out loud, but her eyes had spoken volumes.

Shame Monique clammed up after that, insisting on waiting for Genevieve before revealing what the ancestors had wanted from them.

Personally, she thought Monique was trying to annoy her into leaving, but that made her want to stay all the more.

"Will you just tell us already?" Davina grumbled after twenty minutes, hating the way Monique looked at her, hating the way it made her feel two inches tall.

"We can fill Genevieve in later," Cassie added.

She thought it was meant to be helpful, but it shaved an inch off her height; at the current rate she was liable to vanish into thin air.

Monique would love that.

"What do the ancestors want?" Davina twirled a candle between her fingers, igniting and extinguishing the flame with a thought.

"A harvest girl who is actually worthy of the honor," Monique smiled. Her velvet tone was edged with steel.

"How about one who's not a bitch?" She snapped; the candle flared up three inches, catching her hair. She dropped it with a shriek and tried to smother the flame with her hand.

Cassie summoned water from a nearby can, dropping it on Davina's hair.

"How about one who can handle her power?" Monique sneered.

"Some Harvest witch of fire you turned out to be."

"Screw you, Monique," she spat, leaping to her feet. She stormed toward the door with her heart pounding in her ears.

"I thought you wanted to know what the ancestors said."

"Fill me in later.'"

She ignored the laughter, veered around Genevieve and stomped through the cemetery in a blind rage. She was somewhere in the middle of the older district when she managed to calm down.

An accented voice cut through her pounding pulse.

"If I give you my jacket are you going to make my blood boil?"

"What?" She blinked; Kol came into focus, leaning against the Gatreaux tomb.

"My jacket," he took the garment off, holding it out and dropping it around her shoulders. "You're soaked through."

"Just my hair and shirt," she muttered. She held the dark material closed, grateful for the warmth even if her tongue wouldn't let her say it. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," he nodded. "What about why the left side of your hair is burnt to your shoulder?" She shot him a loaded look and he held out his hands. "I can take a hint, but you might want to get that fixed before the feast."

"What feast?"

"The Feast of the Blessings," he smirked, waving one hand. "It's your grand introduction to society; Genevieve just cleared the festival."

She caught a glimpse of the charred tresses near her chin.

"I guess that means I need a haircut."

"Do you ever feel like people are staring at you?" Her voice was rough with anxiety. "Or has living in the same house as Klaus made me paranoid?"

"You're not paranoid," Elijah glanced over his shoulder. Half a dozen faces jerked away in an attempt to hide their blatant stares, but he caught a few people watching Elena. "And I will deny this vehemently if you ever mention it to Niklaus, but his paranoia is justified more often than not."

"No wonder he always thinks he's right," she muttered.

"We try not to stoke his ego too much."

Miranda swung her legs back and forth and watched the bright colours pass by. She could hear Mama and Daddy; they were pushing her. She tipped her head back to blink up at them and tugged at the straps holding her down.

"You want out, baby?"

"We're almost there," He smiled when she nodded eagerly.

Elijah turned the stroller to the left and followed the line of the sidewalk until they reached a set of automatic doors that swung open for them.

"Really?" Elena read the sign on the window, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth.

"I thought she'd enjoy it," he parked the stroller off to the side.

Miranda squirmed around a bit, anxious to get on the floor and explore – to see something more than the wall in front of her – but once Daddy sat her down she wrapped her arms around his leg.

"I thought you wanted to walk," he stood, giving his leg a gentle shake.

She giggled, but held on tighter. There were a lot of people inside, people she didn't know, and a few of them were little like her, but most were as big as Mama and Daddy; she didn't want either of them to get lost, so she reached for Mama and held on tight to her boot.

"Are you a little nervous?" Elena went with the small arm, stepping into her husband's space and feeling a small thrill curl down her spine; she hoped she never got tired of calling him her husband.

"You haven't been shy for some time now," he bent, lifting Miranda up.

She settled into Daddy's arm and reached over, holding tight to Mama's sleeve until she was satisfied that she had a good grip on both of them and was certain that neither of them could get lost.

She forgot all about holding Mama and Daddy when a man opened a door next to Mama because behind it bright colours spilled out.

"B'fly," she pointed.

"I told you she'd like it," he held the door open for Elena.

"It was a pretty safe bet," she trailed her fingers over some plants. Two bright blue butterflies took flight, causing Miranda to clap her hands – delight shone in her eyes.

The next thirty minutes were spent following their seventeen month old daughter through the butterfly house, lifting her up high when a peacock butterfly was too far away to see and getting down on the floor to pull back some grass so they could all get a good look at a white one that Elijah said was called a summer azure butterfly.

Elena doubted Miranda cared too much about the particular names of the insects; she just thought they were pretty and was obsessed with trying to catch one. They all evaded capture until one fluttered down from the ceiling to land on the tip of her nose.

Miranda wrinkled her nose, and tried to get a good look at the butterfly tickling her skin. It spread its wings out wide and she blinked up at Mama, smiling when she saw her picture being taken.

"Daddy?" She pointed at her nose.

"That one is a Glasswing butterfly," he smiled, poking the tip of her nose.

Elena sat down, leaning on her hip, and watched Elijah pull Miranda into his arms; the butterfly crawled along his finger and into his palm.

"What?" He glanced up from his hand.

"Nothing," she tilted her head.

"Elena."

"Mama?" Miranda tipped her head, mimicking her Mama's stance.

"It's nothing," her eyes sparkled. "I'm just enjoying the calm." Chatter and laughter surrounded them, children ran from one side of the enclosure to the other.

"Calm?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"This is calm." She nodded. "I was certain when Caroline yelled we'd be in for a chaotic day, but this is nice. It's the first we've really been out since coming here."

"Are you missing the founding events?" He bounced Miranda gently.

"Not really," she shook her head. "Honestly, I never really cared for them, at least not the ones specifically for founding families; there was always too much drama. I did like the town events though."

"Then you might enjoy tonight."

A butterfly with bright blue wings fluttered around them.

"Let me guess, some festival that New Orleans is famous for?" She slipped her phone into her back pocket, and held up her hand. Her heart skipped a beat when the butterfly landed on her finger; she slowly lowered her hand so Miranda could look at it.

"A feast day, actually." The Glasswing flew away, so he used his hands to refasten the clips in Miranda's hair. "The witches have many holidays that they celebrate, but under Marcel's rule they were unable to observe them. Genevieve has asked that the Feast of the Blessings be the first."

"I'm thinking she didn't clear this with you."

"She went through Kol," he nodded. "Not that I would have raised an objection."

Elena arched an eyebrow.

"After what she did to Klaus and Rebekah?"

"They suffered unspeakable torment at her hands, it's true," he dropped his voice to a whisper as a couple of children tiptoed closer, fascinated by the butterfly on the tip of Elena's finger, "but without Genevieve and the Harvest girls I would have lost you. Raising no objections over a feast day is the least I can do."

"Here," Elena reached out, tipping her finger down so the butterfly walked off her hand to a small blonde haired boy's sleeve. He grinned and shuffled away slowly so as not to dislodge his prize. "So, what is this feast of the blessings?"

"Members of the community offer gifts to witches in exchange for blessings," he stood, holding out a hand to help her up. "Genevieve wants to use it as a forum to introduce the girls to society."

"So… it's a coming out party?"

"In this instance, yes," he nodded.

Miranda yawned, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"What sort of gifts?" She held his hand as they exited the butterfly house.

"Are you looking for a blessing?" He ran his thumb over her knuckles.

"No," she chewed her bottom lip, "but I'd like to get something for Davina. I just have a feeling she won't get much tonight."

She flipped through one textbook and then another, careful to keep her reading material concealed beneath the bar as she did; the last thing she needed was to lose her job. She had enough problems without adding a pressing job search to her plate.

So she stole quick moments to read one paragraph and then another. The progress was slower than she would have liked, but it worked.

She poured out a drink, flashed a flirtatious smile that she didn't feel and turned her attention back to the low counter. A yellow highlighter jumped into her hand; she uncapped it and dragged it over a printed article.

"Are they not giving you enough time for your studies, darling?"

"There's never enough time," she reread the sentence again, and her breath bottled in her chest.

"You're a vampire now, Camille…"

"Thanks to you," she muttered.

"I was attempting to save your life," Kol crossed his arms on the bar, "my apologies for damning you, but the point is you have nothing but time. It's stretching before you endlessly."

"Kieran doesn't," she finally lifted her head.

"Is that what this is about?" He reached behind the counter, plucking the printed pages from her hand. "Or have you switched your major to neuroscience?"

He squinted at the article.

"How do you know that's not abnormal psychology?" She crossed her arms.

"Call it a hunch," he lifted an eyebrow. "What is it you think you've found?"

Cami ran her tongue over her teeth and made an attempt to stifle the string of positivity running through her head. Nothing had worked thus far, so why should this? She wasn't a witch. She knew virtually nothing about magic – other than what she was told. The certified expert stood before her, and odds were that he would crush her theory before it could really get off the ground, but the hope had taken root in her body and refused to leave.

"It's a study – a joint study," she clarified, as if the combined efforts of two entities gave it clout. "UC Berkeley and UC San Francisco found that the administration of this drug," she pointed to a highlighted word, "can change the neurochemical balance in the prefrontal cortex and cause a greater willingness to engage in… prosocial behaviours, and I thought that…" She trailed off when she felt him watching her, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

"You thought that science could undo magic?" He tilted his head.

"You're going to tell me it's stupid, right? The delusional fantasy of a desperate woman trying to save the last family she has."

"Science can't reverse magic, Camille."

"But wasn't it science that created the hex?" She bit down hard, tasted blood on her tongue.

"It was Kemiya, actually," he lowered his eyes, "the intersection of science and spirit that created the rosary."

"Well, couldn't you apply this," she took the pages and crinkled them in her hand, "to that? It's the intersection of science and spirit, so intersect. Take the latest science and cross it with magic. You can do it. You did it a century ago, so do it now."

She didn't realize she was raising her voice until she shoved the article into his chest and noticed several people staring at them both. She took a slow breath and forced her voice to a lower level.

"Can you do it?" She hated the broken whisper, but not as much as the hope that still sparked in her chest. "Please… try…"

Tears gathered in her eyes, clinging to her lashes, and he cursed the day Elena came into his family's life and reawakened emotions in all of them that they hadn't felt in centuries; a hundred years ago a woman's tears wouldn't have affected him at all, but now… now he felt his heart go out to the young vampire who was his friend. The first vampire he had sired – albeit unintentionally – in nearly three hundred years.

"When was the last time you slept?" He walked behind the bar and lifted her chin.

"I… I'm not sure…" she admitted. "I slept before the wedding."

"The wedding?" His eyes widened. "Camille that was a month ago; you need to go home and sleep."

"I can't sleep yet," she shook her head. "There's more research… I just need coffee."

"You need sleep," his grip tightened. He met her eyes, holding her gaze as his pupils dilated. "Go straight home and get in bed; sleep until you're rested."

She took a deep breath when he let go of her chin and would have glared at him, but the caffeine buzz from her midday coffee had worn off and she lacked the energy.

"You compelled me." She reached for her purse.

"I figured you weren't drinking vervain," he smirked. "Now go. I'll talk to the chef and have them call the backup bartender – I assume you have one."

She nodded, already ducking around the counter. "But what about…"

Kol cut her off, waving the article before folding it and tucking it in his pocket.

"We'll discuss this further after you've slept."

He waited until she was gone before slipping into the kitchen and telling the chef Camille had gone home sick. With that taken care of he left Rousseau's and took off down the street toward the salon he had dropped Davina at.

He saw her through the window as the stylist finished up, arranging the dark waves in a shoulder length imitation of her pre-burn cut.

He leaned against the brick wall to wait for her and started searching through his phone for the number Elijah had programed in, but that he had yet to use. He struggled to locate it among the names in his contacts and the fact that he couldn't quite remember the man's name was not helping matters.

He was halfway through his list of contacts when something hit his knee. He lowered his phone and cocked an eyebrow.

"Where did you come from, bunny?"

Miranda grinned, hugging his leg tighter; he suspected that given the right amount of leverage she might have attempted to climb.

"Did you run off on Mama and Daddy?" He crouched, poking the tip of her nose.

"We figured she'd be safe crossing a ten foot span of space," Elena came to a stop beside him, smirking when he tipped his head up. "There must be something really interesting on your phone if you didn't see us coming."

"I was looking for a number," he stood, bringing Miranda up and placing her on his hip. "The problem is that I can't remember the pilot's name."

"Flying somewhere, brother?" Elijah dragged his fingers up and down Elena's spine, enjoying the quiver beneath her skin.

"Commercial not good enough for you?" Elena teased.

"It's not fast enough."

"Vina!"

Miranda pitched sideways, curling her fingers in Davina's hair. It was bouncier than normal; less of it somehow.

"Hi," Davina managed a small smile for Miranda. She gently pulled her hair free, lifting her eyes to Kol. "You're flying somewhere?"

"I'm following up on a lead for Kieran."

"Can I come?"

"Aren't you being introduced to society tonight?" Elena leaned a little closer to Elijah. Her eyes flickered to where Miranda carefully stroked Davina's hair.

"Helping Kieran sounds a lot more fun than being on display for the coven's ridicule," she shrugged.

"It won't be that bad."

"It will be that bad because everybody hates me," she spun on her heel and stomped down the street toward Rousseau's.

The vehemence, the conviction, behind Davina's words had anger thundering through Elena, and she clenched her fists to keep from following and allowing the whip to crack at the young witch. It wasn't her fault; it was the witches' and her so called 'friends'.

Her nails left behind crescent moons in her palms. She took a deep breath and uncurled her fingers.

"I'll meet you back at the house," she murmured. She paused long enough to kiss Miranda's cheek and then hurried after Davina.

"Hey." She caught the young witch's arm, pulling her to a stop at the opening of an alley.

"Just leave me alone," she tried to reclaim her arm, eyes focused on the ground.

"I'm not going to leave you alone thinking that everybody hates you because they don't." Elena held her elbows and ducked her head, trying to catch Davina's eyes.

"The witches do," she stared at Elena's necklace. She hated the way her bottom lip trembled. She hated the stinging in her eyes.

"The witches are idiots," she scoffed. "And I bet every single one of them would have done the exact same thing you did if they had been in your position at the Harvest."

"Would they?" She shook her head. "I'm the one that kept them under Marcel's thumb."

"You were scared," she pressed her thumbs into the soft inside of Davina's arms, "and angry. And… hey, look at me," she caught her chin when she tried to look away. She was unsure what it said for the girl's mental state when she let Elena handle her; maybe it was the 'mom' tone she used that kept her from experiencing boiling blood.

"I want you to listen to me, Davina Claire."

Davina's eyes flickered up and down, noting the way Elena's face had set.

"For every person that doesn't like you, for every person that treats you horribly, there is another one who loves you. Marcel loves you, Josh and Cami love you, and I love you, and I know a houseful of people that love you."

"What about the witches?" She shook her head. "I don't want to sit there and have them all whisper about me. Nobody's gonna be giving me a gift for a blessing tonight. I'm not a pillar of the community Elena. I'm someone who's tolerated because she has to be. If I wasn't a Harvest witch I would have been shunned by now."

"So why don't you shun them?" She linked their arms together, pulling Davina into step with her down the street.

"I can't do that," she shook her head. "They're my coven, and I need them. I need people to teach me how this power works."

"You've got me and Freya," Elena tilted her head. "And Kol's a pretty good teacher; you wouldn't believe the knowledge in his head after a thousand years."

"But neither of you practice ancestral magic," she scowled.

"You're right. We don't," Elena smiled softly. It faded slightly when she looked at Davina. "I'm pretty sure Kol would know a thing or two about ancestral magic though, but if you want to stay and learn from Genevieve and the other Harvest then that's your choice, but don't let their attitude get to you and know that you can leave whenever you want. It might take you longer to learn with us, but you'll know that we all love you."

"For now it's nice to know that I'm coming home to that," she rested her head on Elena's shoulder. The shortened strands of hair tickled her nose in the wind. "I can already hear the quips about this," she wrapped a lock of hair around her finger.

"What quips?" Elena frowned. "I dare them to say one negative thing about your beautiful new haircut. I think it suits you. What could they possibly say about it?"

"Monique could ask if they got rid of all the burnt bits," Davina sighed, before launching into a recount of what had happened.

"She shouldn't have treated you like that," Elena exhaled slowly. Monique Deveraux was one witch she wouldn't have minded lashing out at. "Your uh… your candles might disappear later."

The comment had the desired effect, drawing a giggle from Davina.

"Now why don't we go back to the compound and pick out a nice dress for tonight?"

"Alright, Monique," Genevieve crossed her arms, "the coven has gathered," her eyes flickered to the remnants of their people. "What is so important that you decided to take charge and call a meeting – without Davina?"

"They didn't want her involved," Monique sneered. The tone of voice she used was meant to be regal, but the petulant light in her eye cut down on her authority. "I communed with the ancestors, and they have decreed that the Harvest was not enough – not with the heavy losses suffered before the completion of the reaping."

"I see," Genevieve's brows lowered. "And what is it they want? How are we to supplement our power?"

"They want an offering," Monique lifted her chin.

"A sacrifice, you mean?" Genevieve sighed. "Let me guess. They wish for me to return by sacrificing myself for the good of the community."

"They were very clear about who they wanted as an offering," she took a deep breath, puffing out her chest. "It was not you they called for."

Since it's been a few months (haha 1/4 of a year) I don't quite remember everything, so I'm going to ask if they're are any glaring plotholes that I haven't filled in yet if you would leave me a review or send me a PM and just remind me of them because I would hate to finish this story and leave anything like that open.

Who do you think the ancestors want? Drop a review and let me know. ;)