(On Hold)
ᴛʀᴏᴜᴠᴀɪʟʟᴇ ( ɴ )
~ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ
Stefan Salvatore swore he met the love of his life at the age of Seven. Primrose Gilbert was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, until 1864, when she was killed...
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1858
A loud panicked knock came from the Gilbert's door. Margot Gilbert, who was standing in the kitchen, quickly rushed to open it. "That boy. Out all night, getting drunk with god knows whom. Coming home at midday." She scoffed, frustratedly pulling open the door, ready to scold her son. Instead, she was met with a boy, no older than eleven, crying hysterically.
"Stefan? Oh dear boy, What is the matter?" She asked, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and directing him into the house.
He sniffled. "Is Primrose home?" He asked her, his eyes never leaving the floor beneath his feet.
"Yes, she's in the garden, painting I believe." She told him softly. He nodded and walked slowly out of the door, to the backyard.
Prim was stood in a pastel yellow dress with a small matching hat, humming as she painted the landscape in the distance. She had a large smile on her face while she did so, she loved all things art. She giggled when she heard footsteps. "Did mother scold you, Johnny? She's has been waiting to release her pent-up fury since six o'clock this morning." She spoke and turned around when she heard the approaching footsteps, only to see the hunched-over form of Stefan make his way over to her.
"Stefan!" She shouted excitedly, putting her brush down and rushing over to him. As she got closer, she noticed his odd behavior, he was sluggish and dragging his feet, his eyes droopy and full of tears, and his usual neat styled hair was tousled and messy. "What is it? Are you alright?"
She put her palms on his cheeks, tilting his head up, her thumbs wiping away the streaming tears. His lip wobbled trying to conceal the sobs. She saw right through it. "It is okay to cry, Stefan. I won't tell anyone if you wish me not to."
At this he pulled her into a hug, crying loudly on her shoulder. He clung to her tightly, almost scared to let go. She ran her hands through his hair in a comforting manner, massaging the scalp.
"It's- it's my mother." He spoke muffled into her shoulder. "She's gone, Prim. She's gone."
Prim gasped, some tears coming to her own eyes. "Oh, Steffie I'm so sorry. You could stay with us if you wish." A childhood nickname she used for him, she often used as a form of teasing, he smiled tearfully into her shoulder. The name was childish and cringy but he loved it. It was unique to Prim, who had made it when they first met. He had called her 'flower' the first time they met and she despised it. She hated 'flower', she said it made her sound too gentle and soft, too beautiful and graceful. She said it wasn't fitting. Though those were the reasons Stefan thought it was the most perfect name for her.
