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"𝒽ℴ𝓌 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒾'𝒹 𝒷ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝒾ℯ𝓃𝒹?"
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After draining a blood bag or two for breakfast, Ophelia had finally decided to drag herself out the housein the need of some form of entertainment. Today, said entertainment relies on hoping that the small town she's stumbled upon haven't all been ingesting the dreaded substance of vervain.
Pulling up in the Beacon Hills High School carpark in a bright, flaming red vehicle is definitely one way to attract attention if wanted. Especially when the car abruptly stops in the town's 'it boy' Jackson Whittemore's reserved spot.
Ophelia? Well, she neither wants nor doesn't want the attention. She would happily suffice with either. Why? The answer is simple; she couldn't give a shit.
As the hybrid's Doc Martens hits the gravel, she refrains the smug smirk that wills itself to appear on her face at the stares she feels bore into the back of her head. Walking up the steps to the building, Ophelia swings her bag over her shoulder and brushes her blonde hair out of her eyes as she enters the high school. Her first thought is to question why she is even bothering coming here in the first place. However, every doubt leaves her mind when she begins to notice the wide eyes and hushed whispers directed to her as she follows the signs to the Administration office. As much as she denies it, Ophelia Stone loves attention.
