Harsh Beginnings

XXXXXXXXXX

There are some lives that I'm born already knowing who I am, and why I'm here. This wasn't one of those times. In this world, there was only the barest hint of familiarity, like a name heard in passing, before I started to "wake up" around the age of 16. It was slow, a feeling like deja vu, a voice on the wind no one else could hear, an image in my head that made my heart tremble even when I couldn't figure out why. Then, my magic started to show itself more.

Of course, it had never really left, bound to my soul as it is, but as I grew, I never really thought much about the oddly nostalgic warmth in my chest. It was only after my 16 th birthday could I feel that built up energy flowing in my veins, filling my lungs, tingling across my skin. It was only then that I learned to see and hear the dead again.

I was 17 when all my old memories finally clicked into place. I knew who I was, the worlds I've been to, the things I'd done. I remembered my dear friends, Magic and Death, asking me to bring balance, to break the wheel of Fate, just as I had done before again and again. I remember them telling me that things would be hard for me in this world for a very long while, that I would be at my weakest because I would be alone, at least for a while. Such a thing was truly devastating to a creature like me that could bear anything, (that had bore anything before), so long as I had my people with me. But, in the end, I've never balked away from doing something because I thought it would be hard, (even when it was agony). This life was another challenge accepted, albeit, more harsh than I expected.

I had no problem with any of this. I huff, rolling my bruised and bloody body over and off my sprained wrist, turning to see the tiny baby resting on the cold ground next to me, only a raggedy blanket protecting it. I humm, low and raspy from my damaged throat, pulling my Thea against my chest. The problem was that even though I now remembered who I was, knew the power I could wield, I could do nothing yet. Blinking blurry eyes, I squinted at the bundle in front of me. Brushing my fingertips, miraculously clean despite all odds, against a soft chubby cheek, I made a decision. 21. I'll make them pay, but I'll wait till I'm 21. Until then, I need to get ready. Because while I could leave and make it on my own within the year, away from these disgusting assholes, or even just kill them, I would be risking losing custody of the little darling next to me. That wouldn't do at all. So, I'll wait, I'll prepare and bide my time, and these fuckers will find themselves having a very unfortunate accident.

I can wait 4 years. It should be enough time to make preperations, to be able to get custody, too. I sigh, letting myself disconnect as I hear screaming and glass shattering upstairs, knowing that that filthy creature will be coming down to paw at my beaten body some more soon enough. It's fine if it's for this child, after all,

XXXXXXXXXX

I grin, something feral and smug as I give the counter one more wipe down. By careful, meticulous planning, I managed to finally do it. In two years, with the help of my abilities, I had worked myself to the bone and managed to make some excellent investments, which, considering my ability to see the future, is only impressive because of how hard it was to get the money to invest and how little time I had to make the investments.

I cackle gleefully to myself, bouncing around my new cafe to observe it up close from every angle, my face threatening to split open from the manic smile on it. There were a few abilities that were so closely tied to who I was that they followed me into whatever life I was born into. The two most important of those were my ability to see possible futures and sense/weird magic. Many lifetimes ago, I caught the attention of Death and Magic: two of the primordial forces of nature. They made a deal with Fate, the third deity of their trio, to allow me to transmigrate and fuck shit up in various worlds. Smetimes I'm supposed to fix something as a favor to them, and other times, it's just cuz they're bored. I rather enjoy the adventure so I go along with it while my loved ones cheer me on from the Afterlife.

Naturally, using my psychic visions to divert Fate didn't endear me to them, although they allow it because of Death and Magic, so for the sake of balance, or whatever, I pay a price. I can change many of Fate's plans when I reincarnate into a world by seeing the future, but In return,

I have eternally shitty eyesight, oftentimes finding myself severely visually impaired or entirely blind. The only time I can see clearly is when I'm in a vision, and afterwards, I tend to go completely blind for a while before my vision returns to its normal shitttiness. Being able to sense auras, and magic, helps with that to some capacity. I can tell when someone's trying to blow me up, at least. Probably. I haven't honestly had the opportunity to meet anyone with magic yet, so I don't really know how it works around here.

Friend to deities or not, I still have to follow the natural order of whatever world I am in, which means I have to know what order that is. Truthfully, it can vary rather dramatically from one world to another. The gods are kinda finicky about it. The only thing they care about, when it comes down to it, is Balance. For example, Death doesn't give a shit if anyone lives or dies so long as it's in accordance with the Balance, usually determined by Fate, just as Magic doesn't give a shit about how magic is used either unless it disrupts the Balance's flow. Everything else is kinda arbitrary to them, which is why I'm allowed to do whatever the hell I want so long as I adhere to their rules.

I dance into the kitchen, waving those thoughts away. All in good time. Now, all I have to do is get this place running, make some bank, murder my deadbeat mother and her vile shit stain husband, and take custody of my toddler sister, and life will be infinitely more barable. I wince, hearing my phone ring, ignoring the instinctual panic it causes, fighting the instincts of this body's entire childhood, which is rather difficult even if my soul has dealt with and worked through trauma like this on multiple occasions.

"Where are you, you little whore?" I breathe out, forcing down the burning hot rage, the instinctual urge to set the world on fire with my magic, the pain and hurt and the self hate red I know I don't deserve..

"At my cafe," I state blandly, knowing that I can't be anything more than neutral lest I get kicked out and lose the ability to protect my baby sister.

"Right, all that shit you were doing behind our back to get the money for that place. You should have told me you were willing to spread your legs, I would have set you up with a couple people and had you start paying our bills sooner." I clench my jaw, fingernails digging into my palms, forcing the bile down.

I have an arrangement with these douchebags. I ran my cafe and paid the house bills, and they let me stay with them where I could make sure they don't accidentally, or purposefully, kill my baby sister. They had, of course, tried to take my entire pay check, and the deed to the cafe, but after a literal month of trying to beat me into submission, they settled. I hadn't dared to fight back in case they kicked me out, but since I woke up, they seem rather unsettled by the change in my personality. If they were smart they would follow their instincts, but no one would accuse them of being so.

"Anyway, get home. You need to cook dinner." I remain silent, knowing it's more dangerous to make any response at all then if I keep my mouth shut. "Also, I'm pregnant." And with that my delightful witch of a mother hangs up. I stare blankly, because son of a bitch-

I groan, already making adjustments to take in this second half sibling of mine. A flash of a vision passes before my eyes, and despite everything, despite the darkness I'm plunged into immediately after, I feel a wry grin tug at the corner of my mouth as I grab and unfold my cane from my bag, using it to help myself towards the door. A baby brother, huh?

XXXXXXXXXX

"Sheriff!" I greet cheerfully, setting down so,e pastries for Mr. Johnson, as I bounce over to her. "How are you? Is CareBear with ya?"

"I'm good. I'm glad to see business is booming." I grin, because it was, and even better, I was nearly 21 with my income stable. I was starting to make many a death plot for Sarah and Bob Black. Even I'm in awe of their generic ass names, although that might be why my siblings had such unique ones. "Caroline said she'd be dropping by to "get fat" later." I snort. The girl was beautiful, and skinnier than me, and I didn't even get to eat regularly. "Could I get my regular, please?" I beam, sliding away.

"Remy, the Sheriff wants our regular," I nearly sing, talking to 1 of my 2 employees, and the only one around at the moment. Jeremy Gilbert was a good kid. I met him shortly after his parents passed away, and managed to snag him to work for me. I've grown rather fond of the little shit.

"You got it, Lady Boss," he says laughing, and I hop bump him gently as I pass. I picked Jeremy up off the streets a few months ago. Literally. Like a stray cat. The kid was passed out on the sidewalk, higher than a rainbow, so I pulled him into the shop and let him come down safely in the loft of the cafe, my future home once I can safely take the kids and dispose of their asshat guardians. I made sure he wasn't overdosed, first, but I wasn't sure if he came from a home like mine, so I just let him sleep it off while closed shop and went home.

I came back early with Nico and Thea to open for the day, and he woke up soon after. I brought him into the kitchen while I prepared for the day and fed him, and the kid broke down, word vomiting his distress into my calm nonjudgmental atmosphere. He told me about how his parents had died, and how he turned to drugs, and about this bitch Vicky, and his sister, and it was all very sad. He cried, i cried, and sweet baby Thea, four year old angel that she is, kept patting his head and feeding him cookies. Safe to say, I metaphorically adopted the little shit, and now he works here. It seems that just by sitting with him, giving him something to do, helping him work through shit, and exposing him to emotional support babies that make you warm and fuzzy inside when cuddled has helped him a lot, and the kid was a real sweetheart so it was no burden for me. He still does pot, but Remy seems better. Baby steps, for Rome wasn't built in a day.

"Nyx! Refill, please, Dear." God, still can't believe I got named that. I liked the name, and it seemed to fit the preexisting trend for names I pick up in my lives, but it was pretty out there and rare, even for me. My mother is part Mediterranean, part Arab, so we all were named with Greek origins. My Dad was Indian, though, whereas my little siblings were whit as hell from their Easter European scumbag sperm dinner. The age difference means a lot of people mistake them for being mine, and I think Nico and maybe Thea might actually think I'm their mother at this point, so that's an interesting conversation for the future.

"On my way, Mrs. Garcia!" I loved that old lady. She watches Thea and baby Nico for me when she hangs out at the cafe so that I can bake and run the place without them getting too underfoot, which is lucky for me considering the other option would be leaving them alone with our so-called parents who may or may not even be there. Scratch that, it's not an option.

It was a brilliant idea to open the shop. I've always loved it, cooking and baking, but in all my lives, I've never opened my own place like this. Sure, I've owned and patroned a few places, but I've never really worked in one, day in and out. All the recipes that I've collected throughout my adventures, sweets and goodies from all over the world, from otherworlds, all in one place. I finally managed to gain enough meat on my bones to not cut myself with my own elbows, I think, snickering darkly.

"Princessa, you seem to be in a very good mood today," Mrs. Garcia asks, a warm grandmotherly feeling to her aura.

I smile wide, and maybe a little toothy. "Yes, I'm meeting someone today. It will be fun."

"A man? Have you found someone worthy of you, girl?" I bark out a laugh, highly amused by the idea.

"Hell, no. A little boy who I'm going to knock sense into." Mrs. Garcia joins me, her laugh deep and a bit raspy. I revel in it, basking in genuine kindness aimed at me, after having spent nearly a lifetime without it. It's thankfully a more common incident these days. I scoop the baby out of her arms, tucking my baby brother's head against mine briefly, pressing kisses into the wavy hair, a lighter, blonder color than my own dark waves which leaned towards brassy and copper colored highlights in the sun. Thea slips out of the fluffy armchair she was playing on next to Mrs. Garcia and wraps her arms around my knees. "Hello, darlings. Having fun? Behaving?"

"Yesss," Thea cheers, her wild curls, darker and with a less warm undertone then mine, bounce as she bobs her head enthusiastically, making both Mrs. Garcia and I laugh at her.

I carefully crouch, adjusting Nico against my chest and making room for her to wrap her chubby little arms around my neck. I hum happily, rubbing our cheeks together, basking in one of my eternal joys: children. There is something about that unconditional, innocent love that very few things could ever compete with. "My little love, your gonna stay with Mrs. Garcia here and Nico while I go handle something real quick, okay?"

"Bahji, you leave?" She asks, wariness and the beginning of fear creeping into her voice as her little fists tighten on my blouse, the hazel green eyes she shares with Nico wide and staring into my brown ones.

"Just for a second. I'll be upstairs, so stay here and eat lunch, okay?" Thea agrees after a bit of persuasion and reassurance, albeit anxiously. It's a miracle that I've been able to protect her from the majority of our home life, but I've managed to make her comfortable enough around a few people to leave her for short periods of time. I'm still gonna have to be quick, I think worriedly, settling her back into the chair with the nuggets I made her for lunch.

Feeling the brush of death against my senses, I smirk, waving to Remy and discreetly slipping out the door after handing Nico back. Carefully listening to the traffic, I dart across the street and to the boy walking past, hands in pocket. Sauntering up to walk beside him, I flash him a smile. "Welcome back to Mystic Falls, Stefan." The boy stops dead, aura flashing in surprised confusion, as he turns to me.

His voice when he speaks is soft and gentle, like he doesn't want to intimidate me, which i find privately amusing considering I know which of us is the more dangerous. "I'm sorry…have we met before?" He isn't even slightly hostile, or even wary, which is rather foolish, but he radiates a deep grief and gentleness, the reason I've decided to do this in the first place. I smile.

"Not yet. Come along," and with that, I turn sharply on my booted heel and stride back to the cafe. Stefan, utterly bewildered, is too surprised to do anything but follow. Hmm. I'm gonna talk to him about stranger danger. Even if I'm a foot shorter and he is what he is, he should be more cautious. Appearances are deceiving. He would know that best.

"Wait, pardon, but who are you?" He easily catches up, the long legged bastard keeping pace with my power walk with zero effort.

I beam, "I'm Nyx, and this is my cafe." Reaching out, I snag the edge of his sleeve and drag him inside, careful not to actually touch him. Without pause, I pick up the tray I'd set down earlier on the counter and lead the confused man into the back where the stairs to the loft are. "Remy, I'm starting my meeting now. Don't burn the goodies in the oven or start a fire while I'm dealing with this!"

We ascend to the sound of multiple people laughing, Stefan still following like the lost puppy he is, I hand him the tray, yank out my keys and open the heavily locked door. "Hey, come on in."

He hesitates, but steps in, and I usher him to the two arm chairs I have set up around a coffee table. Grabbing the tray, I hand him a cup of coffee, take my own, and set the pastries between us as I flop into a chair. It takes all of my will power not to choke on my own coffee as I observe the aura of the man in front of me, bamboozled thoroughly into compliance. He stares silently from the chair in front of me, before finally managing to work past his natural inclination to be polite and gentlemanly. "What is actually happening right now?"

I hum. "I kidnapped you off the street to feed you and have a heart to heart. You were too dumbfounded to struggle. My plot was successful. Baklava?" He snorts, bemused, but takes the dessert from me. "Now, we need to have a serious talk, Mr. Ripper of Monterey. Am I going to have to kill you?" He freezes, eyes wide, horror creeping in as he looks down at the Arabian patisserie in his hand. "Oh, don't worry. I haven't spiked it or anything. I don't really need to if I want to take you out." I take a bite of a chocolate croissant, and then sip my coffee, feeling panic and fear begin to pull his aura taut, ready to be triggered. "I brought you here simply to gauge your intentions. Are you here to bring our homicide rate up? I'm raising children in this town, ya know. I can't be running around like a damn janitor because you want to eat my neighbors."

"I-I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm trying to control it. I have no intention of causing any harm-"

"I know. If I thought otherwise, you'd already be staked. But, you're a ripper. It's not really about what you want." Fear, self loathing, humiliation, pain. Hmm, I can work with it.

"I-I've been feeding on animals-"

"So you're weak, and the second someone's kid skin's their knee, you'll go on a spree to fight overpopulation in our lovely little town." His shoulders hunch, and I pity him, truly.

"Who are you? A witch, right? I know you think we're all monsters, but I can't help what I am. I didn't choose this." His voice is pained, even a little horse, and I sigh, letting my expression gentle as I set my cup down.

"You're wrong. On two accounts; I'm not a witch and you aren't a monster just because of something you can't control."

He reels back, stunned again, much to my amusement. I take pride in how off balance I can keep people, it's a special kind of joy. "What-what did you say?"

"I'm not a witch, Brat, at least not a normal one. Not sure what I am, though. I was introduced into the supernatural just after my cafe opened up, 'bout a year and half ago. According to the Bennett witch, Sheila, even though I have magic, I don't have a core like witches do, nor do I derive power from my ancestors in the manner they do. Plus, I have a connection to Death and- ya know what? It doesn't really matter right now. You, Bunny Muncher, are not a monster because of the things out of your control. I didn't call you here to shame you. I called you here to help you."

"Help?"

"Regardless of how much you wish otherwise, you can't fight your addiction with Bambi. That's just ignoring the issue. Your gonna have to work through your addiction, especially if you want to be around Ms. Gilbert." He flinches, leaning away. "I'm a psychic, I know things. It's how I knew you were coming and why I offered help when I could just offed ya."

Stefan puts his head in his hands, groaning softly, and I give him a minute to process. I know when to steamroll someone, and when to let them soak it in, and this was the latter. "I don't understand. How could you even help me? Why would you?"

I tilt my head, focusing on his face for the first time. At a distance of like three feet, I… still can't really see his face. But in my visions, I saw it in crystal clear definition, and I remember well how young and lost he looked. I meticulously manipulated things to happen like this and it all came down to this moment.

"I think you're worthy of it. I want to help you. And I want you to help me protect this town, because frankly, shits going to hit the fan very, very soon." I raise my hand to stop his barrage of questions before they start. "Not important right now. Let me help you."

"You haven't really given me a choice." He says, warily, but I can feel that spark of hope stirring underneath it all. I grin.

"Yeah, that's fair. Let me get it out of the way. This is a relationship of good faith. Help for help. Break that trust, and I'll fucking kill you." I tilt my head, flaring my magic, and his neck snaps violently, a spell Sheila taught me. I pour myself a refill and finish my croissant while I wait for him to revive. It doesn't take very long for him to revive, and I offer him more coffee, much to his incredulity. "Sorry, the point needed to be made."

He sighs, "I've had worse, I suppose. So how are we doing this?" He takes the bag of pig blood I had ready in the cooler hidden behind my chair, seemingly deciding to just go with the flow.

I beam, excitement spilling over. He'll be a good friend. "I've been meaning to hire some more help."

XXXXXXXXXX

I truly admired Stefan. He was a hard worker, determined, incredibly sincere, and kind. I knew we were going to be friends, but I hadn't anticipated how much light he'd bring with him. During the day, I'd teexh him my recipes and he'd help me around the cafe and with the register, because fuck, I was way to blind to work that thing comfortably. Each night, I'd give an increasing dose of human blood, stolen out of the clinic or provided god knows how by his relative Zach, a new regular. It's been a month, and Stefan can take a full ounce without me having to magically pin him down or snap his neck, something that pretty much drains me for the day. Hell, the kid seemed rather cheerful despite me continuously manhandling him, and he told me it was a relief to be able to trust someone to keep him from hurting anyone.

I was inclined to believe Sheila Bennett's expertise when she said I wasn't a witch. Since the day I met her at the grand opening of my cafe, named the Midnight Traveller, a reference both to the international array of food and my internasional journeys, all it took was a brush of hands and we felt the kinship as fellow Magic users. From then, Sheila kinda took me under her wing, teaching me all kinds of shit about the supernatural, and even spells, albeit not the ones exclusive to her coven. I knew better than to believe her when she said all vampires were evil. It only took a bit of searching with my psychic abilities to bust that, and lead to the unveiling of the utter shit storm headed my way.

Naturally, this is when I commenced scheming. I have litteral babies to protect, and I knew better than to think I wouldn't be dragged into this mess somehow. I don't really have a full understanding of what's coming. Just flashes and impressions. The only thing I really managed to fully see were the Salvatore's, and how to limit the damage to the town and hopefully repair their relationship, as well as bits and pieces about the Originaks. Daemon was the next big mess I would have to handle.

I sneer, I'm not so righteous to say I've not done terrible shit in all my years, but I've never dared avoid owning up to it. To turn off one's humanity,- fucking appalling. It shall not be tolerated. Deep in my soul, I can feel the echo agreement from the gods, neither Death nor Magic pleased with such dark magic making a living mockery of life, the ultimate disrespect to Death.

It's safe to say that I was working on a pet project in regards to that abominable ability, as well as a magical solution to Stefan's ripper issue. Through some rather disturbing visions, I've discovered that it's some kind of condition, somewhat hereditary, that causes uncontrollable bloodlust. I kept getting flashes of something called Augustine, and while I don't quite know what the hell is going on, it's giving all the mad scientist vibes, and that's it's connected to rippers. I keep seeing some poor vamps getting tortured, but I really don't know how to help them.

I frown, forcefully beating the hell out of the dough in front of me. I'll destroy them the second I figure out where and how. For now, I have to keep looking. I snarl, adding more flour and smacking the dough some more.

I feel a hand brush my shoulder, jolting me out of my thoughts with a flinch. "Nyx? That dough offend you or something?" Stefan is gracious enough to ignore my slip ups without comment.

"Sorry. Lost in thought. Some troublesome visions." In the month Stefan had been working here, I'd told him a bit about how my powers work. With his help, I spend more time using my visions, and therefore, blind in the aftermath. It's unfortunate, but it seems like the cool down period for my eyesight is particularly long here, and magic is less abundant, so even using my magic as a radar to detect the shit around me isn't quite as helpful as I'd like. I can still sense the fine movements of anyone with magic at increasingly large distances, but something was wrong here. Like nature was disrupted. Magic wasn't flowing like it should, meaning Sheila's rants about how witches have been serving nature and protecting it and blah, blah- well, it's not terribly accurate is it? Whatever happened needs to be fixed, ASAP. It's probably why I'm here in the first place.

I hand Stefan a tray of Kunafa to put out, and tell him to take the Samosas out of the oven, as I continue kneeling the dough, this time with less aggression. "So, schools are starting up soon. How do you feel, Brat?"

Stefan huffs, "You know I'm older than you, right? I'm around a century and a half old."

I do my best to get eye contact with him despite not being able to actually see his eyes, before I deadpan. "Brat, I've lived more than ten times that. You are nowhere near as old as me." He nearly drops my yums, making me shoot him a dark glare, but I didn't lie. I've lived enough lifetimes to accumulate that amount of years without struggle. "Answer my question. Brat." I add that last bit just to be petty, even though it's done with total fondness.

He pauses, leaning against the counter. "I'm worried. I'm not entirely safe yet."

"Don't dismiss the progress you've made. I've seen it, you're gonna be okay. I'm here for you." I bumb our shoulders together lightly, close enough to get the full blast of his bright smile, letting it warm my chest. "Besides, you get to see a certain Ms. Gilbert." I laugh at the embarrassed sheepishness flooding his aura even as he pushes away, rolling his eyes in pretended exasperation.

"Bahji!" A pink missile hits my knees, and it's thanks to Stefan's vampire reflexes that I don't drop a bowl of pudding.

"Pup, what have I told you about the kitchen?" I tell Thea flatly. She presses he face to my legs, remorseful.

"Sowwy, Bahji. Nico crying," Thea tells me shyly. I humm, patting her head.

"Thank you for telling me, Pup, but remember the kitchen is dangerous. No coming in here without telling someone first." Leaving the rest to Stefan, who just seems content, I head to the little play corner I set up in the cafe. It's near where Mrs. Garcia sits, and it has toys for kids and a cradle for Nico. I only leave him there when he's sleeping and there are trusted regulars around, like Sheila of the Sheriff, or Remy and Stefan at the counter, even though it's very close to the kitchen and register. Unfortunately, Mrs. Garcia wasn't here today.

"Hello, little love. Why so upset?" I scoop him up, and he mercifully quiets. It was utterly lucky that Nico was an easy baby. Things would have been much more difficult otherwise. I smile when Stefan appears with a perfectly warmed bottle without me having to say anything. I can tell he adores children, but I also knows he avoids my siblings as much as possible out of fear of hurting them. Although, Thea seems to be on her own mission to change that considering how she's begun clinging to him, much to Remy and I's private amusement.

I settle into an armchair, and begin feeding him just as vision hits me. Shit. I shake myself out of it, desperately trying to remember the number I saw. "Remy!"

"Yeah?" I hear Jeremy hop the counter and come over.

"I need you to write this down for me." I give him the phone number I saw, a grin creeping onto my face as I manage to fully remember it. "Thanks."

It's later that night that I get a chance to call it as the boys are closing shop downstairs. "Hello?" The voice on the other line is deep and cultured, just as I remember it.

"Hello. Is this Elijah Mikaelson? I have some information for you." I smirk, leaning back in my chair, burner phone pressed to my ear,

Let the games fucking begin.

XXXXXXXXXX