Innocent || Cordelia and Dmitri


Dmitri himself couldn’t deny the unsavory atmosphere he now found himself in.  A small part of him felt bad - unsatisfied even, that his Queen was being subjected to such a clinical setting.  There was nothing he could do about it for the time being, as both his legal consultants and his better judgment told him that this was the safest place for her to reside – to live out the next of her days before the New World was brought forth.  With the looming, but minor threat of his brother, Dmitri knew he needed to delegate. Each point of the prophecy was in danger now that Pietro was aware of their identities, and there was only so much that minions could do.  What they lacked in intelligence they made up for in loyalty, but loyalty is meaningless without strength, and will, and intelligence.  He needed to get his hands dirty, and observe all of the broken humans from afar until Wolfram and Heart could secure their positions.

The reconnaissance missions only took up a few hours of his day, as he simply wanted to make sure all of the puzzle pieces were still intact at the beginning and at the end of each day.  The time in between would leave them all accounted for.  It gave him piece of mind, more than anything else.  The remainder of the God’s time was spent picking up random articles for Cordelia – a journal, which would prove to be more of a test than anything else, and art set of professional quality, a sketchbook, a keyboard.  He had delivered all of these things to her separately, gauging her reactions and observing her interactions with each device.  She looked most beautiful when her hands were occupied, drawing, playing, and creating.  He loved creation, and it pleased him to see that she too, had a natural inclination to create.   It was in her blood, as it was in his. 

The seer was small in stature, but nothing about her was easily broken.  It was one of her finest qualities, how she never crumbled.  It was why she had been chosen, he had no doubt.  526 was destined for greatness.  His gifts came in longer intervals as time went by – for he was beginning to notice a trend in her behavior.  The doctors had mentioned it too – that her headaches often lead to creative bursts.  He knew why such things happened, but it was peculiar that she still deemed it necessary to translate them onto paper, as though they were meant for someone’s eyes.  He wanted to attribute it to artistry. On many occasions he had painted out a scene from his mind.  The evidence was in his office, a full mural of pastures and beauty that would populate the new world. The doctors and lawyers insisted otherwise – and told him to leave her to her own devices for further evaluation.  If she remembered, the plan would spoil.

He refused to cut her off completely.  If they were to rule together, there would have to be a certain level of comfort.  And she was comfortable with him.  As he entered her room, her cheeks dimpled and a smile formed.  He held his breathe for a moment, slipping his jackets off of broad shoulders and folding it over the back of the chair.  “Hello kitten,” he regarded her as warmly as he could.  He lowered himself down into the chair, his gaze fixed on her as he settled in, crossing one leg over the other.  He leaned slightly forward. “It’s nice to see you all tucked in bed already.  Are the sheets soft enough?  I can get you a higher thread count.”  He spoke evenly, and smiled at her question.  She was always so amiable.  “My day was fine, thank you for asking.  Every thing we need to make our World is still intact, and it won’t be long before I can show you all that you’re meant to be.” 

“I painted something today, a part of what we’ll create together.  I’ll bring it for you tomorrow, to hang on your wall.  I think you’ll like it.  It will remind you of all the things we need to do, inspire you…” His gaze goes off, somewhere distant, imagining the new world, where nothing is broken.  There is only strength and fortitude.  He mentally returns to her after a moment, and nods – as though the images projected themselves into her mind. “How was your day?  Did you get another headache?”  

Something about Dmitri being there with her made Cordelia feel more relaxed. She spent so much time in solitude that it drove her a little bit crazy. She could only handle so much of her confused and jumbled thoughts. There was not much in the hospital room in the way of distractions. The hostage had her art supplies, her journals, and few novels, but none of it was enough to keep her mind away from her troubling thoughts for long. The room was slowly getting covered in her paintings although the subject matter in them was violent. All the paintings were either of her dreams or of her visions. Due to how many vision paintings she had she was always running low on red paint. There was always so much blood and fear. It stayed with her and haunted her. She wished she could stop it. All she wanted was to stop that pain and suffering, but it was only a nightmare. The nightmares made her special, but they left her feeling terrified.

Dmitri was always offering to make her room more comfortable and would restock her art supplies. He would tell her of the beautiful world they were going to create and she could not help but feel hopeful. She wanted nothing more than to see the world past the alabaster walls of this hospital. He was even warm and caring toward her. The sweet nickname was much better than being referred to as a number. It made her feel like someone again when he was there and most days the promise of seeing him again was what got her through each unbearably long day spent in this place. He was leaning closer to her and inspecting the silky white sheets and she smiled at him. Her tiny hands grabbed his large one and squeezed it while assuring, “The sheets are plenty soft as is the bed. Although I could use some more red paint.” She looked up at him with hopeful eyes because she really wanted the paint. The voice she often heard told her to concentrate on the nightmares so she liked to get them down on canvas.

The seer leaned back into the fluffy pillows and kept her features warm. It was much easier to feel positive when he was around. Everything else here made her feel small yet Dmitri made her feel important again. She looked forward to this new world he spoke of even though she could hardly remember the world she was from. It left her doubtful that she was meant for the great destiny he spoke of and sometimes she wondered if he was even real. This place drove her kind of crazy and it dawned on her that he could be a result of that, but she could not think like that. She needed to believe in Dmitri so she held his hand just a little bit tighter. She could feel them there so therefore he was real.  As he thanked her for asking about his day she simply remarked, “Of course. I’m glad you had a good day and everything is still going well for our world.”

When he handed her the painting her eyes instantly lit up as she looked at the wondrous pasture. She imagined what it would feel like skipping through the scenery he painted with the wind whipping against her skin. There were so many small things she missed about the world without even realizing it. Each brush stroke created something she wished to see with her own eyes. She looked to him and eagerly told him, “It’s beautiful. Can we put it up? I cannot wait until we create this. I imagine there being a breeze and it smelling wonderful. We could have a house surrounded by things this beautiful?” Her eyes looked up to him with a hopeful glint. The prospect of living outside of this place excited her and Dmitri had come with so much promise. He was even asking about her day now and she could not help but grin slightly. Her smiles were few and far between ever since arriving at the facility, but Dmitri brought them back out of her. She looked to him with bright eyes and answered, “My day was alright. I did have another headache. I painted what I saw, it was so terrible. There was a man, but he was a monster and he was brutally killing this poor girl. There was so much blood.” She pulled her sketch book out from the night table beside her bed and opened up to where she painted the scene so she could show it to Dmitri. She pushed it in his direction so he could see the nightmares she had been plagued with.


Steroline AU - Caroline helps Stefan through his blood addiction.

“You told me once that I reminded you of Lexi. So let me help you. No matter how bad it gets, I’ll be here. ‘You don’t have to pretend with me.’ Those words runs both ways, Salvatore.”


29/100 pictures of Cordelia Chase.


29/100 pictures of Cordelia Chase.

Who couldn’t love that smile?

Lost || Journal Entry

Dmitri came again tonight. He has started coming every night. He holds my hand and tells me of the world we’re going to create together. Destruction as creation or whatever. That’s what he says and he tells me that we will rule this new world. We get to make a splendid world all our own. It sounds like the things of fairytales that have vaguely imprinted themselves in my mind. It doesn’t even sound real. I don’t feel real.

I don’t know who I am. Am I just another number? The doctors all refer to me as a case number…same with the occasional fancy clad lawyer-y types in suits. None of them ever talk to me; they mostly just talk at me. It’s like I don’t have a voice of my own. I feel like I used to, but I just don’t know. There’s so much I don’t know. I feel like I did not use to have to refer to blank pages to clear my thoughts. I feel like there was something more. Something’s always calling to me.

There are dreams. Sometimes nightmares, but those usual happen when I’m wide awake. No one’s there to notice though. Dmitri says the nightmares are part of what makes me his queen. I don’t quite understand and he tells me that someday I will. I hope that someday I do. I hope to one day understand myself with perfectly clarity.

It’s a strange feeling. I know I had a life before here even though the doctors tell me otherwise. They want to keep me alive which is probably a good thing…but what am I really being kept alive for. Why is my whole past a mystery to me? I don’t feel like I’ve always been here and maybe it is just foolish dreaming. Maybe I’ve deluded myself into thinking there are people outside these walls that know I exist…or if people even exist. I can’t quite be certain anymore. Maybe there is no world outside of here but sometimes I have dreams of the world. Sometimes I can see cobblestone sidewalks or remember the smell of certain foods. I had to have had a life outside of this place or how could I be destined for this greatness Dmitri speaks of.

There are so many things I yearn to remember. I feel like I was passionate once. I had purpose and dignity. I was more than this. I was more than 526. I was more than the affectionate nick name of one man. I was not just kitten. I feel like I was once I lioness, damn it. Then again that could just be the more unrealistic dreams of heavenly warriors.

He says I’ll have a name again one day. He is going to name me and I know he’ll give it meaning because he adores me. He says the world was cruel to me. It seems more honest than the doctors. I don’t know how much longer I can wait to be a part of any world. I’m stuck in a cycle of repetitive activities in sterile rooms- alone. Always alone.  I wonder if there are others like me here. Does Dmitri tell them the same plans or am I really special?

Every ounce of me is pulling toward my past though. There is always someone calling to me. I can feel them looking for me. There’s love. I feel like I’m loved. I’m somebody here and how am I supposed to know how to rule this new world without knowing what I’m leaving behind? This baby had to have a father and I feel like I used to be a fighter. I had to have fought for something.

But I’m just nothing now. I’ll never find this world again. All I have is this lingering ounce of hope that knows someone is looking for me. That they’ll find me. There is promise of someone looking for me. I matter. I have to matter. I can’t feel this pulling in my heart every day and believe that I wasn’t loved. If I could even recognize loved ones anyway.

I guess I am just doomed to circle through hope and realism until I am either returned to my old world or ruling this new one. I don’t have a choice either way. It is just oddly depressing knowing that I may live my entire life simply existing in a content manner rather than knowing the passion I believe I used to.