it’s snide remark after snide remark, one after the other, from julia. but she has to start somewhere to earn her place at collinwood again, to distract them from her deathly pallor (though, judging from the ever-thinning crew, those who shared it seemed to be growing in number). and perhaps, if she started and didn’t stop, they would forget she was ever gone in the first place.
and they would remember the day little miss liar (for she’s been proven right; the name josette is a lie, if victoria was not), rolled in from the train station. julia remembers. it was a matter of months ago. months, not years, and julia has time on her side to prove that it should be her at the head of the table, if anyone need knock elizabeth from her pedestal.
and so she says it, one night, when doors are open despite the wind and the air itself seems close to freezing over. it’s meant to be veiled behind a question, a quick, concise, what gives you the right? but then she can’t stop. and out pour criticisms of every move josette has made, every step she took as victoria, every word from her mouth and every look of adoration from barnabas.
it’s contempt and anger and jealousy (julia was the first to arrive, the first to be bitten, the first to revive and everything josette’s is rightfully hers) and the only thing to stop her short of striking the girl in a way her words cannot is when she turns around, brown hair as wild as her eyes and cries, “i don’t even know who she is!”
there’s only a dumbfounded, “what?” from julia, and josette (though something tells her that - in this moment, at least - she is still victoria and will never be anyone but) shakes her head, hands wringing awkwardly, still unused to the added length.
“josette.” her words come in a mumble - but quickly, urgently: “josette is dead. i was never - i’m not -” she shakes her head and julia can hear the words hitch in her throat. but victoria’s eyes well up and somehow say everything that she cannot.
“i remember,” she tries again, slower now. “everything she does. did. before she - before i -” she swallows hard and her eyes drift. the wind blows her hair across her face and julia somehow understands.
once upon a time, victoria winters had told her that she did not trust doctors. julia doesn’t understand at all.
victoria’s final words are spoken plainly and loudly: “i don’t know who i am.”
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