Dear Diary, I am in Hell. It's hard to imaging a place far worse then where I come from, but by some spectacular miracle I found it. In the weeks since I arrived here in Mystic Falls three things are clear: the food is literally made of poison, the air smells like the plague, and everyone wants to know what everyone else is doing. I don't fit in here, nor do I want to. This is not the world I imagined.