Her Name Was Abigail {Elijah Mikaelson}

[21] 1780

"So what happened after that?" Hayley asks as she leans against the edge of the chair, the dark fabric brushing against the sleeve of her shirt. I take in a deep breath and shift uneasily. That was the question that I had been dreading. I hated the ending of this story which was the reason why I had never told it to anyone.

I had locked the story, our love story, away behind the red door for centuries, much like everything else that I hated about my past. I didn't want to open the door. I didn't want my secret loose. Somebody could use it against me, or worse, I could use it against myself. Until now, the key had been thrown away. Where to? I don't know.

I stand up from my chair and carefully walk around the room. I hold my fingers to my chin as the nightmare reappears in my mind. The pain, the horror that escaped through my veins centuries ago had returned, starting in the center of my chest and barreling towards every inch of my body. I suddenly remembered everything very clearly.

[1780]

There had been a letter placed upon the steps near my door when I arrived home later that evening. I picked the letter up in my cold hands, blowing off bits of the Philadelphia snow as I entered the front room of my small apartment. I placed the envelope on the table beside me as I removed the coat from my arms.

I never took my eyes off from the small envelope, wondering as to where this letter had come from. It had no city post marked on it and only my name was written in cursive across the front of the envelope. I quickly placed my coat in a closet close to the door and shuffled over to where the envelope lay on the entryway table.

I picked it up and quickly inspected it, still finding no trace of hidden information. I shrugged my shoulders as I carefully pulled at the edges of the envelope. I slid my finger across the top, releasing the letter from it's home. I gently tossed the empty envelope to the side as I walked across my apartment eager to find a place to sit and read this mysterious letter.

I sat in the corner of the dark room, flipping over the only page that fit into my hand. Whoever had written me must not have had a lot to say. There was no more than a paragraph or two of words. I let out a deep breath and began to read the letter silently.

"Dear Elijah," the letter began, "there is something very important that I have to tell you. I hope that while you read this letter, you're sitting down. A few weeks ago, something happened. Something terrible. Now before I tell you what happened, please know that I do not blame you."

I stared at the first paragraph, nearly afraid to begin the paragraph following it. I wasn't even sure who had written this letter, but I was quite nervous to find out whose handwriting I was reading. Deep down I wanted it to be Abigail's handwriting. I wanted her to tell me that she missed me. I wanted her to tell me that I could home to her. That she would be mine and mine until the end of time.

It had been nearly a year since I had seen her last. Winter had settled into the rising streets of Philadelphia. I heard the shouts of young children playing in the cold snow outside of my apartment building. I shook my head to myself as I straightened out the paper in my hands. I began reading the letter again silently.

"Elijah," the letter continued, "Abigail is dead." I immediately flew up from my chair, slightly crinkling the paper as my hands tensed up. Fear, horror, and pain pierced my entire body. I went numb. I felt dead. More dead than I already was.

"No," I whispered to myself, shaking my head. I could feel warm tears fighting back against me as I continued to shake my head. It wasn't true. Abigail couldn't be dead. Who would write me a letter such as this?

I couldn't bare the thought of reading on. I couldn't bare the thought of knowing anymore. But there was a demon inside of me begging to know more, waiting to know the name of the person who had stolen her life from her so that I could find them and tear them to pieces. I wanted them to suffer, and suffer terribly.