Forever Is Not Enough

The Visitor

1864 - Mystic Falls, Virginia

In the crisp autumn months of 1864, the golden leaves falling from the trees seemed to be the only thing stirring in Mystic Falls. It was as though the Earth was making an effort to prolong the changes that were just on the horizon, with one day enveloping the children in a blanket of warmth and with the next the wind was biting at their cheeks. The small town could sense the imminent changes lurking like ghosts behind closed doors. Weary mothers and wives wrote letters to their loved ones who were off fighting in the war in hopes they would receive a speedy response. Horses whinnied in their pens and dogs howled at the moon.

Days passed with weary eyes peaking out from the windows when, finally, the change came on the coldest day of the year. Children wiped their little red noses across the thick fabric of their sleeves while their fathers stayed in for the day, sitting with their wives by the hearth. Even though it was midday, the sun could not be seen in the overcast skies - a dreary background compared to the stylish carriage that lazily made its way into town. The children playing in their yards stopped to assess the newcomer who passed by.

The driver kept his eyes ahead of him, ignoring his surroundings as they passed. Even as the children ran alongside the carriage, shouting and giggling excitedly at the newcomers, he gave no indication that he noticed. However, a gold fan peeked out from inside, and two dark eyes looked over it. Though her face could not be seen, the mysterious woman's eyes squinted slightly as though she was smiling. She raised her hand in a small wave just as the stagecoach became too fast for the children and they could no longer keep up.

The town, though small in community, was quite spread out. Most of what came through the small carriage window was the sight of farmland. Miles passed by them until they finally approached the town square. It was an eerie sight; all of the doors were closed and the lights were off. The occasional passerby kept their head down. The only sound to be heard was the cold wind and the resulting quiet ding of the bell in the center of the square.

Just as the sun began to set, the woman found herself riding up a wobbly dirt road that led to the directly to a large estate. The large trees that lined the road had already lost most of their foliage, giving them a haunted appearance, yet at the end of the tunnel there was light. The Gilbert Residence sat square and tall, the light coming from within an illuminated beacon. Red brick peaked out from behind the large and numerous windows, and thick smoke billowed from both of the chimneys. On either side of the stagecoach, hundreds of rows of tobacco ran out of eye's reach.

From the distance, hooves could be heard beating at the ground. A rider was coming. He gave his greeting to the near-comatose driver, to which the woman abruptly shoved her arm out of the carriage to receive his welcome. By the time three reached the house, the entire household and its staff had made their way to the front porch to welcome the visitor. It was a small group of people, the woman noticed, for it was not possible for so few people to work the land she had just seen. Those who did appear to work outdoors and in the stables stood off to the side. Slightly larger in number were those who worked in the house, all of whom stood to the back. It was John Gilbert, his niece Elena, and his nephew Jeremy that stood front and center.

John had only been a resident in Mystic Falls for a little over a year. He came at the request of his brother, Grayson Gilbert; arriving just shortly after his wife had been struck down with consumption. Only three months had passed since John's own wife, Isobel, had died of the same cause. Still grieving and alone, he arrived at the Gilbert Residence directly with his full staff and estate in tow.

Within the month, Miranda Gilbert was dead, and Grayson was left sitting by her bedside with nothing but her shell to look at. The town united in mourning, lamenting the loss of such a kind and loving woman.

From then on, Grayson's already deteriorating mental state quickly declined into insanity. He would lock himself away in his study for days, studying old books and journals on the supernatural. The church was furious upon learning of this, and the Reverend himself publicly declared that it was blasphemy. Yet no amount of public scorn or shame could tear Grayson away, for he was sure that his family was cursed and his wife's life was taken by a spirit. Another month passed before John found his brother hanging in his study. No one expected that of him. He was one of the few rational voices among the founding families, and known for his level head. Left behind were just his books, his home, and his children. Until Jeremy Gilbert, Grayson's only son was of appropriate age to oversee the household, John agreed to stay and act as a regent of sorts. It was no coincidence that he simply had no other place to go.

Following the strange and tragic happenings of the Gilbert family, a letter arrived, addressed to the dead Miranda Gilbert from none other than her own sister. John replied, rather awkwardly, that she would not be able to reply. Apologies followed, of course, for not informing her, but it became apparent that nobody knew Miranda had a sister, not even her own children. A series of correspondence passed between the two before it was finally decided that she would make the journey from Atlanta post-haste. An odd number of circumstances, John thought as he found himself standing between two children whom he still felt were strangers, that led to him meeting this woman. She gracefully exited the carriage with help from her driver, her solemn eyes looking up to the people in front of her as though she had known them long ago and they were simply being reunited.

"Katherine, I presume?" John asked politely.

Katherine, a vision in all black, broke into a smile upon hearing her name. "I am so pleased to finally meet you all," and then solemnly, "though I am sorry it has not happened sooner."

John stepped forward, taking her hand and bringing it up to his lips before turning to face the children. "I would like to introduce you to your nephew and niece, Jeremy and Elena."

Jeremy followed suit and kissed her hand before offering a reserved, but honest, smile. Katherine took a moment to appraise him, raising an eyebrow and quickly evaluating what she could in the few seconds she had. He was still young, only fifteen, she guessed. Elena hesitated before approaching, taken aback by how familiar her aunt was. Of course, Katherine looked a little like her mother; they had the same color eyes and hair, but it was Elena who truly resembled her. They both shared the same oval-shaped face and olive skin tone, but it was their almond-shaped eyes that truly mirrored one another. Elena offered an unsteady curtsy, never taking her eyes away.

Katherine stepped forward confidently, gently grabbing Elena by the chin to assess her face further. "Now that is the face of a-," and she faltered for just a moment as though she had forgotten what she wanted to say, "Pierce," she said finally.