Her Name Was Abigail {Elijah Mikaelson}

[6] Cleo

The next morning I had tried my best to forget everything that Aaron had told me about Abigail the night before, but I couldn't. I kept replaying the image of a young Abigail drenched in her mother's blood as she stood above her in shock. I thought about how scared she must have been when she was sent to the psychiatric hospital. Abigail wasn't insane. She was just special.

Before the sun had even risen I was perched on the rooftop of her home, staring into the quiet neighborhood that lied before me. There was a swift breeze that had swept through the streets near the French Quarter, causing the birds to stay high in the swaying trees. The curtains hanging in Abigail's windows drifted gently against the glass.

I peeked in a few times, watching as Abigail rested quietly in her bed. She was covered in quilts, her hair twisted in knots. She was so beautiful, so human. Although I now was aware of Abigail's terrifying past, I still didn't view her as dangerous. To me, no matter how dangerous she was, she was still human. Still innocent.

Eventually the sun rose, as did the neighborhood. Children came bouncing out of their homes, their high pitched laughter filling the streets. Men and women escaped with them, heading off to work or towards their friends' homes. I pretended to be normal among them, walking with my cold, dead hands in the pockets of my suit.

I walked behind a group of children that kept pushing one another off of the path, squealing as they kept checking behind them to see if I was any closer to them. I listened as a few of them referred to me as "the boogeyman." Little did they know, that's exactly what I was. I was more than everything that was in every childhood tale.

"Elijah?" A familiar voice asked, interrupting my attention on the children. I turned to see Abigail standing in front of me, as beautiful as ever. She wore her night clothes, a silk peach gown hanging as long as her frame. She was covered in a small white quilt, as if to ward off the cold.

"Abigail," I murmured, immediately smiling at the sound of her name. Her long blonde hair was still lightly knotted as it fell beyond her shoulders. She wore no makeup. Not even a drop. Although she was always beautiful, she was more beautiful now than ever.

"What are you doing here so early?" She asked with a quick laugh as she pushed a piece of her hair out of her face. I pursed my lips together, unsure of what to say. I wasn't quite sure why I was really there so early, or even at all. I guess at that time I found comfort in being close to her.

"I uh-" I began before she interrupted me. "Were just in the neighborhood?" She tested, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. I turned from pursing my lips to smiling at her. She was smarter than I gave her credit for. After hundreds of years of being a vampire, this girl could read me better than anyone. She could see through me the way one can see through glass.

"Yes," I smiled, "but there's more to my presence than that alone." I extended my hand to her, as if to ask her to follow me back to her porch. She took her hand gently in mine, accepting my invitation. Instead, we walked past the porch right into her home.

"Tea?" She asked as she released my hands, heading towards the kitchen. "No," I whispered as I looked around her home, "thank you." I had been in her home before. It was simply dressed. A sofa, a few chairs and a few tables. Decor was minimal. A few fresh flowers in vases her and there. The walls were white. Nothing adorning them.