ᴜɴᴅᴏɴᴇ | 𝐓𝐕𝐃

ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ

" ᵖʳᵒˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ "

"𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟- 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧, 𝑯𝒊𝒎..."

______________________________

SHE walked along a path she had taken a thousand times before, a familiar road worn by memories that seemed as eternal as her own existence. Yet tonight, every step echoed with the absence of those she'd once walked beside.

She passed Mystic Grill, its neon sign flickering faintly—a stubborn relic of the past. How many nights had she spent here, laughing, crying, planning, betraying, falling in love, and losing it all? She could almost hear the distant voices and see the faces of those long gone, the faces that were woven into every corner of this town.

It was surreal, almost unbelievable, that she was alone now.

Damon Salvatore's funeral had been that very morning. A final goodbye to the once frenemy who became the family she'd known for decades.

She'd handed Rebekah Mikaelson the vial containing the cure, a solemn reminder of the deal struck between the Original Hybrid and the doppelganger years ago, long before their own ends.

Rebekah looked as unchanged as herself—beautiful, eternally youthful—but as they exchanged a quiet, understanding smile, she had noticed an unspoken kinship between them but there had been something in her eyes— those blue eyes so familiar to someone she had not forgotten, could never forget.

For once, there was no insult, no smirk, no witty jab, former rivals, now simply two souls weighed down by too many goodbyes.

She sighed and took a long, burning sip from the flask she'd tucked away, fighting the tears that threatened to spill.

Six years had passed since Matt Donovan's peaceful death in his sleep. Ten years since Jeremy had been killed saving a werewolf from a hunter's trap. Alaric, gone six months ago.

A lifetime of loss, she thought bitterly, all compressed into a single century.

Just one week earlier, they had put Elena to rest, her mortal life gently extinguished by age. A few days later, Damon had followed, unable to hold on without her.

Her oldest friend, Bonnie, had returned to town for the funeral.

After years apart, they'd kept in touch through the years, but life had scattered them to different corners of the world. Bonnie had traveled widely, and she had been consumed by the school, by Lizzie and Josie, by responsibilities she'd taken on without question. But today, as she and Bonnie sat side by side, there was nothing left to say.

They were both tired—tired of fighting, tired of losing people they loved, tired of living lives that had grown hollow.

Seeing her again stirred an ache she couldn't quite place—a longing for simpler times, times they could never reclaim. Bonnie's once-youthful face now bore gentle lines, each one a silent validation to the weight she had carried, to the losses she had borne. Magic had slowed her aging, but even it couldn't slow the heart's weariness.

She recognized that look in Bonnie's eyes—a look that said she was ready to move on, ready to find peace at last. And in Bonnie's face, she glimpsed her own future, an endless cycle of watching people fade, of outliving the world she loved.

Finally, she returned to the quiet, empty house she barely considered a home anymore. She found her way to a half-finished bottle of Bourbon she had cracked open the night before upon hearing of Damon's passing. She drank deeply, savoring the warmth and the fleeting numbness it brought. She slumped onto the couch, her head falling back, letting herself sink into the weight of exhaustion, of pain that seemed older than she was, even though her face hadn't changed a bit. In the mirror across the room.

With a heavy breath, she forced herself to her feet, crossing the room to gaze at her reflection in the mirror.

Physically, she hadn't aged a day since seventeen. Her skin, flawless and unmarked, her hair cascading in soft waves, her eyes as bright as they'd been that first day she'd stepped into Mystic Falls High.

But tonight, she barely recognized herself.

Her eyes, haunted and hollow, were windows to a century of heartache. She could not see the lively, hopeful girl she had once been. Instead, she saw only the ghost of choices left unmade, paths left unexplored. She saw, behind her flawless face, a life full of unspoken regrets.

She thought of her daughters, Lizzie and Josie, now heretics, living their lives in faraway places, too distant for the closeness they once shared. Hope Mikaelson, Landon—all the people she had guided and protected—had moved on, living their own lives, scattered across the globe. They were all free, untouched by the despair that held her captive.

As she stared at her reflection, a deep sense of longing washed over her. She had lived through nearly ninety years, witnessed so much beauty and loss. But she couldn't help but wonder: What if I'd chosen differently? What if I'd followed my heart, put myself first?

What if- if I had chosen him?

A memory of his intense, knowing gaze surfaced in her mind, his words echoing, inviting her to a life she'd never dared to accept.

What if she had gone with him, embraced the wildness, the freedom, the love he had offered? Would it have saved her from this hollow feeling?

Orphan, widowed on her wedding day, children that are not wholly her own, lost and alone...

Her eyes blurred, a single tear slipping down her cheek, disappearing as it touched her skin. She drank again, closing her eyes, and let herself fall back, sinking deeper into the silence, into the what-ifs that swirled around her. She could no longer tell when the darkness of night had overtaken her, when her own longing had lulled her into unconsciousness thinking of that choice, that single moment in her life, wondering if it could have changed everything.

And then, in the silence, Caroline slept, her last thought echoing in her mind like a ghost,
What if...