Red Thread ▹ Rebekah Mikaelson

002.

red thread.

002. you think medusa asked for this?

__________

     Mystic Falls, 1864

The lights? Blinding. The sounds? Deafening. Everything was too loud, too much. She couldn't take the way the water gently splashed against the shore. It was such a pity, it used to be her favorite thing; to sit on her home's porch, listening to the world. But now, Christ, it was just too much.

She was in transition. Died with Katherine's blood in her system. Killed by her own father.

"You can live forever. We can be sisters forever," Katherine had said, "You want to see a world in which men do not have a boot on women's neck, you can! You can see that world. We can."

The words were distant now, a whisper in the back of her mind. Did she want this, to be immortal? To survive off other people's lives? That part convinced her less. But she wanted to be strong, powerful, no longer someone who men could push around.

Foster could hear her brothers arguing elsewhere. She didn't look at them. She didn't look up from a fallen leaf on the ground until Emily sat on the ground next to her, handing her a ring.

"Katherine had me make them," per Foster's perplexed expression, the witch explained, "if you do decide to complete the transition, you'll need it."

Foster hesitated, drawing her hand back once before finally picking the piece of jewelry from Emily's warm hand. "It's beautiful," she awed. It really was. Rose gold band with an oval cut, morganite gem with a small S engraved on the side; it was simple, elegant. Foster remembered Katherine having something similar to it in her room. Was she planning this all along, turning them all along? Foster closed her eyes, the thought and the sun becoming too much.

"We could live forever," Foster whispered to herself, before speaking louder, "I could live forever."

Stefan and Damon both turned to look at her, but she was gone. The imprint of where she'd been sitting for hours was still on the grass.

________

      A normal heartbeat is 60 - 100 beats per minute. Foster had always been fascinated by medicine, the act of healing people. She checked her pulse now, surprised by the intensity. She's dead, or was. Foster always thought maybe one day, she'd be doctor. Someone would say it was impossible because she was a girl. Now. Now, she's dead. Undead.

Christ, it was too much.

The rocks squashed under her thin shoes as she passed the road leading to her house. Not home anymore, just a house. She walked until the sun was setting and she reached another road. Slightly more rough than the last, and the house was smaller, but the same white paint job.

Foster didn't knock, her footsteps invading the silence inside. In just a few weeks, this house would've been her home. She would've married a Fell, and become a mother.

"What are you doing here?" a gruff voiced asked, "why are you filthy?" Foster didn't answer. She didn't have an explanation as to why she was covered in dirt and her blood. His hand gripped her shoulder, and spun her around roughly. Apparently, he didn't like not being answered. "Did you not hear me, women?"

Foster's face scrunched at the smell of alcohol on his breath. She still didn't speak. A pain erupted from her cheek, and her head turned the side. She could hear him breathing heavily, and she felt tears running down her face, over her stinging cheek.

"Do you think I want to hurt you?" he asked, grabbing her chin, forcing eye contact, "I don't, but you need to learn respect."

She could never respect him.

She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud until her head turned to the other side. Foster could him yelling as she fell to the floor. Find a happy place. That's how she coped. Coping was out of the question. The hunger, her anger, everything was rising. He was over her now. Tearing at her already ripped dress, fist curled, and inches from her face. Foster gave in.

Her hand stopped his, gripping it tightly, before bending it back. The crack of his bone and scream, may as well have been a lullaby to her ears. The lullaby continued as she retaliated and  in a second, she holding him against the wall.

"What? Your—your face," he stuttered. She relished in the fear lacing his words, the quiver in his voice. Finally, Foster thought, feel what you made me feel. She looked at a silver mirror hanging the wall. Veins protruding around her eyes which had turned bloodshot. Foster could feel her own fear rising at the look on her face, but she smiled a humorless smile at Fell's pale face. "What are you?"

"I someone who wants to teach you some respect," Foster said, fangs causing a slight lisp, "I'm a woman who hates you, who has beaten you, and who will kill you. I'm a vampire."

She ripped him apart then. She would live to see the day.

  — two short interludes because that's all i have time for.

so y'all learned a couple of things i've kept to myself about foster, thoughts?