White Blood | Klaus Mikaelson

Epilogue

❝I think I could have loved you better than anyone,
and I can't stop making lists of all the times I almost told you.❞

   Purgatory—it was what she called it. The world had become her personal Hell, a lonely Hell where it was only her and no one else. It was quiet, distant, and she could hear each breath that she took and each step her feet made. The silence made her stop and think about every little thing that she had done, every little thing that had happened. She would fall on her knees and sob, raking breaths as tears streamed down her cheeks. She sobbed for Thomas, for Gianni, for Klaus and Elijah.

   Oh, how she could have cried oceans for them. 

   She wrote letters each time she travelled around the world, several bundles of them wrapped in twine. Each bundle belonged to one person, each bundle holding memories and words she had never had the heart to say out loud. There was one for Thomas and Gianni, each of them laid on their tombs in Somerlayton Hall. One for Elijah, which she had left in the room she last saw him in, the one where she had bit him in when she was lucid.

   She wrote several letters to Klaus, most of them about how lonely the world was and how much she desired to say what he meant to her. He was an idiot, stupid, vindictive and manipulative, but he had earned his way to be like that. And she wrote that on the letters, telling him that he doesn't have to change for anyone, but to keep on being strong and aggressive, one of his many qualities that turned her on. Some of her words had been almost erased by her tears, making them barely legible. 

   His letters were left in the room with paintings in New Orleans, the one Elijah had told her about that one fateful night in New York.

   On one of her many travels around the world, she heard voices. They were barely audible, but she heard only two of their words—Somerlayton Hall. She returned there as soon as possible. To her surprise and utmost happiness, Gianni and Thomas stood on the grass with the bundles of letters in their hands and a surprise look on each of their faces. She dropped her backpack and took off running, yelling their names as tears fell down her cheeks. Her arms wrapped around them, the happiness in her bursting like an infinite amount of suns in the sky. She kissed each of their cheeks, held them as tight as she could, and cried because she couldn't believe that they were standing in front of her after so much time alone.

   She could have covered the whole world in water with her tears.

   They spent their never-ending days in that house, making a life for themselves. They travelled around the world, exploring each country with no one. Lonely, but they had each other. 

   One of those days, the young vampire found a note in her backpack. It was written in a neat cursive, as if it belonged in a book. Three simple words that surprised her to her bones:

You're welcome.
    N. P.

   In the real world, Klaus Mikaelson had found a stack of letters with his name printed in scratchy cursive. When he opened them, his heart burst with both sadness and loneliness. They were for him, just for him. Letter written by the woman he had lost many years ago, the woman that confessed his love to him in a dream; the woman he wasn't able to confess his love back to. Each letter praised him, then hated him, then loved him. 

   An abundance of letters that made him cry and smile.

   He closed each letter as neatly as they were given to him, hid them in a place where only he knew, and went on with his day as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. After all, it wasn't like he received letters from a dead girl every day. But, there was a part of his heart that was full of joy in knowing that Eleanor—his Eleanor—had found peace. That was enough for him.