Rebekah Mikaelson Salvatore: Part One
She hadn’t even thought about it. Just done it really, an instinct, a reaction so quick there was no time to debate anything. Saving Nik and sacrificing herself. In a way she almost expected it to be over, maybe some final blaze of glory and then nothingness.
She had not expected to be awake. To stand in a place of pure whiteness, as shadowy figures moved on through. Rebekah stood, disorientated, calling out for someone, anyone to find her. Gradually, the figures began to look like people she had known. Emile, looking at her with such disappointment, her thoughtless attitude leading to his death. April, with all the hurt and betrayal of a friend so used, compelled over and over. Kol, screaming as the fire of the white oak stake engulfed him, when she had been distracted by a dance. So many faces looking at her accusingly, some she had killed, some she had just hurt beyond recognition. Because she had spent her life running, always running, hand in hand with Nik because she had chosen a side, but at what cost? What could her life have been if she had just been human, a simple human girl with a simple human life? No such thing as vampires ever being created.
Rebekah fell to her knees and sobbed.
The heat of the sun in Italy, 1114. Soft swish of velvet dress, delicate braids in her hair, a man who swore he loved her with all his heart. She knew the dangers, or thought she did, this cult so dedicated to wiping out her kind, who wanted to murder her family, but she was in love. And couldn’t Alexander’s love for her be enough to make him spare her and her brothers?
The cold, icy steel of the dagger through her heart said otherwise.
New Orleans. 19th century. Marcellus. The boy her brother had raised, who had looked at her with a child’s adoration that grew into a man’s love. She had tried to resist, tried so hard not to be charmed by his passion and desire for her, fearing her brother’s wrath. But her heart would not listen to her head, and she loved again, Marcel, surely one her brother would let live because of his love for him. And she had been right. But that hadn’t stopped the dagger in her heart once more.
What had hurt more was discovering Marcel had let her rot, had chosen immortality over her.
1920s, Chicago. Stefan Salvatore. Another love affair that ended with a dagger in her heart, 90 years lost in a coffin because of the rage and jealousy of Niklaus. Only to be awoken and find Stefan again.
Rebekah stood in the circle of hell, in the Cage, and felt the rush of emotions all over again, that love, that jealousy, that hurt. But there was hope, wasn’t there? The hope that at least this one she knew how it ended, Stefan chose her, they were in Lawrence, they would be married, they would…
She watched as Elena returned to Lawrence, a human Elena who still loved Stefan, watched her husband leave her for the doppelganger, that love being flaunted in her face, hurting more than any dagger ever could, as Niklaus laughed. What chance could she ever have had against the purity of Elena Gilbert? The one everyone fought for, who everyone died for, who had everything handed to her on a platter, and there Stefan was, giving Elena that smile, those kisses, offering her his heart so freely. Rebekah had been a fool to love again. In the end, she would always be the one left behind.
She tried to drink deeply of the blood, but it didn’t stay down, tried to feed so many times, but could feel her body slowly desiccating from starvation…
The necklace, her wedding ring, her horse, her kitten, turned to flames beneath her touch, everything she had ever owned, ever cared about, down to the jewels she had coveted over the centuries and even the clothes on her back, burned to ashes...