1924

The year was 1924, and Klaus Mikaelson happily swayed down the streets of New Orleans. Jazz music was coming from every direction, and all he could do was smile. Not because of the music, but because of Rose. The two had been going together for three or four months, and Klaus hadn't been this happy in over a century. Of course, Rose didn't know everything about him. That's the way he wanted it. For the time being, she much safer not knowing what he was.

He rounded the corner to her street, he was almost there. He could see the sign to the Amish deli the two of them frequented together. That woman loved sweet baloney. Klaus walked the steps up to Roses' door to knock, however, he smelt something. No. He knew that smell. That sweet iron smell of his favorite thing on the planet. Klaus smelt blood. He swiftly unlocked the door and let himself in.

Once he crossed the threshold, the smell was that much stronger.

"Rose?" He called her name.

Every light in her apartment was off, and Klaus saw the bedroom door was slightly ajar. He crept inside, his stomach in knots as he saw what was in front of him. His eyes filled with tears as he touched her cheek; it was ice cold. His Rose was dead. He brushed her tangled hair to the side and froze when he saw the two small holes in her neck, big enough for any vampire to make.

4 months prior

I remember the very last time I ever felt hope. It was the day my mother decided to take me back to the doctor. Neither one of us really knew what was up, but one thing was obvious: my migraines where getting progressively worse and I needed some medicine. James Taylor was softly playing on the radio and my mother had the top down on her vintage beetle bug. The only good thing that came from her marriage with my father she always joked. My red hair blew in the wind as my blue eyes scanned the green as we passed. It was early March, and the weather was doing that odd thing. That odd thing where the sun was shining warmly on your skin, but the wind brought piercing cold to it.

"Look, Quinn." My mother had said from beside me, turning James Taylor off.

I snapped my head to face her, and she was smiling but starring ahead. I followed her gaze to see a red bird flying in front of the car. As if he was directing us the way to the clinic. This brought a smile to my lips.

"That's not something you see every day."

She chuckled, patting my knee with her right hand. "That has to be a good sign."

However, it wasn't. I loved my mother, but sometimes she was a bit of an optimist.

"Yeah," I replied, "Maybe they can give me something stronger than Tylenol to ease these stupid headaches."

"I hope so too, sweetie." She states, tucking a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. She was so focused on the road she didn't see me chuckle.

"I just want to get better."

"Hey," She said, "Everything will be fine. It's just some headaches. When we get done, what do you say we head to the diner and grab ourselves some burgers?"

I turned to look at her. Her mane of brown locks where blowing in the wind, and her eyes firmly on the road. I smiled again.

"That sounds great mom."

I'll always remember that moment until the day I die. That was the last time I ever felt hopeful for the future. When I got to the doctor's office, the wait was rather quick. My appointment had been at 10AM, and by 11 I was already waiting for the results of my head scan. That's when the doctor walked in. He was tall, middle aged, with salt and pepper black hair. I saw a wedding ring on his left hand, and I wondered how many children he had, if he had any.

"Ms. Spencer." He said, looking down at me.

"Yes?" I replied, setting up straight the best I could. I hated those stupid beds, what was the purpose of them anyway?

He sighed, "There is no easy way to tell you this."

"Tell her what?" My mother chimed in, starring the doctor down.

" -"

"Ms. Tate." She corrected him, "Her father and I have long since divorced."

"Ms. Tate," He said warmly, scratching his head. "I have the results of your scan, young lady."

"And?" I asked.

He bit his lip looking between me and my mother. "I'm afraid you have something growing inside your head."

"Growing?" My mother said.

The doctor nodded, showing my brain on paper. The growth was clear as day, and I touched my head around the exact same spot it was in the picture.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Honey, I'm afraid that is a brain tumor."

"A t-tumor?" My mother asked. I could already hear the tears in her voice. I didn't want her to cry on account of me. However, I didn't want to be a hypocrite, because I had my own tears forming.

"Yes." He stated shakily, "It is cancerous and it's about the size of a lemon. It's growing at such an excessive rate that-"

"That what." I interrupted this time, wrapping my arms around my waist.

"That there is nothing we can do to stop it."

My mother began to sob at that point. I cried a little, but mostly I starred at the floor. The rest was a surreal blur. The only thing I remember asking was: "How long."

"Well with radiation-"

"I don't want radiation." I cut him off, "How long?"

He sighed, looking into my eyes. "Quinn, I would say you would be lucky to live until the end of next year."

That was all the conformation I needed.