Insurmountable

My mother often told me I was a strange individual, and I saw the world differently than others did. I didn't see the world as black and white. There was also light gray, dark gray, charcoal, and many other mixtures. Aligning black and the white settlements meant there were mixtures of other colors too, and not just the standard colors of the rainbow.

My mother told me I was all of those colors. And her associates agreed. I never like anyone of them, but I doubt any of them really liked me either. One of them stuck out to me in a weird way. Many of her associates were double my immortal age, shy of my five hundred three figure age. I was young compared to the first vampires that inhabited this place, but I wasn't as young as the newborns, or the fact the immortals could consume the mortal in several hundred years to come.

One of them stuck out to be differently. He was different, but he and I were a lot alike. He was my friend, or so I should call him my lover, or my boyfriend, but that's what he was. Every story deserves to be told.

I met Niklaus Mikaelson in France when I was only seventeen human years young. By that time, he was the age I was now, and he was the life of the party. Niklaus was a very gorgeous man, one that I would not expect to seem dwindling in public eye, especially around here with these type of common folk. My mother warned me about them when I was growing up, sheltered by a city that refused to open their gates or accept change, but that was the place I had grown to know and grew up best.

I was not aware he was Niklaus Mikaelson, or that he was powerful and rich, and people either were three ways with him; they either wanted to be him, be with him or kill him. Some people attempted one by doing others. None of them succeeded. Women were often thrown off by the insignificant crow he let hang around his wraithing presence. When I found out the truth of this young woman, I was not going down easy.

My mother said I was infatuated with the 'King of New Orleans', and she wasn't wrong. But she was wrong in the sense that I would get over myself. Niklaus wasn't the type of man to hold himself down to one, and I knew that. In Chicago, he became my instructor in the military fashion. He protected me when I could not protect myself. When the demon spawn returned to bring hell to Chicago, I found myself fighting between torn love and a one sided affair that I was getting no benefit of.

He seemed to care. We were often around each other: now whether this was intended or not, he knows and I know no such thing, but I know that often he was there, and if it he was not there for the time being, he had perfect timing in showing up to save my life, or if he needed saving himself.

Saving him was more than defeating physical enemies and demons. His mental and emotional demons couldn't have been pierced with any amount of blood or vengeance, whether it is physical, spiritual, or magical. Nothing would make up for the past he suffered. When the younger sister informed me I knew nothing, I realized that at the same time she was right, it was the time I had realized everything.

Soon I found myself by his side. Whether we were drinking, defending the bayou of our homes in respective territories, painting, or training along with the others who had to defend themselves, he was often around me and me around him. His hazel eyes were something I remembered most.

I remember one night it was a glorification of infatuation coming from both of us. My mother told me that it was just something I shouldn't have gotten used to, but it happened more than once. It happened twice, three times, four, and the numbers kept rising, the kisses kept coming, and my feelings kept escalating.

We were together before I could blink; at least that's what I hoped to believe for a long time. The day he left was the day I realized I was pregnant.

I had no idea what to do after that. I almost sunk into the abyss, welcoming death as my friend with open arms. You see, in the several hundred years before Niklaus, and even in the several decades after, I had been quite suicidal, and impending my own doom as a greeting of freedom. But with him, and soon with our son, nothing was impossible.

Niklaus left the day after our son was conceived. We call him Henry, and he has my last name. But his name is Henrik Mikaelson. He has yet to rekindle with his father.

I do not know what drove Niklaus off. Many people said it was because he never loved me and did not want a family, but how could he have known I was pregnant if I did not know myself? Some said it was because he simply didn't want to be around me, but if he was always around me at my best and worst why didn't he leave before?

It was years before my mother was convinced he was far away for our protection, that no matter how old I or Henrik had got, he would always remember us. I'd like to think that was true.

I have not heard from him in close to fifty years. I hope he is alright. He gave me everything I would never find with another. My son Henrik is old enough to understand what I know. The sister was wrong. I know exactly what I need to know. Our son is here and alive, and whatever happens to me is irrelevant.

I unfortunately seal this letter on my death bed, as the plague of immortality begins to consume me. The older Henrik gets even as a young boy, and the more doppelgangers that attempt to consume my energy for their own harvesting, the weaker I will become. Maybe I will see Henrik turn another year.

If I do not, I leave you all with this final greeting. Love never dies. I hadn't seen him before but I knew when I saw him, he was going to be my best and my worst mistake. He gave me everything, and no amount of time or death can consume it. What we had no one else may ever have. If by some chance, as some suggest, he has left me for France, for England, Canada, Aruba, or is living in town, and has a life of his own. I would not care. He had changed. My mother spoke this to me before her death.

I hear my son Henrik calling my name, but I am too far gone.

I welcome death with a pitiful feeling I am forgetting something, or that something is tugging me toward their embrace. The room is hazy, and I cannot open my eyes which feel glued shut and unable to open, as if I am in a state of paralysis.

"Sweetheart?"