Mystic Falls, VA September 26, 1864
Abigail gasped to wakefulness. Sallie hadn't gone to bed yet, and she was extremely happy to see her sitting beside her bed and fully conscious. As she looked around her room, she was relieved to see the windows closed.
"Sallie," she whispered. "I need you to listen to me very carefully."
Her companion was completely silent as she listened to the instructions her former mistress gave her. Some didn't make a great deal of sense, but she was coming to understand that when it came to Abigail Morgan, sometimes things didn't need to make sense to be important.
As Sallie left her bedroom to go downstairs and warn the servants of their impending visitor, Abigail got out of her bed. She put on her shoes and collected her thoughts. He was coming and he was going to try to get in the house.
What was the rule she'd heard once about vampires? If she was correct, and she hoped she was, telling Sallie to be sure that no servant invited him in was the first step. Keep him out. That was the first. Next was finding out if there were other safety nets.
She left the bedroom and realized that for mid-morning, it was far too quiet in the house. Nothing stirred, but she could see clearly downstairs. Taking a quiet breath and reminding herself that she couldn't die, she started to move down the stairs. She moved slowly, so she could assure herself that she made minimal noise.
As her feet touched the carpet of the first floor, she heard a sound. A quiet sound, as though someone was swallowing. She closed her eyes and took a moment to collect herself. Please, she thought, just let it be someone with a glass of water.
"Abigail?" Her heart dropped at the quiet voice beckoning to her from Giuseppe's office. It wasn't her adopted father. And it wasn't Damon. "Aren't you going to come and say hello, Abigail?"
She was terrified. Even without dying, she knew that whatever was waiting in that office was going to hurt. She also knew she couldn't stay in the foyer forever, tempting though it may be.
Her feet reluctantly pressed forward. She moved with the same slowness as she had come down the stairs, though this time it wasn't fear of noise that kept her back.
"Ah, Abigail," the voice pleaded, urging her on. "Come along, my darling." His voice was both mocking and longing, and that pressed down on her. It made moving harder. He had something waiting for her in that office to see.
Finally she reached the doorway, and there ablaze in living color was the horror she'd never remove from her memory. For Stefan Salvatore had not only ripped apart his father, but he'd also killed Sallie, and created a horrific tableau with her and his father and perhaps parts of other servants. The blood and gore covered ever part of the office, bathing the entirety in reds, pinks, and white. And before she could be overcome with the horror he was in front of her, coated in the blood of his father and her friend and smiling widely.
It was her last vision before she passed into unconsciousness, but it was the first time she wished for death. For dying would be better than whatever the Hell she was left in.