Part One

Chapter One

The Visitor

Mystic Falls, Virginia

1864

In the crisp autumn months of 1864, golden and crimson leaves falling from the trees seemed to be the only things stirring in Mystic Falls, a quiet township to the west of Richmond, Virginia. There, despite the stillness, changes were on the horizon. A terrible sense of foreboding suckled the bosom of mothers already weary of the bad tidings from the warfront. Infants cried late into the night. Horses whinnied in their pens, and dogs howled at the moon. The heart of the Earth beat through the soil, stirring the trees in the forests and frustrating the planter's harvest.

The change came on the coldest day of the year, though no one could have known it then. It was midday, but the sun could not be seen in the overcast skies - a dreary background compared to the stylish black carriage that made its way into town. Children wiped their little red noses across the thick fabric of their sleeves as it went by, shuffling to catch a glimpse of the dark visitor.

The driver kept his eyes ahead of him, ignoring his surroundings as he passed. Even as a group of children began to run alongside the coach, shouting excitedly, he gave no indication that he noticed them at all. From the carriage window, a black fan hid the visitor's face, her dark eyes peering from behind it. She raised a delicate-looking hand, clothed in a thick traveling glove, to wave just as the carriage lost the last of the laughing children.

The town was small but quite spread out. Most of what came through the small carriage window was the sight of farmland. Miles passed before they finally approached the town square. It was an eerie sight; all the doors were closed and no light or warmth came from inside the buildings. The occasional passerby kept their head down. The cold wind was the only sound to be heard, accompanied by the occasional ring of a bell.

The sun began to descend as they turned up the wobbly dirt road of the Gilbert Estate. The massive trees that lined the road, already bare for the coming winter, loomed menacingly through the carriage windows as they went by. The main house sat square and tall at the end of the tunnel, a beacon of light. It was made of sturdy red brick, and thick smoke billowed from both of the chimneys. On either side of the carriage, hundreds of rows of tobacco ran out of eye's reach.

From the distance, hooves could be heard beating at the ground. A rider was coming. He gave his greeting to the near-comatose driver, to which the woman abruptly shoved her arm out of the carriage to receive the rider's welcome.

By the time they reached the house, the entire household and its staff had made their way to the front porch to welcome the visitor. It was a small group of people, the woman noticed, for it was not possible for so few people to work the land she had just seen. Those who did appear to work outdoors and in the stables stood off to the side. Slightly larger in number were those who worked in the house, all of whom stood to the back. At the center stood Johnathan Gilbert, his niece Elena, and his nephew Jeremiah - the last living descendants of the Gilbert line.

Johnathan was a small man, only months away from shrinking beneath Jeremy's impressive stature, it seemed. Though once he might have been handsome, the difficulties of life showed on his pale face. Even his wheat-colored hair seemed limp and lackluster. He had only been in Mystic Falls for a little over a year, arriving shortly after his wife, Isobel, had been struck down by a wandering bullet from a Union soldier's gun at Vicksburg. He came at the request of his brother - Elena and Jeremiah's father - Grayson Gilbert, when news came that Grayson's wife was dying of consumption. Grieving and alone, Johnathan arrived at the Gilbert residence directly, and within the month, Miranda Gilbert was dead. Grayson sat by the shell of his wife for days, even as the town united in mourning. His brother only persuaded him to move when the stench became too odious for anyone to bear.

From then on, Grayson's already deteriorating mental state quickly declined into insanity. He would lock himself away in his study for days, studying old books and journals on the supernatural. The church was furious upon learning of this, and the Reverend himself publicly declared that it was blasphemy. Yet no amount of public scorn or shame could tear Grayson away, for he was sure that his family was cursed, and his wife's life was taken by a spirit. When neighbors came to offer their condolences for Miranda's untimely death, he would very calmly state that she had not died. "My wife was stolen away by the devil," he would say, "and I will face the him in hell if that is what it takes to save her soul." It caused quite a stir in the quiet little town. Another month passed, and Grayson was found hanging in his study. It was another shock. He was one of the few rational voices among the founding families, and known for his level head. Everyone always thought his incoherent babbling was just a part of his grief.

Grayson Gilbert left behind just his books, his home, and his children. Until Jeremiah was of appropriate age to oversee the household, Johnathan agreed to stay and act as a regent of sorts. It was no coincidence that he simply had no other place to go.

Following these strange and tragic happenings, there came another. A letter arrived, addressed to the dead Miranda Gilbert from her sister. John replied, rather awkwardly, that Miranda would not be able to reply, nor would she ever. Apologies followed because, strangely, nobody knew Miranda Gilbert had a sister, or any living relatives for that matter. A series of correspondence passed between the two before they finally decided that this stranger should make the journey from Atlanta posthaste. An odd number of circumstances, John thought, that led to him meeting this woman.

She exited the carriage gracefully with help from her driver, her solemn eyes looking up to the people in front of her as though she had known them from long ago. John shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rather nervously. She was beautiful, he thought, but in an unnerving sort of way. Though she had been traveling for weeks, she looked as though she had come from just down the street. Her brown curls were still perfectly pinned beneath her cap. Her brown eyes were bright, and if she was tired from the journey, she did not give it away. She was certainly Miranda's sister. Of that, John had no doubt. In fact, if she was not standing next to him, he might have thought it was Elena who stepped down those carriage steps. John looked sideways at his niece, and yes, the resemblance was undeniable. The almond-shaped eyes, the olive skin, the wide mouth... The more John looked the more he wondered if this was not Elena's twin.

"Miss Katherine Pierce, I presume?" Johnathan asked politely.

She broke into a smile upon hearing her name. "I am so pleased to finally meet you all," she said, and then added solemnly, "though I am sorry it has not happened sooner. You must be Johnathan Gilbert."

"Please, call me John."

He stepped forward uneasily, taking her gloved hand and bringing it up to his lips before turning to face the children. "It pleases me to introduce you to your nephew, Jeremiah."

He was broad and handsome for a boy his age, taking after his mother's dark eyes and brown hair. He did as his uncle did and kissed her hand. "Jeremy," he said shyly.

"And your niece, Elena."

Elena stepped out hesitantly from the shadow of her brother, and John intently watched. The young girl was shy, but she straightened her shoulders under Katherine's exacting gaze. Side by side, John realized they could not be twins. No, it was clear to look at them that Elena was just a girl. Katherine was certainly a woman, self-assured and haughty as any woman without a man to mind her. Never taking their eyes off of one another, they curtsied slowly.

Elena startled when Katherine stepped forward suddenly, gently grabbing her by the chin to assess her face further. "Now that is the face of a-," and she faltered for just a moment. "Pierce," she said finally.

The family stood awkwardly for a moment. Another woman stepped down from the coach, and Katherine introduced her as her handmaid, Emily Bennett.

Finally, John stepped forward and gestured to Katherine's party. "Please, come in."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi! Thanks for reading. Please review, if you like. I won't pretend I don't love reading them. I'm horrible about replying, however, so if you have any serious questions, don't hesitate to message me.

Please note that there are a number of trigger warnings in this story. Proceed at your own risk.