A/N:
1- Read these. If you ask me a question and its been answered in author's notes, I will not respond. There is a reason why I write these.
2- Yes, I promise you at some point in time, you will most likely find one or more grammatical errors in this story. INCYAL is constantly being edited and re-edited. If you are looking for me to care that there is a misused comma in chapter 5 paragraph 3, you are talking to the wrong person. Simply, no fucks were given. At some point it will be fixed. But to spam me in PM or on tumblr about it is not only insulting (that apparently that was all you got out of the story) but frankly unneeded and a waste of your time. Any insults to my editor Jen and you will be treated as if you have the plague. Jen is a goddess and without her you would have nothing to read.
INCYAL is undergoing its 3rd revision as of March 13, 2013. Therefore whatever grammatical errors you find, breath deep, close your eyes. I promise the world will not end. Continue reading and kindly pretend that they are not there, for I promise you they are in the process of being revised now.
3- I have a tumblr, it is featured on my profile. Go to it. Most likely whatever questions you have can be answered from the information on that page. If they cannot, feel free to message me. However, make sure that your question hasn't already been answered at nauseum in either author's notes or on my tumblr page.
I own nothing!
Edited graciously by livinglifeasitis. She is angel and without her linguistic skills this story would read like the musings of an illiterate child scribbling in crayon on construction paper.
The poster was created by shadowscraving whom, is also a goddess amongst us mere peasants.
I'm not calling you a liar, just don't lie to me
I'm not calling you a thief, just don't steal from me
I'm not calling you a ghost, just stop haunting me
And I love you so much, I'm gonna let you kill me
~ Florence and The Machine
2011
Mystic Falls, Virginia
Surveying the crowd, his eyes locked on the doppelganger and Stefan. Every time he saw her, all he could think of was Tatia, accompanied with the brief flashes of Katherine from long ago.
Smiling, Elena dropped Stefan's hand, a lingering look passing between them as Stefan walked away, giving his brother easy access. It seemed nothing had changed. A thousand years and the Petrova women are still dividing brothers, from Tatia, to Katherine and now Elena.
Lingering thoughts and memories, not worth remembering, he quickly refocused his attention on Stefan. If the older Salvatore had the doppelganger that could only mean that Stefan was off to play hero, eliciting an atypical smirk on Alaric's face.
This body may not remember the Ripper, but Niklaus does.
Weaving through a crowd of terribly dressed teeny boppers, Stefan stepped between a couple, offering his hand to the female. Leaning in he whispered something, an intimate gesture, while looking around the room.
"Sporting, Stefan?" Klaus snickered, under his breath. This was more the Salvatore that he remembered, one without conscience, who was blood thirsty and less possessive in his intentions with women.
At that moment, if he had looked away and focused his attentions on finding the witch or tracking the doppelganger, he would have missed it. He wouldn't have seen them turn and maybe everything could have been different.
If he were naïve or superstitious, Klaus would have called it fate, but a thousand years and ten life times had sapped him of such silly notions. It wasn't fate, destiny, or any other mysterious barrier of joy, but the reaper of misfortune: his mother, he had to thank.
Blonde curls slid over a pastel pink shoulder, revealing blue eyes and a face that had too many names to curse at once: Emily, Nataline, Hannah, Interloper, Devil, Misery, etc. and the first, the one he'd always remember because it would haunt him till the end of all days.
"Lyanna," he whispered, prayed and spat all at once. A strange, horrid, but annoyingly familiar feeling of hatred and nostalgia flooded him. The Chinese had a word for it, they called it Yuanfen: a predetermination of a relationship beyond one's control. The Portuguese called it Saudade: the longing for someone that you lost- a vague and constant remembrance of something that cannot be.
It had been ninety years and he could still smell her perfume, hear her laugh and feel her skin- leaving Alaric's hands with an uncomfortable tingling sensation. The last time he'd seen her she was dying, bleeding out before him and there was nothing he could do because it was he that pulled the trigger.
"Klaus…" she had questioned and accused with her last breaths.
Funny, a hundred years (give or a take a few decades) and it was always a surprise when she appeared, as if it was the first time, every time. For moments, he was paralysed, watching them whisper amongst themselves. Until finally Stefan released her hand and the boy she'd been dancing with before, took his place, a look of concern on his face.
"Be concerned, boy," Klaus murmured under his breath.
He was too close, now. He didn't have time to deal with this. He'd have to kill her, simple as that. He'd wait until they left the dance floor; she went to the restroom or whatever it took. And then, he'd corner her and snap her neck before it began again: before she ruined his plans.
When the song ended, the opportunity presented itself. Separating, she excused herself, walking to the edge of the gym, to the punch bowl. Shiftily, cutting through students, nodding and smiling, he made his way towards her, careful not to lose her in the crowd. Finally, feet away, he prepared himself to see that face so close once again and compel her, when his efforts were thwarted. Turning, she spoke to him, before he could find the words.
"Alaric, have you seen Elena?"
Swallowing, "No dear…" he quickly searching through Alaric's memory and pulled her name, "Caroline. I haven't."
Setting down her glass, she moved closer, lowering her voice, "We should find her. Stefan says the Klaus could be here."
The sound of his name, from her lips, set off a dozen small alarm bells in his mind.
Did she already know of him? How? It had never been this way before. She would never recognize, remember him. How could she? She was different every life, never the same Lyanna but always the same woman. The doppelganger, Katheri- Elena, must have warned her.
"Now that you mention it, I think I saw her leaving the gym," he retorted, leaned forward, taking Caroline by the forearm, "Let us go find her."
Hesitating, she looked back over her shoulder, presumably searching for her dopey teenage boyfriend.
"He'll be fine," Klaus barked, without thinking, leading Caroline to look at him strangely.
"I know."
Her hand slid down his arm, touching him briefly on bare skin, "I'll just tell him, I'll be right back. I don't want him to worry."
He missed every word past 'I'll', as a ghastly realization came over him. Grabbing her hand before she could part, he deftly pinched her pulse point.
"Alaric, what is it?" Confused she stared up at him briefly before tugging her hand back.
"Nothing, I thought I saw her," he recovered quickly. "Go ahead and find him. I'll check the halls."
Before Caroline could respond he was practically jogging towards the door, not daring to look back. He couldn't do it now. It wouldn't be as easy.
In a state of shock, he abandoned the plan. It had been ten lifetimes and never once had she been anything but human. He should have known it wouldn't be easy now, not when he was so close. He should have known, after a thousand years she would develop some new edge. Isn't that, after all, what animals did? They adapted, adjusted and selected their environment, so as to become better predators.
Each time she left him, she'd come back more potent than the last.
He needed to find the witch first. Neutralize the defence. Then he'd make his move for the doppelganger.
Caroline would have to wait. She'd meet her end. Yes, sweet, tortuous, cruel Lyanna would die soon. But it wouldn't be in the hallways of a southern high school. It wouldn't be in the streets of Paris, the clubs of Chicago. And it wouldn't be somewhere a hundred years from now. It would be tomorrow, along with the Petrova doppelganger.
Smiling now, he realized that for the first time, he had found relief, long lasting relief.
He'd kill the doppelganger, regain his powers and in the same breath, use Lyanna- Caroline- as his Vampire sacrifice and finally rid himself of his mother's curse, completely and totally.
"Caroline," he said it again, as he turned the corner, letting it roll off his tongue. This time it would be different. This time, he'd learned. Lyanna, Emily, Hannah, Caroline… whatever her name may be. She wouldn't be as lethal this time, he wouldn't allow it.
"Sweet Caroline… da, da, da… good times never seem so good." he hummed to himself, jovially.
This time it would be different, he promised himself.
996 AD
Burkara
Sweaty hands twisted and struggled against the pestle and mortar. In the heat of the day, the smell of Rosemary, Lavender, Burdock and Nettle hung heavy in the air.
"Not so fine, dear. If the powder is too fine, it won't thicken."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Ma, have you seen Elijah?"
Hastily brushing sweaty matted curls from her forehead, Lyanna attempted to straighten her appearance before Niklaus burst into the room.
"I sent him to fetch me water, Nik. He'll be back in not but a minute."
Nervously looking up, Lyanna antagonistically prayed that she'd both blend into the thatch background of the wall and that he'd finally notice her.
"While you're here, you could take these sacks with you."
He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Lyanna had thought so since they had been children. But she was sure he didn't feel the same. Niklaus Mikaelson was desired by more than half the girls in the village. And those who didn't desire him hated him, because he'd stolen their affection, promising something more but never delivering.
Lifting the heavy bags of grain, he heaved it over his shoulder and headed for the door, before accidentally bumping into her, causing the mortar to fly from her hands onto the ground.
"Sorry, I didn't see you there."
Nervously, dropping to her knees, she scrambled to pick up the clay pieces, her eyes directed at the dirt.
He had never seen her. No one really had.
At sixteen Lyanna was neither decidedly ugly nor beautiful, she was simply plain. Medium height, her gangly limbs had yet to develop the curves that the other girls of the village had already grown into and the men admired. Her mother always said it was just as well. She didn't need to have boys chasing after her, giving her favours, thinking of marriage. She had greater things to accomplish in life, besides wedding a man, having babies and most notably, leaving her mother all alone.
Determined that her daughter wouldn't leave and forget her, that her child would be special, Neda had sent Lyanna to work with Esther, the only healer they had in the village.
"Someday, she'll teach you all the things she knows and then you too can be a healer. You can take care of your loving mother and put food on our table," she coaxed her at night, when Lyanna would come home full of doubts about her abilities.
She enjoyed the work. There were times she almost preferred to be at Michelson's than home. Their house was always so busy, bustling with noise and activity- a family. Not at all like hers, where there was nothing else but mother and the deafening sound of disappointment. Years ago, when Lyanna was still a child, too young to remember, her father had left the village. He had slipped out late one night, running with a woman Neda had never even known that he knew: a lover, much younger than her mother, leaving Neda to become the seed of gossip and pity for years to come.
Dropping the sack, he bent to help her. Reaching for the same piece at once, his fingers brushed over hers. It was brief, insignificant, but to Lyanna, it felt like the world stopped. They made eye contact for less than a second before she turned away, nervous, "I'm fine. You don't have to."
Her hands shook, as she collected each piece.
"Are you sure?"
She shook her head, too scared to look up. Shrugging, he picked up the sack again, and headed for the door. When he was out of earshot, Esther finally responded, "It's not you dear…. He doesn't always see things correctly."
"I don't know what you mean." she squeaked out.
In a tone her mother had never used before, Esther soothed, "There will be others. Someday, boys… someday they'll notice."
Embarrassed, Lyanna didn't answer, only shrugged her shoulders like she didn't understand the context of her comments. Having a daughter of her own, Esther knew all too well, that look of disappointment on a young girl's face.
Poor Lyanna, she was such a sweet child. What she lacked in looks she made up for in sincerity.
Touching her shoulder, Esther concluded, "Why don't you go home for the day, dear? Your mother will be looking for you. We can finish this tomorrow."
As Lyanna scurried out of the house, she looked both ways, relieved to see neither of the Mikaelson brothers had returned. Pulling her hand tighter against her apron, she rubbed the spot that he had touched and smiled to herself. But as quickly as her stomach twisted with excitement, it dropped with reality.
What a stupid, silly girl she was. Niklaus Mikaelson didn't even know she existed. Ducking between thatched huts, navigating her way home, the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky darkening.
And in the distance, a wolf howled. Looking both ways, Lyanna picked up her skirts and ran the last distance home, sure to make it inside before darkness fell over the village.