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'I'm only human after all,' Sara thought to herself as she sat in the plane on her way to Rio De Janeiro, exhausted beyond belief. 'Immortal perhaps, but human.'
Sara had said that all those hundreds of years ago to her nephew. 'I might live forever but I cannot save your kin. Not when the blood of the doppelganger runs through them.'
'Don't save them but just...mourn them.' Her little Taavi, the only thing she had left of her beloved sister had said in reply, 'The portents say tragedy and disaster follows in our footsteps. Those who bring chaos aren't often missed by those they leave behind.'
So Sara followed. She tried to watch over then the best she could but it was hard. Taavi's children Helga and Bjarni, caught up in the storm that was the world discovering itself, had scattered to the winds, their kin getting lost with them. Only now, with the tools of this new world was she able to better find them and finally, finally keep up. Now, when she no longer had to spend years on journeys just to chase down a rumour, now, when the Families had dwindled away and could no longer run, it was easy to find them. In unmarked graves and the unnamed background characters in paintings she found them, from archaeological digs and folktales alike. In the last century alone, through the wonders of DNA testing she had had found more of her kin, albeit dead, than in the last thousand years of wanderous, meticulous searching.
Helga's children had fled to Europe in an attempt to escape the war between vampire and werewolves that had been started by Mikael, and Sara hadn't followed them swiftly enough. It had taken decades for her to find the clans they had settled into, the Petrova one remaining the most prolific of them all but even that came to an end soon enough. The rest had died before them, taken by the Crusades, by the plagues, by famines and by revolutions. Katerina's bastard child's line had survived but was just as difficult to track once it came out that Nadia had only had the child to continue her line and given it up as soon as it was out of her, not even bothering to find out whether it was a boy or a girl.
Sara mourned those the most, those unnamed ones who had been left to rot by the ones who should have loved them. She did not care for Katerina or Nadia whose obsessions lay within themselves and immortality, nor for Oleg, the terrible man so proud of his magic that he paid no mind to the wealth he had in the form of his loving family.
But Patrick who had worked in the mines in a time with no safety regulations even though his lungs were weak, all to provide for the sickly boy his wife had borne, whose tale she heard from his grieving widow, he would be mourned. Martha, the suffragette who died of pneumonia after being force fed, she was mourned.
Those who lived their lives well were mourned.
And now Helga's ten children and all their clans had dwindled down into this one person, little darling Elena Gilbert. So much like Tatia and so very young. Then again they always were. Well, that wasn't quite fair, it wasn't that they were young but that Sara was old.
Old and tired. But for the sake of family, anything.
And all her research pointed to the last of Bjarni's line having ended up in Brazil. Helga's line was easier to track, the direct line of the doppelgangers running through them, attracting tragedy like none other. But Bjarni, oh the boy had spread his oats around far and wide. Her grand nephew had always been a bit of a dog.
One day, once the supernatural caught up to Elena as it most definitely would, and she learned she was a doppelganger, maybe she'd like to know of the family she had still. Maybe she'd like to go through the book Sara kept close to herself with the names and deeds of all of their kin she had tracked down.
One day.
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