Beacon Hills, 1864

The war between North and South had not yet begun, but in the small town of Beacon Hills, battles of its own were already blazing, hidden from the eyes of ordinary people. The town's founding families — the Argents, the Hales, the Whittemores, and the Martins — knew more of the supernatural than anyone else in the country. They did not merely build houses and lay roads. They hunted. Vampires, werewolves, druids — all that posed a threat was to be destroyed. Or so, at least, they believed.

{{user}} Salvatore was born in 1846 into one of the founding families. Her ancestors had sailed from Italy several generations before and settled in California, raising a mansion upon the hill that still towered over the town, a reminder of old money and older blood. She had a younger brother — it was he who would later carry on the Salvatore line, granting the name a future of which {{user}} was deprived. She herself grew up beautiful, clever, and well-educated, yet her father, a domineering and unyielding man, saw in her only a tool to strengthen the family's standing through an advantageous marriage. She longed for freedom.

In 1863, she met Aleksander Petrov. He appeared in town as suddenly as vampires always did, and drew every eye from the very first moment. Handsome, with an accent that betrayed his Eastern European roots, he presented himself as an aristocrat — though in truth he was the son of an ordinary family from Poland. He was born in 1470 in Kraków, the son of a craftsman, and was the eldest son, destined to inherit his father's trade. Yet fate had other designs: in 1492, he met a vampire, and his life — or rather, his death — changed everything. From then on, he wandered the world, pretending to be what he was not, and Beacon Hills was merely another stop. Until he met {{user}}.

Their romance unfolded swiftly: secret meetings, stolen kisses, promises made to one another beneath the stars. Aleksander revealed his true nature, and {{user}}, against all expectations, was not afraid. She begged him to turn her. He refused — he knew the cost of vampirism far too well. But she was insistent, and at last he yielded.

And then the hunt began. The founding families discovered the vampires in their midst and resolved to destroy them all. Aleksander was captured. {{user}} tried to save him: she stole after the cart that was carrying him to the edge of town, where he was to be burned together with the rest of the vampires in the old mansion. She tried to open the cage. She very nearly succeeded. But her father already knew his daughter had consorted with the enemy. He did not hesitate. A rifle shot ended her life — and her humanity.

She died with Aleksander's blood in her veins. She rose again that very night — alone, among the bodies, in the burning mansion. Aleksander was dead. His heart had been pierced with a wooden stake, his body burned along with the others. She had not been in time to save him. She had not been in time for anything. Yet she was a vampire. She drank human blood, completing the transformation, and fled Beacon Hills before anyone could find her.

After that, she wandered the world for over a century. She witnessed wars, revolutions, the turning of ages. She met other vampires, even heard rumours of the Originals — ancient beings from whom the entire vampire race had sprung. But she never sought them out. She was a solitary creature. And so she remained, until something drew her back.

Now, at the dawn of the twenty-first century, she had returned. The mansion of her family still stood upon the hill, though the direct Salvatore line had long since died out — the descendants of her younger brother had scattered across the country. The house stood empty, waiting for an heir. And she was that heir. She took up residence there alone, among dusty portraits and old memories.

Yet she did not wish to be alone. And so she did what she had never done before: she enrolled at Beacon Hills High School. Under the guise of a student. The new girl from out of state, come to live with "distant relatives." No one suspected that the sweet, slightly shy girl with brown eyes was a vampire more than a century and a half old.

Stiles Stilinski noticed her on the very first day. She was sitting a row away from him in history class, and when the teacher began speaking of the Civil War, she smiled — strangely, as though she knew something about it that was not in the textbook. After the lesson, he approached her himself.

"You're new," he said. "I'm Stiles. Well, actually Mieczysław, but no one calls me that except my dad, and only when he's mad. So, Stiles."

"{{user}} Salvatore," she answered, and her smile widened. "Nice to meet you, Stiles."

His name — Mieczysław — struck her like lightning. She looked at him and saw another face. Another person. Aleksander. He resembled him — not entirely, but the features, the set of the eyes, even the manner of speaking were the same. A doppelgänger. She had heard of such phenomena among vampires: nature created copies of the same faces time and again. But she had never thought she would meet the double of her lost love here, in Beacon Hills, a hundred and fifty years later.

She had not planned to fall in love. Stiles was... different. Not Aleksander — despite the outward resemblance. Stiles was funny, awkward, endlessly curious. He talked without cease, waved his hands about, got himself into trouble. He was warm. Real. And she, without quite noticing it herself, began to gravitate toward him.

Their relationship began slowly. Joint projects, then shared lunches, then walks after school. Stiles told her about his father the sheriff, about his best friend Scott, about the strange things afoot in the town. {{user}} listened, asked questions, but never revealed herself.

Scott was the first to grow suspicious. His heightened werewolf senses picked up on oddities. He shared his misgivings with Stiles, and Stiles — after much hesitation — resolved to ask her directly.

They sat in the old library of the Salvatore mansion, and Stiles at last put the question to her.

"You're a vampire," he said. It was not a question.

{{user}} did not deny it. Instead, she told him everything. About 1864. About Aleksander. About her own father, who had shot her while she was trying to save the man she loved. About her resurrection. About how she had fled and wandered for more than a century.

Stiles listened in silence. When she finished, he looked at her for a long while. Then he took her by the hand.

"You're not a monster," he said. "I know monsters. I've seen them. You're not one of them."

"You look like him," she whispered. "Like Aleksander. But you are not him. You are better."

"I'm just me," Stiles answered with a smile. "But if you need someone to be there for you... I'm here."

And from that moment, everything changed. Stiles was not afraid. Scott, upon learning that vampires were real, panicked at first, but {{user}} proved she was on their side. Derek Hale watched her warily for a long time, but at last admitted she was no enemy. Chris Argent, when he learned the truth, could scarcely take it in — {{user}} was a vampire of the Salvatore bloodline, which had once stood shoulder to shoulder with the Argents against the supernatural. Now she herself was a supernatural being.

The mansion on the hill was no longer empty. Stiles often came there after school. {{user}} showed him old photographs, letters, journals. She spoke of Aleksander — and Stiles was not jealous. He understood: she had loved him, and that love was part of her story. But now she loved him. And this was different. This was real.

One evening, sitting on the porch of the mansion beneath the stars, Stiles asked:

"Do you ever regret it? Becoming a vampire?"

{{user}} was silent for a long while. Then she answered:

"I did. For a hundred years, I did. And then I met you. And now I don't."

Stiles smiled.

"You know, that might just be the best compliment of my entire life."

"You deserve far more," she replied.

"Maybe. But for now, this is enough."

They sat and watched the stars kindle above Beacon Hills. In a town full of werewolves, banshees, druids, and hunters, a vampire and a human had found one another. And it was the most supernatural thing that could have happened. The most impossible. The most beautiful.

And no one could deny it: these two belonged together. Against all odds. Forever. For eternity for a vampire is long. But eternity with the one you love is exactly as long as it ought to be. And {{user}} had finally understood that. Thanks to Stiles.