"Between earth and heaven, this woman must be the most evil and the most hated person ever, yet between earth and heaven, she was also the softest, the gentlest."
Desmond Tutu once said "You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them."
Elena Gilbert understood quite well the meaning of those words; having lost her mother at the tender age of five and being left with nothing but a cold father who never spared a glance in her direction. Her mother had been a sweet woman who doted on her and read her stories before going to bed every night. Once she was gone, Elena was thrust into the hands of nannies or nursemaids who never cared for more than getting their paychecks.
Once her mother was gone, there were no longer happy smiles or sweet words whispered in her direction. The smell of cinnamon cookies no longer permeated the air in the house, and her father became an even more strangled person than he was before. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Elena started forgetting what family meant. She forgot the feeling of being protected and veiled by someone stronger than you.
But then the Salvatores arrived.
It was the winter of 1999 and Elena had just turned six when her father decided to remarry. She had never met the woman before, but she was shoved into a lacy and puffy cream colored dress and forced to walk down the aisle with a smile on her face as she threw away petals of some nice smelling flower. She had been nervous, a small trembling figure standing in the aisle as a strange woman followed behind her to take her mother's place. Her body quivered as she stood among the maze of unknown people.
And then he held her hand.
She probably should have been scared of him. In another circumstance she might have been but not in that moment, when everything around her was scarier than the boy with the broken face in front of her.
He stood taller than her, given that he was ten at the time. He had the darkest of hairs and eyes a shade so blue it was like staring into an ocean. His mouth was set in a straight line and his eyes stone cold as they looked at the couple marrying a few feet away from them. But the gentle squeeze of his hand let Elena know he understood, and from that moment on he became her protector.
It didn't matter that half his face was the one of a monster, as a result of the bullet marks that had disfigured him at a young age. She didn't care that as the years went by he became colder and meaner. That he started spending too much time with her father. Or that every time he came from visiting his grandfather in Colombia, it seemed that the boy who held her hand in that church died a bit more.
It didn't matter that once he reached twenty they started calling him "La Parca" (The Reaper) and that people flinched at the mere mention of his name, because for Elena Gilbert he was never a monster. He had been her protector, her angel, and the one who had shown her the true meaning of family.
If anyone told the girl of six that nineteen years after that boy squeezed her hand at the church she was going to have him kneel at her feet with the barrel of her gun aimed at his head, she wouldn't have believed them. She could hardly believe it right now, as she stared down into his troubled blue eyes.
"You might kill me, but you'll never get rid of me."
His words echoed throughout the dimly lit warehouse before the sound of a gunshot transcended everything else.
So, yeah, another story coming! What do you think? Is it worth the shot?