Mystic Falls — Salvatore Boarding House

Two years after Klaus left

Caroline hadn’t meant to find the box.

She was searching through a forgotten drawer in the Salvatore attic — half-looking for an old photo album, half-avoiding her own feelings — when her fingers brushed against something that didn’t belong.

A black wooden box. Plain, locked, but familiar. The initials on the brass plate made her freeze.

N.M.

Her breath caught in her throat.

No one had said Klaus had been here recently. No one said he’d left anything behind. But the lock gave way too easily, and when she opened it, the scent hit her first — cedarwood, old parchment, and something that made her heart ache.

Inside were letters.

Some folded, some torn at the edges, some stained with blood or water or time. Each was signed the same way:

Yours, always, Niklaus
or
Forget me. —K.
or, simply,
I’m sorry.

Letter One

Date: Unknown

Caroline,

I told myself I wouldn’t write. That letting go meant not looking back.

But it’s storming tonight, and you always said thunderstorms made you feel alive. I wonder if you’re outside, dancing. Laughing.

I miss that laugh. I miss you.

I shouldn’t.

But I do.

—Klaus

Caroline’s fingers trembled as she read it.
The handwriting was sharp, elegant, controlled — but the words? They felt like someone unraveling.

Letter Five

Written on a napkin, wine-stained and torn

You’ll hate me for this, but I saw you.

Paris. 3 years ago. You didn’t see me. You were with someone tall, smiling like you had never bled.

I almost compelled the man to leave. I almost came to your table. But you looked… happy.

And I’ve ruined enough things.

So I left. Again.

Don’t hate me.
—N.

Her heart clenched. She remembered Paris.
The wine. The laugh. The sudden feeling like she was being watched.
She thought she was just being paranoid.

Letter Eleven

Pages crumpled, the ink smeared like water had hit it — or tears

Caroline,

Sometimes I dream of what we could’ve been.

Sometimes I see our daughter. She has your hair and my temper. You roll your eyes when she shatters windows with her magic. I kiss your shoulder and tell you it’s fine.

But it’s just a dream.

I was never meant to have soft things.

You were always too bright for me.

And still, I think I loved you more than anything I’ve ever destroyed.

—Klaus

Caroline wiped her cheeks, unsure when the tears had started.

She whispered, to the empty room, “You idiot. You complete, glorious idiot.”

Letter Seventeen

On thick stationary, cleaner, more recent. No date.

Caroline,

If you’re reading this, it means I never sent any of these. Which, in itself, says everything.

I loved you. I think I still do.

But every time I tried to reach out, I remembered the blood on my hands. I remembered your light.

And I knew — you deserved a love that didn’t come with warnings.

But if you ever needed me… even now…

I’d burn the world to be yours.

—Klaus

Caroline closed the box.

Not because she was finished — but because she wasn’t. Not even close.

The letters weren’t just ink and paper. They were memories. Regret. Possibilities.

And maybe... a beginning.

Epilogue — A New Letter

Dated Today

Caroline sat at her desk. The letter shook in her hand as she wrote:

Dear Klaus,

So. I found them.

The letters. The heartbreak. The dreams you never let yourself believe in.

I loved you, too. I think I still do.

Maybe you were right — we were a dangerous idea.

But maybe some ideas are worth the risk.

I don’t need the world burned. I just want you to knock on my door.

Yours,
Caroline

She folded it. No address. No stamp.

But she left the window open.

In case a hybrid-turned-artist happened to be listening.