Chapter Text
Elena Gilbert died at the age of 87, surrounded by no one but her regrets.
Regret that she had pushed away her friends. Regret that she had taken that god forsaken cure, which, by the time it was out of her system, had rendered her unable to bear children (not that much of a change from vampirism, but it had been the main reason to want the cure). Regret that she had gotten involved with the Salvatore brothers in the first place (as much as she had loved them both, her final marriage to Damon had not really been worth all the pain that her choices had caused). But mostly, regret that she had been a coward about her feelings for her friend.
When she was young, she was ashamed of them. After all, while she had lover her parents, they weren’t very progressive. Their idea of a family had been a husband, a wife, a couple children and maybe a dog, living in a suburban home with a white picket fence. Just as theirs. There was no room in the Gilbert family for anything but perfect.
Elena had known this very well. She had been 9 when she first asked her mother if two girls could kiss. Her mother had faked a smile and told her that she shouldn’t ask those types of questions, and that she would grow up and understand (When you have your own husband, Elena, you will understand).
So Elena, upon realizing her feelings for one Caroline Forbes, had pushed them down (down, down, if don’t think about it, it will go away) and gotten together with the other blue eyed blond her age (even when Care had shown her that she felt the same). And when that didn’t work, she broke up with Matt.
But then her parents died, and Elena felt so guilty. She kept pushing, and pushing, and in what seemed no time at all, Caroline was so far from her. Thus, she tried to move on. She got with Damon. And left him. And got with him again. They were in love, that was never in doubt. But it was also a distraction. Added to all the supernatural chaos in Mystic Falls, it was almost easy to let go.
Except she didn’t, did she?
So she pushed down, pushed away, until her friends (Care) visited once a year, and then every couple of years, until it was too obvious that they (she) weren’t aging. Damon and Elena could not travel much, because of the cure, so the visits became calls, and the calls became texts, and then, slowly, nothing at all.
And she hadn’t been alone, not really. She had Damon, until he died when Elena was 74. She had a few friends they had made after their wedding, although not many, and all of them had died or moved away before her death. Jeremy had remained in the supernatural world, and he could not call very often, for fear of leading people to the cure.
All of this to say that Elena Gilbert died alone and full of regrets. But as she lied on her deathbed, her last thought, her last breath, the last beat of her old heart, were all for the love that she had tried to kill (down, down, down), but never quite managed to.
If only I had not been such a coward, my love.
Elena wished, and the Universe answered.