blandices

ACT IV

PART TWELVE 

You woke to hands grabbing you.

Not Elijah's hands. You hadn't felt those in weeks, not since the night you had sex. No, this was rough and fast, the sheets were ripped off your body and you were being dragged from your bed.

"What the fuc-" you tried to scream but a gloved hand was placed over your mouth.

Three guards stood over your bed.

"Shut her up," one of them said.

They pulled you from the warmth of the bed, your feet hitting the cold floorboards. A man with a cruel face stepped forward. He held out a garment bag made of cheap, crinkling plastic. Inside, you could see the black fabric.

"Get dressed," he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Now."

You did what he said, your hands shaking as you pulled out the simple, black dress, with a pair of red heels that were just a little too high. The dress was tight and unforgiving, a weapon in its own right, designed to be looked at. As you fumbled with the zipper, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the full-length mirror propped against the wall. You looked pale and fragile, a doll dressed for a party you didn't want to attend.

"Gloves," the cruel-faced man barked.

You scrambled for the silk ones on the nightstand, your fingers fumbling as you pulled them on. It was a strange, detached feeling, watching yourself get ready for your own execution.

"Good," he said, grabbing your arm. "Let's go."

They led you through the silent house. Not a soul stirred. No Rebekah, no Kol, no Elijah. Just the rhythmic echo of your own heels on the marble floors and the heavy tread of your guards. They pulled you down the grand staircase and into the courtyard. Where a small table sat, with candles, and two place settings.

Klaus was seated, waiting for you. A bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket, beads of condensation dripping down the glass. He was dressed in a simple black suit, his hair neatly combed. He looked less like a monster and more like a wealthy, bored host.

"My dear," he said, rising from his chair as you were guided towards him. "You look stunning."

You didn't say anything, just stared at him, your jaw clenched.

"Champagne?" he asked, gesturing to the empty glass at your place setting.

One of the guards pushed you into the chair, and you sat, your back straight. Klaus poured the champagne, the golden liquid fizzing in the crystal flute. He pushed the glass towards you, but you made no move to take it.

"Come now," he said, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Let's not be rude. I went to all this trouble for you."

He dismissed the guards with a flick of his wrist, and they melted back into the shadows of the house. It was just you and him in the moonlit courtyard. The candles sputtered, casting dancing shadows on his face.

"Are you going to kill me?" you asked, your voice surprisingly steady.

A slow smile spread across his face. "Kill you?" he chuckled, taking a sip of champagne. "My dear girl, whatever gave you that idea? This is a date."

You stared at him, trying to read the meaning behind his words. This was a new kind of torture, a psychological game. He wanted to see you squirm.

"What do you want, Klaus?"

"I want to understand," he said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. "I want to know how a little thing like you managed to create such a fascinating piece of magic."

"I told Kol," you said, your voice flat. "It was a sacrificial spell. It went wrong. End of story."

"So what was your original goal then?" He leaned back in his chair, swirling the champagne in his glass. "Let's play a game. You tell me the truth, and I'll tell you a secret about my family. Something you might find... interesting."

You didn't want to play his game. But you were a prisoner, and he was your captor. You had no choice.

"My blood," you said, the words tasting like ash. "I wanted my blood to be poison. So if a vampire ever tried to bite me, they'd die."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "A classic defense mechanism. Simple. Effective. My bite can poison a vampire, so I suppose I understand such ambition."

You didn't respond. You just stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn't believe him. He had a motive. He always had a motive.

"Do you know which of my siblings has left the longest trail of dead lovers behind him?" He asked, a sly smile on his face.

You didn't answer.

"Elijah," he said, the name a deliberate weapon. "My noble, stoic brother. The moral compass of our family." He took another sip of champagne. "But he has a weakness for lost causes, for women with a spark of darkness. He falls for them, tries to save them, and then inevitably, he has to put them down. It's a rather tragic little pattern."

You flinched, and he saw it. His smile widened.

"Have you tried to contact anyone about your predicament? Your parents? Friends? A significant other, perhaps?" he asked, the question casual, but laced with menace.

"My family is dead," you said, your voice hard. "And I don't have anyone else."

"No one at all?" he pressed. "That's a lonely existence."

You just stared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

"You know," Klaus began, swirling the champagne in his glass, "about a month ago, I was in my studio late one night... I find painting rather therapeutic, helps me bleed my frustrations somewhere less... violent."

He smiled faintly, eyes lifting to meet yours. "And while I was working, I heard something. A sound that's quite distinct." He tilted his head, savoring your silence. "Two voices. One male, one female."

Your stomach dropped. You tried to keep your face neutral, but the effort was futile...he saw it, and his grin widened.

"Lijahhhh," he mocked, the syllables drawn out in a falsetto moan that didn't sound remotely like you, but humiliation was the point. "Who knew you had that in you?"

Rage, hot and sharp, pierced through your fear. "Fuck off."

His eyes narrowed, the playful facade dropping for a second, revealing the monster beneath. "Darling," he said, leaning forward again, the charm returning to his voice. "You are just the latest entry in a centuries-long tragedy. He loves you until he bores of you. Until your darkness no longer fascinates him."

"Is that your secret?" you scoffed, trying to regain some semblance of control. "That your brother has commitment issues? It's a bit cliché, don't you think?"

He laughed, the sound made your skin crawl. "You misunderstand me, I'm telling you to be careful. My brother has a long and storied history of leaving a trail of lovers behind him."

He pushed the glass towards you again. "I am merely... forewarning you."

"He would never hurt me," you said, the words defiant, but the seed of doubt, planted by Klaus, was already beginning to sprout.

"Oh, I don't doubt he wouldn't mean to," Klaus said with a dismissive wave. "Intent, however, rarely matters when it comes to my family. We are all, in our own ways, cursed to destroy what we touch."

He set the glass down and leaned back, expression smoothing into something almost thoughtful. "You've caused quite a stir, you know. Word travels fast in a city like this. Every vampire, every witch, every fool with delusions of power now believes there's a new weapon that can kill an Original."

He tilted his head, studying you. "And the very best part? They're all right."

You felt your pulse quicken, though you tried not to show it. "I'm not a weapon."

"No?" His smile was faint, pitying. "Then what are you, love? Even the rumor of you has the streets burning. Elijah's Strix have slithered in from every corner of the world. My own sireline waits for me to falter. And Rebekah's scattered little pets? They whisper of freedom."

He stood, unhurried, and began to pace, the movement languid but precise. "Do you know what that means?"

"That you've lost control."

He stopped mid-step. His eyes, when they met yours, were colder than steel. "It means," he said softly, "that the balance of this entire world trembles on the edge of your pretty little hands."

He approached, slow as the tide, circling your chair like a wolf scenting blood. "I've spent a thousand years building order from chaos. I've buried kings, burned cities, and torn apart my own family to preserve what's mine. And then you appear."

"I didn't ask for this."

"No one ever does," he murmured, stopping behind you. "But intention doesn't change consequence."

His hand hovered just above your shoulder, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him without the touch. "Tell me, love," he said, voice low, "why shouldn't I end you right now? A single snap of your neck, and the world goes back to the way it was. My sireline breathes easy, Elijah stops mooning over the impossible, and I…" He exhaled, slow and controlled. "...I sleep better at night."

Your throat felt dry. "Because you're afraid."

That made him pause. His brows lifted slightly. "Afraid?" he repeated, almost amused.

"You talk like you're a god," you said, your voice shaking but steadying as you went, "but you can't even stand to feel human for sixty seconds. Why is that, Klaus? What's so terrible about being what you once were?"

His expression changed. The amusement bled away, replaced by something sharper. "You really don't know," he murmured. "What it costs me to be what I am."

He moved closer, the candlelight catching the gold in his eyes. "You think humanity frightens me?"

"Yes," you said. "I think it terrifies you."

He smiled, but it was wrong, all tight and forced. When he spoke again, his voice dropped to a rasp. "When I lose the vampire in me, love, I become the other half of what I am."

The air shifted, sharp and electric. You felt it before you saw it, the ripple of his power breaking loose, skin tightening, eyes burning gold. His hand slammed down on the table, claws splitting from his fingertips, veins expanding beneath his skin.

"Do you have any idea," he growled, "what it feels like to rip yourself apart every full moon? To feel your bones snap, your mind drown in bloodlust, your body break until you're nothing but pain?"

His voice distorted, low and monstrous. His teeth lengthened, canines descending. "That's what your touch promises me," he snarled. "Not peace. Not mercy. Just the curse I was born with. You would strip me of every ounce of control I've fought for."

You sat frozen, heart hammering, as his breath came in ragged bursts. For a heartbeat, you swore he was going to fully transform and tear you apart.

Then, as quickly as it came, the moment passed. His claws retracted. The wolf receded. Klaus straightened, fixing his cuff with delicate precision, his voice smooth again. "And that, love," he said, "is why I have no intention of ever feeling human again."

He stepped back, calm restored, but his eyes still glowed faintly gold. "Perhaps now you understand why I can't decide what to do with you. Kill you, and the problem vanishes but my gain the irritating ire of my siblings. Let you live, and every creature I sired may rise against me."

He picked up his glass, half-drained, and swirled the champagne lazily. "Still, you've earned a reprieve. You fascinate me too much to destroy… just yet."

He smiled again, that elegant, terrible smile. "And remember, little witch. Should your touch ever find me, I'll show you exactly what kind of monster I am."

The light caught his eyes again.. that wolf-gold, a promise of a painful death if you defied him.

"Now," he said softly, "we're finished here."

He snapped his fingers and the guards were there again, hauling you out of the chair and back to your rooms. Upstairs, they tossed you into your room and locked the door behind them.

Your breath shook, bile rising in your throat as you leaned against the heavy wood. You tore the heels from your feet, flinging them across the room. Then you rushed to the bathroom and vomited into the sink, hands trembling as you clutched the cold porcelain.

You felt it then, a new horrifying realization dawning on you. It had been over a month since you had slept with Elijah. You had chalked up the exhaustion and nausea to stress…. But now a cold dread washed over you as you slid to the floor, pressing a shaky hand to your stomach. No. It couldn't be. He was a vampire. They can't procreate. Unless... that impossible, human magic... you stared at your own hands as if they belonged to someone else. What else could you be changing?

You buried your face in your arms, trembling. How many impossible things could one girl carry inside her?

PART THIRTEEN 

Before you found out you were pregnant you could manage… even nearly convincing yourself you could get used to living with the Mikaelsons. A joyous, rent free, stockholm syndrome-esque existence. But now, everything felt suffocating. The lavish room, the expensive dresses, the silk gloves, all trappings of your cage. 

You had something else to fight for now, someone else besides yourself. You believed you would be the last of your family line, but not anymore. A little life was growing in you, made from love in a house of hate. You were not just a witch anymore, a weapon, a prisoner. You were to be a mother.

You waited until the house fell silent. You didn't know what time it was, only that the moon was high in the sky, and the courtyard below was empty. Kol had placed all sorts of wards around, preventing you from doing magic...but no ward could stop you from picking a lock.

You used a bobby pin you found on your dressing table. The mechanism was old and complex, but after a few tense minutes, you heard a satisfying click. The door swung open, and you slipped out into the hallway.

You moved through the halls like a ghost, avoiding every creaky floorboard, keeping to the shadows. The guards were gone from the main corridors. You had a small window of opportunity.

You made your way to the back of the compound, where the kitchen was located. You knew there was a door that led out to the gardens. You could climb the fence and be out of this city before they even knew you were gone.

You were almost there when a floorboard creaked in front of you. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. Kol was leaning against the wall next to the kitchen, a glass of bourbon in his hand.

"And where do we think we're going?" he asked, his voice lazy and unconcerned. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours.

You didn't dare speak. There would be no point in lying.

He pushed himself off the wall and sauntered towards you, the silence stretching between you. "Running away is not a good look, you know," he said, circling you like a shark. "It makes one seem... ungrateful."

He stopped in front of you, so close you could smell the bourbon on his breath. "And you would break Elijah's heart," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

You flinched, and he saw it. A small, triumphant smile touched his lips.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" he said, his tone conversational. "It's written all over your face. It's always him isn't it? The noble one. The good one. Everyone always falls for Elijah."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, your voice barely audible.

"Don't you?" his hand reached out and touched your belly, and you flinched. "He's not going to be able to save you or your baby from Nik. You know that. That's why you are running."

"How..." you whispered, the words catching in your throat.

"If I explain it, you will think less of me," he said with a wink. "Let's just say I have a nose for such things...  Or the absence of such things."

You stared at him, "...are you smelling when I have my period? Ew Kol!"

"I told you that you would think less of me," he said, with a small chuckle. "Don't worry.  It's purely for science of course."

"Let me go, please," you said, your voice surprisingly steady.

He looked at you for a long moment, then sighed, a dramatic, put-upon sound. He stepped back, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. He pointed toward the kitchen with the glass of bourbon.

"Door is that way. Garden, fence, then freedom. It's a terribly predictable route, you know. No imagination at all. Go on, then."

You eyed him, unmoving. This was another one of his games. It had to be. The easy way out was always the trap.

"Don't trust me?" he asked, feigning a wounded expression. "After all we've been through? Honestly." 

You took a hesitant step toward the kitchen. He didn't move. He just watched you, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, a scientist observing a particularly interesting specimen. Another step. The kitchen doorway was just a few feet away. You could smell the cleaning products, the faint scent of old coffee.

As you passed him, you felt a shift in the air, like a sudden drop in pressure. He was suddenly in front of you, blocking the path. Then he covered your mouth and crouched down. "Shh, someone is coming." he whispered against your ear, so quiet it was more a vibration than a sound.

You heard it then. A heavy, deliberate tread in the hallway. Two guards, returning from their rounds, coming straight for the kitchen. Your blood ran cold. If they found you here…

"Darling," he whispered, his lips against the shell of your ear, "you need to run now, I'll keep them busy for a minute." he squeezed your arm, a firm, urgent command. "But please let my little niece or nephew know their favorite uncle is Kol."

You didn't hesitate. You spun on your heel and fled, bursting through the kitchen and then out of the back door. The cool night air hit you like a slap. You ran for the wall, and began to climb, moving purely on adrenaline and instinct. You scrambled up the slick stone, your bare feet finding purchase on the rough patches of brick.

You hauled yourself over the top and dropped down into the alleyway on the other side, landing hard on the pavement. You didn't wait to see if Kol had kept his word. You didn't look back. You just ran.

ACT V

PART FOURTEEN

Your head throbbed, a dull ache behind your eyes, and when you tried to sit up, the room swayed. A soft voice shushed you.

"Easy now," said the woman in the chair beside the bed. She was knitting, the needles clacking gently, her hands pale and thin as parchment. "You took quite the spill."

You blinked. The room was dim, lit by a single lamp that threw everything in sepia: the floral wallpaper, the crocheted doilies, the fading photographs of strangers on the dresser. The air was warm, heavy with the smell of herbs and dust. Something simmered faintly beneath that warmth, a quiet hum of magic you could feel along your skin.

"Where am I?" you asked, your voice rough.

"Safe," said another voice. A second woman shuffled in carrying a tray, a spread of tea, bread and honey. Her gray hair was coiled in a perfect bun. Her eyes, sharp despite her age, flicked over you in a quick assessment, like she was checking for cracks.

The first woman smiled, a soft stretch of wrinkled skin. "I'm Edith. That's Mae. And you have met our Della before."

You looked up to see her standing in the doorway. She inclined her head, her silver braid falling over one shoulder. "You didn't think our meeting was the last, did you, child?"

Mae set the tray down on your lap. "Eat," she said, like it was an order and a prayer at once. "Then we talk."

The bread was surprisingly good, steeped in warmth and simple care, a kindness so unfamiliar it almost hurt. You hadn't realized how long it had been since someone had fed you something they made themselves, you could almost taste the love and care in it. When you were done, Della spoke again, no longer smiling.

"We know what you are," she said. "We know what you carry."

Your blood ran cold. You clutched your stomach instinctively. The air seemed to tighten around you, as though the house itself were listening.

Edith waved her hand. "No harm will come to you or the babe from us. But you need to understand the power you carry, and now carrying a child of an original vampire… the balance could tip forever."

"She is a bridge," Mae interjected, "and bridges are walked on by both sides. You will be hunted. We only wanted to reach you before the wrong ones did." Her tone held a tired grief, like she'd seen what happens when people like you fall into the wrong hands.

"What my sisters are trying to say is that we are sorry for knocking you out, but it's for your own good," said a new voice, and a fourth woman appeared in the doorway, even older than the rest, leaning on a walking stick.

"I'm Loretta," the newcomer said, sitting on the edge of the bed, her joints creaking as she sank into the mattress. Her hand, when she held yours, was gnarled and spotted with age, but the strength was still there. Her grip was steady, grounding, as if she was bracing you for something you hadn't yet understood.

She looked you dead in the eye.

"Listen to me, child," she said. "I know you want to leave this place. I know you're scared. But there are times in life when you have to cast aside your own wishes, and do what must be done."

You felt the weight of their words pressing down on you, the expectation, the fear.

"I know what it feels like, to be alone, to have everything you have ever known stripped away," she continued, "but I am telling you now, the only way to protect yourself is to stay here. To become a part of this family."

You swallowed hard. "But Klaus..."

"We will take care of Niklaus," Edith said, her tone unwavering. "We have cast a powerful cloaking spell on this home. It will shield you."

"For how long?" you asked. "Until my child is born?"

"For as long as we are able," said Mae softly. Her voice trembled, just once. You almost missed it.

Loretta smiled, squeezing your hand gently. "And when you're ready, we will show you how to fight."

PART FIFTEEN

You stayed. Your belly grew.

The days passed slowly, stitched together by the rhythm of ordinary things. Mae's soft humming while she cooked, Edith's sharp laughter when she told stories, the creak of Loretta's cane on the floorboards. It was a quiet life, a gentle life, the kind you hadn't known in what felt like years. Nothing like the compound, where every footstep had weight and every gaze felt like an assessment.

Della took to teaching you spells. Her power was a quiet, unobtrusive thing, but it was strong. It made the air hum, like the buzz of a faraway swarm. She was an old-fashioned teacher, the kind who demanded perfection and offered no praise, but as time passed, you could feel your own power stretching, blooming in ways you hadn't allowed it to before.

They never treated you like a prisoner. You ate with them, slept under quilts that smelled of potpourri. They called you child, but not unkindly. When you asked for privacy, they gave it. When you asked questions, they answered what they could. It was a far cry from the Mikaelsons' home, where privacy was something you negotiated, not something freely given.

Still, every so often, you caught them watching you. Their eyes full of quiet awe, and something else. Devotion. You didn't ask why. You were afraid to ask why.

You were beginning to show, a soft swell under your clothes. The women doted on you like a living relic. Every morning brought tea for strength, herbs for protection, blessings whispered over your skin. Their hands were gentle, reverent, as though touching something sacred.

Loretta made you walk the length of the property each dawn. "Childbirth is a battle," she said, steadying you when you stumbled. "We make the body strong to keep the spirit from breaking."

It was during one of those mornings, sitting around afterward with warm tea in hand while Della knitted what looked suspiciously like booties for the baby, your palms resting over the small swell of your belly, that Edith asked gently, "Child… what kind of magic did you use that night? The night your touch went awry?"

Her tone wasn't accusatory. It was careful. Worried.

Your throat tightened. "Sacrificial magic."

Mae and Della exchanged a look.

"Dark work," Mae said. "Old work."

"It was all I had," you whispered. "I… I thought I was choosing the right thing. I thought if I gave enough, something in my life would stop breaking."

Loretta's cane tapped the floor once. "Sacrifice is a powerful tool, but a dangerous one. It answers intent, not desperation."

You stared down at your hands. "My intent was to make my blood poison to vampires." You hesitated, the truth rising like something dredged from the bottom of a lake. "But a part of me… a deep, selfish part… I think I wanted to feel invulnerable. Untouchable."

"Ah," Della murmured, her needles clicking steadily. "Your desires are only half the conversation. The other half belongs to the blood itself. To what you sacrificed."

The words struck something deep inside you.

"Poe," you whispered. "My father's familiar." You swallowed hard. "He'd been with us since before I was born. He… he loved me. Unconditionally. No matter what. He trusted me."

Your voice cracked, splintering.

"I slit his throat. I told myself it was for power. But Poe didn't question, didn't fight. He just… trusted." Your hands clamped protectively over your belly. "And I used that trust."

Edith reached across and brushed your fingers, her touch warm and trembling. "The strongest ingredient in a sacrificial spell is never blood. It is the heart behind it. And Poe's heart was set on protecting you. Shielding you." Her voice softened. "Even from a Mikaelson."

The air thickened. Your chest tightened.

Poe, loyal Poe, had wrapped you in the only armor he knew how. Love. Fierce, simple, unwavering. A love strong enough to warp ancient magic. A love that had changed the laws of life and death themselves.

"So my spell didn't fail," you whispered.

"No," Edith said. "It succeeded. Just not in the way you expected."

You sat with that for a long moment, feeling the baby stir beneath your hands. You had condemned yourself with love. And saved yourself with it too. Your eyes welled with tears.

"I've carried so much shame."

"Shame is the poison we brew ourselves," Loretta said quietly. "The spirits don't speak it. Only we do. Put it down, child."

"Elijah told me he loved me after just one night together," you confessed quietly. "I slept with a vampire... the very creature I tried to poison myself against... and I think I love him back... I can't just shed this shame."

Mae smiled. "A strong emotion for a man like that."

"He… when I touched him, it was…" You swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence. The memory was still too raw, too intimate, a part of your soul that you had yet to process. "I didn't know it could feel like that."

Edith sighed. She was a romantic, an incurable romantic, and she knew a broken heart when she saw one. She leaned over and kissed your forehead. "Sweet girl, love is not always a happy story. But it's never a weakness. Hold onto the joy while you have it."

You were quiet for a long time, and then, "I worry that it was just love born from circumstance, you know? That he loved the magic I possess, the way it made him feel… not who I am."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Love can't be weighed or measured. It is a feeling. That's all. So is shame," Edith said. "Only one is worth keeping."

You pressed your hand against the swell of your belly, thinking. "I wonder if he even knows about this… If Kol told him."

"You can tell him yourself, in time," Della said. "The day will come, sooner than you think."

You stared at the ceiling, a heaviness settling over you. "I'm worried that he will reject us... he avoided me after we slept together. I… I couldn't read him. Maybe he didn't want this, maybe he regretted it, maybe-"

"Shh," Edith murmured, cutting you off. "Don't borrow trouble."

"Or perhaps," Loretta cut in, "he's an ancient, damaged, brooding vampire who doesn't know how to express his feelings. Take your pick. All the men of this world are idiots."

That startled a laugh out of you, and the others chuckled too. Mae leaned forward and poured you another cup of tea. The steam rose in the quiet. "You have given him something he never believed he could have. That is no small thing, and I am sure he would not reject you, or your child."

"And I will tell you a secret," she murmured. "It takes a strong man to be a father. One with conviction, courage, and above all, a will of iron. And Elijah has all those things."

"How can you know?" you asked softly, your hand still on your belly.

She smiled. "He's had to be a father to Niklaus for a millennia. That should say something about him."

You sipped your tea and let her words settle in, the warmth seeping into your bones. It was a kind thought, a hopeful thought, and you needed all the hope you could get.

"I want to believe that," you said, "but I can't help but feel that I'm just a weapon. Just something for them to fight over."

Edith touched your knee. "No, sweet girl," she said, and her voice was heavy with a grief she hadn't spoken before. "You are far more than that."

PART SIXTEEN

You woke one morning to an eerie quiet. No kettle whistling. No soft clatter of pans. No Edith and Loretta bickering in the hall about whose joints hurt more. Just silence. Heavy and wrong.

For a moment you lay still, listening. The house usually breathed around you: floorboards settling, Mae humming under her breath, Della's needles clicking somewhere in the distance. Now it felt like the whole place was holding its breath.

"Hello?" you called, your voice too loud in the stillness.

No answer.

You swung your legs out of bed, the floor cool beneath your bare feet, one hand going instinctively to your belly. The air felt different, thinner somehow, like magic had been burned through the night and left only smoke.

You went looking for Mae first. She was the constant, the one who always rose before dawn.

You found her in the kitchen, standing at the window, her back to you. The stove was cold. No tea. No pan. She was just… standing there. Her hands rested flat on the countertop, her shoulders bowed in a way you had never seen.

"Mae," you said.

She flinched, just a little, and then straightened, wiping her hands on her apron even though they were already clean. She turned to you with a small, brittle smile that didn't touch her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was… lost in thought."

"Where is everyone?" you asked. The quiet was starting to press against your skin.

Mae's gaze flicked over your face, then dropped to your stomach, lingering there a moment longer than usual. When she looked back up, she looked exhausted. Older than you had ever seen her, as if someone had added ten years to her in the night.

"In the living room," she said. Her voice was steady, but too soft. "Come, child."

The endearment, usually warm, felt like an apology.

You followed her down the hallway, your unease growing with every step. The house creaked underfoot, but even the familiar sounds felt wrong, like echoes instead of real noise. The air seemed thicker, crowded with something unsaid.

In the living room, Della, Edith and Loretta were gathered on the old couch. They didn't look like themselves. Della's knitting lay abandoned on the table, half-finished booties still on the needles, the yarn trailing like a cut thread. Loretta's cane was propped against the armrest, her hands folded in her lap, still as carved stone. Edith clutched a handkerchief, twisting it in her fingers.

All three of them turned when you entered.

"Is everything alright?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.

"Please sit," Edith said. Her voice was strained, frayed at the edges.

You sat slowly. The couch creaked under your weight, the sound too loud in the quiet room. No one met your eyes. Mae moved to stand beside the doorway, like she was guarding it. Or you.

Loretta's gaze stayed fixed on some point near your knees. Della's fingers flexed once on her skirt, itching for her needles and finding nothing.

"Someone tell me what's going on," you said. Your voice cracked on the last word.

Della was the one who answered. "It's time," she said softly.

"For what?" you whispered.

Loretta exhaled, and the sound trembled as it left her. "For you to become what you were meant to be."

Your pulse stuttered. Your grip on your own knees tightened until your fingers ached.

"No," you said immediately. "No, I'm really not ready to do anything. I just- I just got here. I-"

"We've taught you all we can," Mae said. Her voice was barely above a whisper now, scraped thin. "The rest… the rest must be given."

Edith's eyes filled with tears. She blinked rapidly, as if she could force them back and keep her usual smile in place, but it crumpled.

"Child," she said, her voice breaking on the word, "you are the bridge between what was and what must be. You can't hide from it anymore."

You shook your head, your throat tight. "I don't want to be a bridge. I just want-"

The words jammed in your chest.

You wanted peace. You wanted love. You wanted a chance at a normal life, not to be the hinge on which an entire supernatural world might turn. You wanted to stay here, in this house that smelled like herbs and old wood and safety, raise your child with the women who had taken you in. And beneath all of that, a quiet, aching part of you wanted to see Elijah again, to show him what you had made together, to tell him he was capable of creating something beautiful.

"My dear, you are meant for greatness," Della said. There was no pride in her voice this time. Only sorrow. "And greatness is never gentle. Not on the one who carries it."

Loretta finally lifted her gaze to your face. Her old eyes were bright with unshed tears. "You were never meant to bear this burden alone, child," she said. "But powers beyond our comprehension have asked more of you than they ever should. So we will give you what we have left."

A strange chill rolled through you.

"What does that mean?" you whispered.

"We have kept a secret from you," Mae said, her voice trembling. "About who we are, and why we are here. We are deeply sorry."

"We knew of your spell the moment you cast it, but we knew we had to wait," Edith continued, her voice soft and full of sorrow. "To wait until the moment was right."

"What moment?" you asked, your fear making the words sharp.

"A long time ago, when we were just teenagers, we too tried sacrificial magic," Loretta said. "We reached for more power than we were meant to hold, and we paid for it dearly. Our coven cast us out. The magic made us barren. We lost everything."

You inhaled, sharp. The air felt heavy, suffocating.

"What did you do?"

They exchanged a look, heavy with old guilt.

"For a selfish grasp at more power, we killed one of our own," Della said, her voice hollow. "We broke our family for a spell that did not deserve it."

Your stomach twisted. "Why did you never tell me?"

"Because we did not want you to fear us," Della replied. "Or the power we could teach you to wield better than we ever did."

"We've spent our whole lives studying the kind of spell you cast," Mae said. "What it does… and what it can become."

"And what it has become," Loretta added, her eyes falling on the swell of your stomach.

Your heart clenched.

"What has it become?" you asked, your voice small.

Loretta didn't answer with words. She reached out instead, her wrinkled fingers brushing your cheek, her touch warm and shaking.

Then she stood.

It was slow and unsteady, but resolute. Her bones protested, but she did not. Della rose next, smoothing her skirt with automatic precision, Edith stood last from the couch, clutching her handkerchief in a white-knuckled fist, and Mae left the doorway to join them.

The four of them formed a circle around you.

Your heart lurched. "What are you doing?" you said, your voice cracking now. You tried to stand, but your muscles wouldn't obey. Your legs felt like they'd been filled with wet sand. Magic settled over you, invisible and suffocating, pinning you to the sagging cushions.

"Della," you said, panic creeping into your tone. "Loretta-"

Della held out her hands, palms up. She was smiling now, but the tears streamed down her face unchecked.

"We are at the end of our lives, sweet girl," she said. "It is time to pass on our power."

Mae lifted her chin, jaw clenched. Edith pressed a hand to her chest, as if steadying her own racing heart. Loretta squared her shoulders like a soldier about to march. The air grew heavy, thick with magic and old grief. The lamps flickered. You felt the hairs on your arms rise, the baby shifting uneasily beneath your ribs.

"This isn't right," you gasped. "Please, just stop it. We can all just stay here-"

"The choice is ours, child. Not yours," Mae said. Her voice, for the first time since you had woken, was firm. "And with it we pour our love, our protection, our hope."

"You cannot fight your destiny," Loretta added quietly. "Only meet it."

They began to chant.

The sound rolled over you, low and rhythmic, in a language that brushed the edges of your memory without ever fully resolving into meaning. It sounded like the grimoire pages you had pored over as a child, like your father's voice when he thought you were asleep. Your mothers laugh, your sisters soft words… Familiar and foreign all at once.

You were crying now, hot tears spilling down your cheeks, trying to push against the invisible weight holding you still. Your fingers dug into the couch fabric, your magic struggling uselessly against theirs.

The power in the room built and built, rising like a storm. The lights dimmed to a thin glow, shadows lengthening across the floor. You could feel the bindings they were weaving, the way their magic curled around your bones, your blood, your unborn child.

"Stop," you sobbed. "Please, you can't- you can't do this for me. I don't want this. I don't want it like this."

None of them stopped.

Edith's voice wavered mid-chant, but she kept going. Mae's words were sharp and sure, a scaffold holding the spell in place. Della's were precise, each syllable a blade. Loretta's underpinned them all, deep and resonant, like the earth itself was speaking through her.

You watched in horror as, in unison, their hands went to their throats.

"No," you breathed. "No, no, no-"

The blades flashed in their hands, small and cruel.

Blood flowed as they drew them across their own skin. It came in bright red ribbons, running down their necks, staining their collars, dripping to the floor with soft, sickening patters. A river of scarlet pooled at their feet, seeping into the worn rug.

They dropped to their knees, one by one. Edith first, then Mae, then Della, then Loretta, the chant growing ragged as their voices faltered, then steadied again with sheer will. Magic screamed through the room, a crescendo of power and pain.

"NO!" you screamed, straining against the spell, every muscle burning with effort. You tried to reach for them, to claw your way out of the invisible bonds, but it was too late. Their blood was already feeding the spell, their lives pouring into you.

The rush hit you all at once.

You felt the strength of four witches, the weight of generations of blood and sacrifice, slam into you like a tidal wave. It stole your breath, ripped a cry from your throat. Fire roared through your veins, your nerves, your bones. You clutched at your belly, trying to shield the small, fragile life growing inside you from the onslaught.

It was like being ripped open and remade all at once.

Then, suddenly, the burning ceased.

The magic snapped off like a candle blown out. The lights steadied. The air went still.

The only sound left was your own ragged breathing.

You could move again. The spell that had held you down was gone. You slid off the couch and onto your knees, your legs trembling beneath you.

Four bodies lay on the floor in a messy circle. Blood pooled around them, dark and spreading. Their faces were turned away from each other, toward you.

"Edith," you rasped, crawling toward her first. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lashes still damp with tears. You pressed your shaking fingers to her neck, searching desperately for a pulse.

Nothing.

You swallowed a sob and moved to Mae. Her apron was soaked through, her hands still curled like she had been holding you up even at the end.

Nothing.

Loretta was next. Her face was oddly peaceful, the deep lines of her brow smoothed away. Her cane lay beside her, useless at last.

Nothing.

You reached Della last. Her hands were still open, palms up, as if she were still offering you something.

Nothing.

They were gone.

You knelt there, surrounded by their bodies, your hands sticky with their cooling blood. You felt numb. Hollowed out. Inside you, their magic burned, a raging storm with nowhere to go, begging for an outlet it did not yet have.

"Why?" you whispered. The word barely made it past your lips. "Why would you do this?"

No one answered.

PART SEVENTEEN

You stumbled out into the street, still in your nightdress, covered in blood.

Cold air slapped your face, sharp enough to sting. You didn't bother wiping your cheeks. You didn't even realize you were crying until the wind chilled the tears on your skin.

You were miles from the city, deep in the woods. No houses. No lights. No sound except the dull roar of blood rushing in your ears. The cloaking spell was gone. Shattered the moment their hearts stopped, you felt it like a hole in the world.

You were visible.

Blindingly, violently visible.

Your hands shook as you pressed them to your belly.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

It was all you could say. All you could think.

You took one step forward.

Branches snapped.

You froze.

Another crack. And then another, coming towards you fast. You turned slowly, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

A figure emerged from the trees. Then another. Your chest constricted.

It was Marcel and Kol, side by side.

Kol was the first to really see you. His smirk fell apart on impact, replaced by something bleak, something almost gentle. His eyes flicked from your blood-soaked clothes to the dried blood on your hands.

Marcel stopped short, staring at the scene, his expression one of confusion 

"Oh my god, what happened?" he said, his tone was shocked, his words rushed.

"They... they sacrificed themselves," you said, the words sounding like they came from someone else.

He took a step forward. "Who?"

You began to sob, your shoulders shaking. "They're gone, they're all gone," you choked out.

"Who's gone, darling?" Kol asked, his voice surprisingly soft.

Marcel looked around nervously. "We need to get out of here, we don't know what or who else is coming."

"It doesn't matter," you said, a hiccuped sob.

"It matters," Marcel said firmly. "We can talk later. Let's get you to a safe place."

Kol gave him a sharp look, and Marcel shot him an equally dark look back. You weren't paying attention. Everything was a blur.

"I'm not going back to the compound," you said. "I'm not."

"I don't have another option right now, okay?"

"Why are you here?" you snapped.

Marcel blinked. "We've been trying to find you since you ran."

"You mean Klaus sent you." You spat.

Marcel approached you slowly. "Come on, I can't leave you out here alone."

He tried to reach for you, and you shrank away, stumbling backward. "Don't touch me," you yelled, and with two hands you pushed him back, your fingers brushing his chest.

"Ah! What the fuck," Marcel exclaimed, stumbling back and grabbing at his skin.

"Oh don't be such a drama queen, it will only last a minute," Kol said with a laugh. "Little taste of the human life would do you good."

Marcel shot him an irritated look, before turning his attention back to you. "Look, I get it, you're scared. But we are not leaving without you. So, the question is, are you gonna cooperate?"

Kol stepped forward, holding his hand out. "Come on love, I won't hurt you."

You looked at him, and then back at Marcel. "Promise me. Promise me, Marcel, you won't take me back to Klaus."

But he wasn't listening, he was staring at his hands, and his phone began to ring, and ring… and ring.

"Kol, something's wrong," he said. "It's been more than a minute."

"What?" Kol echoed, the playful edge in his voice collapsing in an instant.

Marcel stared at his hands as if they weren't his. His chest was rising and falling too fast. Too… human.

He pressed two fingers to his neck…

Then his wrist…

Then his neck again…

"No," he whispered. "No, no. this- this isn't-"

Kol stepped closer, expression tightening.

"Calm down, mate. Panic never helped anyone-"

"It's not coming back!" Marcel barked, voice cracking. "My strength. It's gone. I can't smell anything… my hearing, or-"

His phone buzzed violently in his hand.

JOSH flashed across the screen. Another buzz - GIA.

Then, THIERRY, DIEGO, OTTO, TOMAS -

He answered one.

"Josh?" Marcel's voice was raw. "Talk to me."

"Marcel?" Josh sounded frantic, breathless. "Something's wrong… I can't-  I can't hear anything. My fangs won't come out…"

You heard a choked sob. "Marcel, I think I'm human. Everyone here is human. What the hell is happening?"

Kol's head snapped toward you.

Slowly.

Like someone witnessing a sunrise over a battlefield.

You stumbled backward. "I didn't mean to… I don't know what's happening-"

Marcel lowered the phone, horror settling over him as more texts flooded in.

BROS AT THE COMPOUND JUST COLLAPSED

WHY CAN'T I HEAL????

I CAN FEEL MY HEART WTF

He looked up at you, voice breaking. "You didn't just turn me human."

Kol inhaled sharply. Not fear. Awe.

"Darling…" he whispered. "You turned his entire sireline human."

The forest went silent.

Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Marcel staggered backward, grabbing a tree to steady himself.

He looked at you with wide, stunned, human eyes. "This is… it's permanent?" he whispered. "Did you just…"

Kol cut in quietly, reverently. "You've changed the supernatural balance of this entire city."

You shook your head. "No. No, that's not… I don't want to-"

But the magic was humming under your skin.

Alive.

Awake.

Too vast to contain.

Kol watched you like he was seeing something divine. Marcel watched you like he was seeing something impossible.

Another message dinged on Marcel's phone:

STRIX ARE ON THE MOVE. WE CAN'T FIGHT THEM. HELP US.

Kol's eyes widened a fraction. "Oh, magnificent," he muttered. "You've just started a war."

ACT VI

PART EIGHTEEN 

Kol shouldered the front door to the safe-house open and flicked on a single yellow lamp. "Home sweet home," he announced, like he was giving a tour of a luxury penthouse.

Your knees buckled halfway across the room and you ended up on a sagging armchair, breath coming too fast, nightdress stiff with dried blood, fingers still shaking.

Marcel slammed the deadbolt and leaned his forehead briefly against the door, chest heaving. He was sweating. Actually sweating.

"Jesus," he muttered. "I'm really out of shape."

Kol giggled at that, low and delighted, as he crossed the room and began to build a fire in the hearth.

You cradled your belly without thinking. The magic seethed under your skin, too big for your body, too alive. Still riding the echo of four witches dying for you. For this.

"I didn't mean to, Marcel," you whispered. "I just wanted you not to touch me."

"Bit of an over-correction, darling," Kol said. He sounded light, but his eyes were dark, assessing. "You've just defanged half the city."

Marcel dropped into the other armchair and pressed his palms to his eyes. His phone continued to ring and ring and ring. He silenced it without looking at the screen.

Kol lit a match and a flame burst to life, dancing along the kindling. 

"Klaus needs to know about this, if he hasn't already," Marcel said, quiet but resolute.

Kol shot him a glare. "Don't you dare. Do you have any idea what Nik would do?"

Marcel raised his hands. "I have to protect my people, Kol. Everyone I have ever sired! They're vulnerable-"

"So you hand her over on a silver platter? Have you learned nothing?" he snapped back.

"You think I want this?" Marcel shot up, beginning to pace the small room. "She just… neutered me. My entire line. We're targets, Kol! The Strix, the werewolves… every faction we've ever kept at bay is gonna come for us tonight."

Before Kol could respond, The stairwell creaked outside.

All three of you tensed.

Kol moved first, blurring to the door, hand on the knob, eyes gone dark. Marcel picked up the nearest thing, a broken lamp post … and looked like he hated how weak he felt.

"Kol," a familiar voice snapped from the other side. "If you don't let me in, I will rip your head off and use it as a doorstop."

Rebekah.

Kol rolled his eyes and opened the door. "Hello to you too, sister."

Marcel looked a bit sheepish "I may have called her after... everything." he said to Kol, who looked murderous.

You looked up as Rebekah strode in. She froze mid-sentence. She took in the room in one sharp glance: Marcel, breathing too hard. You, bloody and shaking. Kol, wary instead of smug.

Her gaze landed on your stomach and stopped.

"Bloody hell," she whispered.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself. Too late.

"How long?" she asked, voice low.

You looked away. "A while."

Something flickered over her face. Shock, then comprehension, then a strange, raw tenderness. "Elijah?"

You nodded, barely.

Rebekah exhaled like she'd been punched. "Of course it is."

Kol let out a soft, delighted noise. "Oh, this is going to melt him."

Marcel shot him a look. "Not helping."

Rebekah crossed the room, reaching out to touch Marcel's cheek, it was a gentle gesture, an old habit from a lifetime of affection and war. She frowned. "You're... warm."

His hand covered hers, "I'm human, Bekah."

Her eyes snapped to yours, wide with disbelief.

"He's not lying," Kol confirmed, delighted by the chaos. "Our little witch here… de-vamped him. And his entire bloodline. All in one go."

"So one choice," Rebekah murmured, "and an entire sireline is freed." She swallowed, throat bobbing. "Or ruined, depending on who you ask."

Marcel folded his arms. "Most of mine don't sound ruined. Scared, sure. Confused. But some of them… there was relief."

"Spoken like a man who wants to find the silver lining while his kingdom collapses," Kol said cheerfully.

Rebekah straightened, resolve hardening her features. She turned to you.

"Cure me," she said.

The room went very still.

Marcel straightened. "Bekah-"

No." She held up a hand. "I am done being daggered. Done being an eternal accessory to Niklaus's ego. Done surviving everyone I've ever loved." Her gaze found yours again. "If this is real, if you can give me a life that ends, I want it."

You stared at her, throat thick. "If I touch you, everyone you've ever turned-"

"Gets a chance to live and die on their own terms," she finished. "That's not a curse, darling. That's mercy."

"Are you sure?" Marcel asked, his voice shaking with emotion.

Rebekah's eyes softened when she looked at him. "We can have the life we always wanted now, Marcel. One without daggers, and threats from Niklaus… maybe we can even have children."

She turned to face you fully, shoulders squared. No hesitation. Only purpose. 

You took a long, shaky breath.

"Okay," you whispered.

She knelt in front of you, pushing her hair back from her face. "Don't worry," she said, her own voice thick, "I'm ready."

You trembled as you raised your hands, hovering over her cheeks. Then you lowered them, palms pressing gently into her skin.

The magic surged.

It wasn't like with Marcel in the woods, all panicked, accidental and uncontrolled. This was deliberate. A door opening because you willed it to.

Power surged out of you and into her and thousands of invisible threads snapped, reshaped. Rebekah gasped, her head falling back, and you felt it. Her immortality frayed like an old rope, knot by knot, century by century, until all that was left was the slow, stubborn pulse of a single human heart.

When it was over, Marcel helped her to her feet. She looked at her hands, flexed her fingers, then pressed them to her chest, over her heartbeat.

"Human," she said, grinning through tears. She grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him down into a kiss that was more teeth than grace. He kissed her back, hands cradling her face like it was the most precious thing he ever held.

Kol made a face at the kissing and went to fuss with the fire, stabbing at the logs like they personally offended him.

"Honestly," he muttered. "Some of us are single."

Rebekah broke the kiss, laughing, wiping at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. Marcel just looked dazed and stupidly happy, which was… new.

Marcel's phone buzzed again, and he sighed as he pulled it out of his pocket. "Strix," he said. "They're killing my people."

"What?" Rebekah said, her smile vanishing.

"They're attacking anyone who is now human," he said. "They're calling it housekeeping."

You felt sick. The magic coiled tighter in your gut. "That's my fault."

Marcel dragged a hand over his face. "My people are sitting ducks. They don't know how to be human anymore, how to defend themselves…Half of them probably don't even have bank accounts,"

Kol's eyes flicked between the three of you. You could see the gears turning.

"Right," he said abruptly. "I'm calling Elijah."

Rebekah frowned. "Why?"

"So someone responsible can stay with the miracle weapon," Kol said, waving a vague hand in your direction. "While I go make sure Marcellus's freshly broken vampires don't get themselves murdered in the street."

Marcel frowned. "You sure you don't mean 'go watch the chaos up close'?"

"Can't it be both?" Kol pulled his phone fully off the mantel, already scrolling. "Besides, if we don't tell dear Elijah soon, he'll be even more insufferable. You know how he gets when he feels left out."

You went very still at the mention of his name.

It seemed to settle the room, heavy and warm and suddenly terrifying. You tried not to think of him. Tried not to remember the look on his face after you slept together, the steady beat of his heart under your hand.

Rebekah looked at you, her expression soft. "He'll protect you," she said. "He's been out of his mind with worry since you ran off."

Marcel was busy texting, but he glanced up at that. "He tore Klaus a new one about you before all this. They rarely get into fights so serious."

You swallowed, throat tight. "Where is he?"

"The compound," Kol said, not looking up from his phone. "Trying to keep Niklaus from burning the city down to find you. Which he will now definitely do, since he will probably soon learn that you cured Rebekah," He glanced up at you, a sly little smile playing on his lips. "He's on his way."

Your heart climbed into your throat. You didn't know if you were more afraid of seeing Elijah or of him not coming at all.

Time stretched. Rebekah fussed over you, declaring that she would be planning a baby shower, no matter how dangerous that was. She was a whirlwind of nervous energy, giddy from the loss of her immortality, already cataloging all the foods she'd be able to taste properly again.

Marcel was a ghost at the edges of the room, phone pressed to his ear, issuing clipped commands, face pale and strained. His kingdom was falling, and he was trying to catch the pieces with human hands.

When the knock finally came, it wasn't loud. Two steady, deliberate raps.

Kol opened the door without being asked. "Brother," he said. "Do come in. You're just in time for the apocalypse."

Elijah stepped over the threshold.

He looked the same and yet nothing like himself at the same time. Suit immaculate, tie straight, hair neat. But there were faint smudges under his eyes that hadn't been there before, and something brittle in the set of his mouth.

His gaze swept the room, cataloguing. Marcel, human and harried. Kol, far too cheerful. Rebekah, her scent now mortal.

Then his eyes found you.

The world seemed to stop.

He took you in—blood-stained, barefoot, small in the old armchair, hands protectively over your stomach.

The polite detachment in his expression fractured, replaced by something raw and unguarded. Pain, yes. But also a staggering relief so potent it hit you like a physical blow.

He crossed the room in three long strides and knelt before you, moving with a grace that was still fundamentally immortal, even as it laced with urgency.

"Don't touch her skin, she's a bit unpredictable right now," Kol said in a sing-song, singal-song, as if warning about a hot kettle. "It's no longer a sixty second reprieve, but a permanent change. Just ask Marcel."

Elijah's hands, reaching for you, froze in the air. He looked at them, then at you, a flicker of disbelief in his eyes.

"It's true," Marcel confirmed grimly. "She cured me. And Rebekah just volunteered."

Elijah turned to look at Rebekah, who gave a watery, triumphant shrug. 

"Bekah," he breathed.

She smiled, eyes glassy and proud. "Surprise."

He was across the room in a blur, hands catching her shoulders. He stared down at her like he was afraid to blink.

"You're…"

"Alive?" she teased. "I always was. Just… less. Now I'm more."

He let out a rough breath, mouth twisting, and pulled her into a proper hug. She laughed into his shoulder, arms wrapping tight around him.

"You're free," he said into her hair. "Truly."

She pulled back enough to cup his face, looking up at him. "She did that, Elijah."

They both looked at you.

For a second, it was too much. The love, the fear, the sheer overwhelming history in a single glance. It was a language you weren't sure you had the strength to speak anymore.

He let go of Rebekah and returned to you, this time keeping a careful distance.

"What happened? After you ran, Kol said you escaped, but then we lost you. We've been searching for months..."

His gaze dropped to the swell of your belly and caught there. His throat bobbed. The air in the room grew thin.

"Are you… is that…?"

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. A tear slipped down your cheek and you didn't bother to wipe it away.

His composure, the legendary Mikaelson stoicism, finally broke. He placed both of his hands on your belly, over your stained nightdress careful to avoid your skin. The look of shock and awe on his face almost buckled you right there.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

You let out a hollow little laugh that was more of a sob. "When? You wouldn't even look at me after that night... I thought you regretted it."

"No," he said, and the single word was more of a wound than any argument.

"Okay well, as much as I want to stay and watch Elijah implode emotionally, someone needs to escort these two lovebirds out of the city before Nik drags them back in chains. And Marcellus's newly mortal minions are going to get themselves murdered if they don't have someone terrifying to look out for them." Kol clapped his hands together once, sharp and loud. "Let's make it quick. Rebekah, go pack your toothbrush. Marcel, try not to have a human panic attack."

Marcel opened his mouth, then shut it, apparently unable to argue with that.

Rebekah glanced between you and Elijah. Whatever she saw there seemed to satisfy her. She caught Marcel's hand, and moved toward the door.

She paused beside you, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. "End this," she whispered. "For all of us."

You nodded, throat too tight to answer.

Kol lingered in the doorway. "Try not to die before I get back, love," he said lightly. "I fully intend to return so you can slap the immortality out of me as well. I'd like to remember what proper witchcraft feels like before this all goes to hell."

You stared at him. "You want to be human?"

"Don't sound so shocked," he said. "I was half-decent at being a witch. And if we're setting the board on fire, I'd rather be on the winning side." He winked, a brief, dazzling flash of the old Kol. Then they were gone, pulling the door shut behind them, leaving a silence that was heavier than the quiet before.

You were suddenly acutely aware of how small the room was. How close Elijah was. How your heart was racing in a way that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the man, looking at you like you were something holy and terrible.

You stood because sitting felt too vulnerable. Elijah stayed where he was, hands at his sides, kneeling before the armchair, as if any move toward you might spook you into bolting again.

"You avoided me," you said. Your voice came out quieter than you meant, but steadier than you felt. "After we slept together. After you told me you loved me... It was like I had the plague." The words tasted like ash, old bitterness you hadn't been able to swallow. "You never even looked at me."

He flinched. A slight, almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes. "I did avoid you," he said. "I thought… if I was not near you, you would be safer. That you would be spared becoming another casualty of my choices." His gaze didn't leave your face. "I was wrong."

"You think?" you bit out. "I felt so utterly alone, and I had more than myself to think about." Your hand went back to your belly, a reflex. "I thought maybe what you felt wasn't real."

"Every word I said was real," he said, moving to his feet, he reached out his hand, only to pull it away.

"What's real, Elijah, is that this magic inside me, this thing everyone is so impressed by, it feels like a sickness. A screaming, living thing that wants out. I don't know how to control it."

He took a half-step closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. You desperately wanted him to hold you, but you were terrified of what would happen if he did.

"I... know what I have to do. And you have to choose. I'm going to cure Klaus. And you can either stand with me, or you can stand with him."

The finality of it hung in the air between you.

Elijah's face was a careful mask, but you could see the war raging behind his eyes. The pull of family against the pull of you. The oath he made a thousand years ago against the life you now carried. It was the oldest choice, the only one that ever mattered.

"He will not go easily," he said, a statement of fact.

"I know."

"He will see it as a betrayal. The ultimate betrayal."

"I know," you said, your voice softening. "But it's not for him. It's for everyone else."

He stood motionless for a long moment, his gaze fixed on yours. The silence stretched, taut and thin. Then, slowly, deliberately, he closed the remaining distance between you. He didn't touch you, but his hand hovered over your cheek, the heat of it a phantom sensation.

"There is no choice to be made," he said, his voice low and impossibly steady. "My allegiance, for a thousand years, has been to my family…"

"And you are my family."

PART NINETEEN 

The city felt wrong.

You could hear it in the distance as Elijah led you through the back streets. The panicked shouts, the sirens, the crack of something heavy smashing into brick. Vampires openly fighting each other in the alleys, mortals stumbling out of the brawl with bleeding heads and broken limbs, their faces slack with disbelief.

You stayed close to Elijah, a familiar, steadying presence beside you. He kept a protective arm around your waist, careful not to let his skin touch yours, but you could feel the solidness of him, a promise to keep the world at bay.

Elijah's phone buzzed once in his pocket, the screen a brief flare in the dark. He glanced at it as you walked, jaw tightening.

"Marcel," he said quietly. "He says a bunch of vampires are converging at..." He paused and let out a humorless laugh. "The church..."

"The church where you chained me up and interrogated me?" you asked.

Elijah turned to look at you with a guilty smile. "Yes, that one."

You kept walking, "Is Klaus there?"

"If he's not... He will be soon." He sighed and ran a hand over the back of his neck, a gesture of exhaustion you rarely saw from him. 

By the time the church came into view, you could already feel it. Power. Old and layered, all the rituals and secrets soaked into stone. And beneath it, like a rot in the foundation, something colder: the gathered hunger of too many vampires in one place.

Elijah stopped with you just beyond the iron gate, looking up at the familiar silhouette. His expression was unreadable, but his hand flexed once at his side.

"They're all in there?" you asked.

He listened for a moment, head cocked, then nodded. "Niklaus. The Strix. The remnants of his line. All the ones who think they still have a say in what happens next." His gaze lowered to you, dark and steady. "Ready?"

You swallowed, your mouth dry.

"No," you said honestly.

Elijah's lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile he could manage. "Nor I," he murmured. "Let's go."

He pushed the doors open. The heavy wood groaned on its hinges.

Inside, the church looked nearly the same as the last time you were here, pews overturned, the stained glass caked with grime, and the faint stench of must in the air.

But there was a crowd now, scores of vampires all turning at once to stare at the intruders. And in the center of the storm stood Klaus.

He looked like a king over a crumbling kingdom. Hands clasped behind his back, posture loose but coiled, eyes blazing. When he saw you, the smile that spread across his face was slow and sickly sweet.

"Ah," he drawled, his voice carrying easily through the room. "And here she is. The little plague."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. You felt dozens of eyes rake over you. Fear. Hatred. Desperation. Hope.

Elijah moved half a step in front of you, shoulders squared.

"Brother," he said in warning.

Klaus ignored him. His gaze stayed on you, hungry and furious. "You've been busy," he said. "whoring around, turning my city into a madhouse, vampires into cattle. My sister…" his jaw ticked, "into a mortal."

"I gave her what she wanted," you said, your own voice surprisingly clear in the cavernous space.

"You took her eternity!" he roared. His magic flared, the air cracking with raw power. "You took my family from me. I will rip you apart for what you've done."

Elijah tensed. A vampire in the front row shifted, ready to spring, but Klaus held up a single, imperious hand and the room stilled.

Klaus' eyes flicked to him, narrowing. "Careful, Elijah. You are behaving like you've picked a side."

Elijah didn't flinch. "I have."

It was then, that you saw it, the humanity buried deep inside Klaus. His eyes widened, and for a fleeting, heartbreaking second, he looked not like a monster, but like a boy who had just been abandoned by the only person who ever stayed.

"You… choose a witch whore over your own blood?" Klaus asked. His words were calm, but they were laced with a thousand years of betrayal. His eyes darted to your belly, and the hatred came back tenfold. "Or perhaps it's the abomination she carries."

The word abomination hung in the air. But Elijah didn't take the bait.

"Niklaus," he said, a low rumble of warning.

Klaus let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "I see. So this is how it ends. After everything… After a thousand years of devotion…" He shook his head, a look of profound disgust on his face. "All it took was a cheap trick in the sheets and you're a traitor."

The room hummed, the tension sharp and dangerous. You felt the magic inside you coil, restless, electric.

You stepped out from behind Elijah.

"Niklaus, it's over. This is the end. I'm here to cure you."

Klaus stared at you as if you had just suggested he take up knitting. Then he laughed. A slow, deliberate, mocking sound that echoed off the stone walls.

"You? Cure me?" he said, and there was such genuine amusement in his voice that it was more terrifying than any threat. 

He looked to his followers, to the remaining Strix and the vampires of his own line. "Did you all hear that?" he called out. "The little witch thinks she can unmake us!"

"I will unmake you." you said.

Klaus stopped smiling. A sudden, unnerving silence fell over the room. He stepped onto the altar, letting the faint candlelight catch the hard angles of his face. He reached out his arms to the congregation. "She offers you a death sentence. She offers you sickness, decay. To grow old and be forgotten. I offer you forever. A forever by my side as rulers of this world."

He gestured to you again. "Kill her and be free of this threat."

Elijah moved closer to you, a silent shield.

"Is that so, Nik?" A voice came from the back of the church, Kol sauntered through the entrance, a grin on his face, a smear of blood across his jaw. He clapped his hands together, the sound impossibly loud in the silent church. "She may be a threat to your precious immortality, but I think it's a lovely idea. In fact, I find it quite... liberating."

His gaze drifted to Klaus. "Aren't you tired of all this? You don't even like these people." He gestured vaguely at the crowd. "Do you really want to spend eternity with them groveling at your feet?"

Kol strolled up the aisle, a predator moving through a field of prey, but the prey was too frightened to move. He stopped beside you. "And I am so terribly tired of watching you ruin everything, brother. I think it's time we retire from this whole vampire thing."

The crowd shifted uneasily, looking between the three originals, their uncertainty a potent weapon.

"Stay close to me darling, this lot look like they might try something foolish." Kol said to you, a whisper meant for everyone.

You could see it in their faces, in their twitching hands, in the way some of them watched you with naked desperation. Some faces screamed turn me, while others were filled with the hatred of don't you dare.

You couldn't save them all from themselves.

But you could end this.

Kol's hand hovered near yours. Not touching. Not yet.

"Love," he murmured, "I am very fond of being a vampire. But I think I will be much more useful tonight as what I was meant to be."

"A witch," you whispered.

"A damned good one," he said. Then, louder, "So. How about it? One last trick?"

Elijah looked at you, eyes searching. "This is your choice," he said. "Not Kol's. Not Niklaus's. Not theirs." He inclined his head toward the restless crowd. "If you wish to walk away now, I will carve you a path."

You thought about the witches. About Edith's soft hands. Mae's quiet humming. Della's sharp eyes. Loretta's cane thudding on old wood. Their blood on the floor. Their power in your veins.

You thought about the baby, turning in your belly like a small, steady sun.

You slid your hand into Kol's.

He inhaled sharply, eyes slamming shut as the magic surged. "Oh," he breathed. "There you are."

The power that had been restless and unmoored inside you finally found direction. It poured through you into him, a river rushing into an old, familiar channel. The air in the church shifted, thickening, humming.

Candles flared. The stained glass trembled in its frames. And you took a step forward.

Klaus's expression dropped all pretense of amusement. "What are you doing?"

"Ending it."

The first vampire lunged and Elijah moved like a blade. One moment he was beside you, the next he was a blur of motion in the aisle, tearing into the attacker with centuries of practiced violence. Another came from the left; Kol flicked his fingers and the vampire slammed into a pillar, bones cracking.

"Eyes on Niklaus, love," Kol murmured through clenched teeth. "I'll handle the riffraff."

You took another step as he raised his free hand, chanting under his breath. Heavy, invisible chains settling over the crowd. Vampires staggered, slowed, their limbs weighed down by something they couldn't see.

Klaus pushed against it, teeth bared, snarling. "You dare-"

"Oh, I dare," Kol snapped. "Stay kneeling, Nik."

Klaus strained, every muscle corded, veins blackening under his skin as he fought the hold. You could feel the power inside you burning brighter, hotter, threatening to char you from the inside out.

Elijah fought in the aisles, a one-man wall. For every vampire that broke through Kol's restraint, Elijah was there, breaking bones, snapping necks, dropping bodies that sprawled across the pews. More were rushing the doors, but the fear was beginning to set in… the knowledge that some of them might leave this building very, very mortal.

"Now would be an excellent time," Kol gritted. Sweat beaded on his brow. "I can't keep the hybrid pinned forever."

You took a final step forward, letting go of Kol's hand. The magic thrummed through you, a song of destruction and rebirth. Klaus met your gaze, and for a wild, terrifying moment, you saw not a monster, but the child he had been… a lonely, furious thing, clutching at power because he had nothing else.

It didn't stop you.

"It's time to let go," you said softly.

His eyes flashed, fury and something like wounded pride. "I earned my place. I clawed my way to the top of the food chain. You would drag me back down to the mud?"

You thought of what he had confessed in the courtyard. The wolf curse. The pain of every bone shattering. The fear not of death, but of being trapped in endless agony.

"I'm not dragging you anywhere," you said. "I'm letting you stand where everyone else stands."

You reached down and took his face in your hands.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the world ripped open.

His power hit you like a storm. A twisted, ancient force. The wolf and vampire both howled through him, through you, through the church. Your knees buckled and you felt Klaus's undead heart stagger, stutter, then lurch into a new rhythm. Felt the vampire part of him tear loose and dissolve. Felt the wolf underneath snap into sharp, brutal focus.

Klaus collapsed, gasping. Human. Wolf. Breakable.

The magic that had been crushing the room eased. Vampires all around you dropped to their knees, clutching at chests that suddenly hurt, lungs that suddenly burned. You heard someone scream, another one weep. The sheer, sudden humanity of it all, a wave washing over the room.

Elijah was pushing back the remaining vampires, trying to keep you safe. But one, a Strix soldier with a face carved from hate and desperation, broke through the fray.

He didn't go for Elijah.

He went for Klaus.

He launched himself at the fallen hybrid, a stake of shattered pew clutched in his fist.

Kol saw it too late. Elijah saw it a fraction of a second later.

But you saw it just in time.

You didn't think. You just moved, shoving Klaus with all the strength left in your body. He sprawled across the floor, dazed, as the stake plunged down.

And into you.

It didn't hit your heart. The angle was wrong. But the wooden shard buried itself deep in your shoulder. The pain was immense, hot and immediate.

Elijah's reaction was instant, absolute. A roar of pure, animal fury ripped from his throat as he blurred across the space. He didn't even bother to fight. He simply tore the attacker's head from his shoulders. It was messy, brutal, a final punctuation to the carnage.

He was at your side in the same instant, catching you as you crumpled. Kol let out a string of furious, creative curses.

Elijah's eyes were wide, terrified. He touched the wooden shard in your shoulder, you flinched in pain. You felt Kol's hands on you, and a wave of cool, steadying magic washed over you, numbing the wound. 

"I'm okay, it's okay." You choked out the words.

Kol rounded on the remaining vampires, a wild energy crackling around him. "Anyone else feel like testing their luck?" he snarled. "Because I promise you, my version of a curse is a lot less elegant than her cure."

They stared at him, at the splinter of wood in your shoulder, at their de-powered king, and fear finally won. The few that were still capable of moving scrambled over each other, fighting to get out the doors.

Silence descended, broken only by the sounds of running footsteps and the crackling of candles.

Klaus pushed himself to a sitting position, staring at his own hands like a stranger's. He looked at you, a complex storm of emotions warring on his face: rage, disbelief, humiliation, and, underneath it all, a dawning comprehension. You just destroyed him. You just saved him.

Kol moved to Klaus' side, helping him to his feet. "There now," he said, almost kindly. "It hurts, I know. Breathe through it. You'll get used to it."

Klaus glared up at him. "Used to… this?"

Kol smiled, a flicker of something genuine in it. "Being alive? Yes. You might even come to like it."

Klaus swallowed, his throat working. Fear glittered behind the anger in his eyes.

Kol leaned closer. "I'll make you something," he said quietly. "A moonlight ring. Help you with the wolf, as long as you behave. No more hybrid monstrosity. Just you, your curse, and the choices you make from now on. Fair?"

Klaus stared at him, then at you. For once, he said nothing. He just nodded, a short, sharp movement that cost him more than any fight.

You pulled the stake out of your shoulder with a wet, sickening sound, tossing it to the floor. The coolness of Kol's spell held, but you needed more. You pressed a trembling hand to the gushing wound, and whispered a few words under your breath. Flesh knit. Blood slowed. The pain receded to a dull, throbbing ache.

"Damn," Kol said, impressed. "That's a lot of power for one little witch,"

"I... I think I'm absorbing all of it. The power of every vampire who's been cured. It's... building."

Elijah's hands, previously gripping you so tight he was shaking, relaxed. He still wouldn't let go. He helped you sit up, then simply knelt there, his fingers hovering over the newly healed skin, as if he couldn't believe you were whole.

"Don't you ever do that again," he said, the words a raw, torn whisper. "Not for me. Not for him. Not for anyone."

"I'd do it again," you whispered back, and then looked at the place where his hand rested on your belly. "I didn't have a choice."

You looked at Elijah. The last vampire. The last Original. The final thread holding the old world in place.

He was staring at you like you were the only thing left that made sense.

"Are you ready? Elijah?" you asked, your voice barely a breath. He was the final piece. The last. 

"If you become human we will be unprotected," Klaus spat, finding his voice. "We will be weak."

Elijah's gaze never left yours. "No," he said, and the single word was as solid as stone. "For the first time in a thousand years, we will simply be free."

He leaned in and kissed you, a gentle, deliberate press of lips. The moment your skin met his, the world detonated.

His vampirism crashed into you in a rush of claws and hunger and history. Every kill, all of the guilt, every time he had broken his own code for family, for duty, for love. It spiraled through you like a storm, like a tidal wave, like a choir screaming.

You held on.

He gripped your waist, dragging you closer as his body shuddered. For a heartbeat you were both suspended in the space between what was and what would be.

Then the power broke away from you.

Something vast and ancient tore loose and dissipated into the air, flying up into the sky before it disappeared. Far away, across oceans and continents, the last of Elijah's sireline dropped to their knees in alleys and bedrooms and bars, clutching at chests that hurt and lungs that burned, suddenly and irrevocably human.

The constant hum you hadn't realized you'd felt until tonight. The low, ever-present vibration of vampirism in the world now fell silent. Utterly. Finally.

Elijah sagged against you, and this time, when he wrapped his arms around you, there was no hesitation. His hands were just hands. His body was just warm, mortal flesh. He held you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth, and you held him back just as tightly. You were both trembling. Alive.

"Well," he said softly. "Seems we've done it."

The four of you limped your way out of the church and into a New Orleans that was no longer haunted by its darkest demons. The city was still in chaos … but it was the chaotic, messy, human kind of chaos.

Elijah kept one arm around you, steadying your steps. You walked with a slight limp, the pain in your shoulder a dull, throbbing reminder of what you survived. Kol walked beside Klaus, who looked pale and shell-shocked, flinching at the sudden wail of a distant fire truck.

The three of them argued. Of course they did.

But Klaus's fury was muted now, stripped of its supernatural echo. It was the impotent outrage of a dethroned king. They bickered all the way back to the empty courtyard of the compound, their insults hollow, their threats toothless. They didn't sound like tyrants anymore.

They sounded like brothers squabbling.

It was oddly… normal.

Rebekah and Marcel were waiting on the crumbling fountain steps. Rebekah shot to her feet the moment she saw you all, her face a canvas of worry that melted instantly into astonished awe. She saw it immediately—what had changed in her brothers, in the way you carried yourself.

"I thought you two were running," Klaus muttered, unable to meet their eyes. "Far away from me."

Rebekah approached him slowly, reverently. She reached out and brushed her fingertips along the stubble on his cheek. He flinched, but didn't pull away.

"Oh, Nik," she whispered, her eyes shining. "I'm so sorry."

He finally looked at her. At Marcel. At his brothers. And something in him seemed to uncoil after centuries of being held too tightly.

"It hurts," he said. The words came out small and broken, a confession more damning than any sin he'd ever committed. "Everything hurts."

"I know," she murmured, pulling him into her arms. "Isn't it wonderful?"

He was stiff at first. Then, slowly, awkwardly, his arms lifted to hold her back. The king was gone. What remained was the wolf. The young man. The brother.

Elijah finally released you and stepped forward to embrace his siblings as well, Kol trailing behind with a quiet, almost disbelieving smile. For the first time, they were just a family. Mortal. Breakable. Human.

You lingered at the edge of their reunion, the observer of a family you had remade. And as the warmth of the moment washed over you, exhaustion followed like a collapsing wave. Your knees wavered.

A sharp dizziness hit you. The world tilted. You reached instinctively for a stone pillar to steady yourself.

"Whoa there," Marcel said, instantly at your side. His arm wrapped securely around your waist. "Easy. That was one hell of a party you threw."

"I think it's time we all got some rest," Elijah said as he hurried back to you, his voice full of concern. He relieved Marcel with a gentle nod, and you leaned into him, the solidity of him anchoring you against the overwhelming night.

"No rest," Klaus scoffed weakly, without venom, without power. "Our enemies will come for us. And now we're just… meat." He shuddered in genuine disgust. "I would have rather died than be this."

"You lack serious imagination, brother," Kol said brightly. He moved to Klaus's side and clamped a hand onto his shoulder. Klaus tried to shrug it off, but Kol held firm. "You're a werewolf with a thousand years of combat experience. And witch blood runs through all of us. You can learn to harness that. We can help you."

Kol glanced around their small, fractured family, now reunited by circumstance and stripped of power.

"We can be a new kind of family," he said softly.

Then his smile curved, irrepressible and wicked.

 "A coven."

The word cracked through the wreckage like a spark catching tinder.

"It's what Mother always wanted, really. I'm glad she isn't around to see it." His grin broadened. "Just imagine all the fun we can have."

EPILOGUE 

The compound was drowning in chaos. Pots overflowing, the faint, sweet smell of burning sugar, and the sounds of siblings at war.

"For the last time, you need to make sure the butter is soft before you whip in the sugar! Otherwise the batter will seize!" Kol's voice, sharp with theatrical despair.

"Oh, forgive me, my thousand years of existence didn't involve mastering the art of French pâtisserie!" Rebekah shot back, her tone a furious whisper.

"It's baking 101! It is literally the simples-"

The argument devolved into a series of creative insults and the sound of a whisk being thrown against a bowl.

Elijah brushed past them carrying your daughter on his hip. "If you two could refrain from sending kitchenware airborne," he said calmly, "there is a child present."

Kol spun, flour dusting his hair like fresh snow. "She likes it when we argue. She's smiling!"

Your daughter, indeed, had a gummy smile aimed squarely at Kol, her hands reaching for the flour. He plucked her out of Elijah's arms without asking and immediately began "teaching" her how to bake a cake.

Rebekah waddled past them and grabbed the eggs, eight months pregnant and entirely unbothered by it. A big shiny ring from Marcel glinted on her finger.

Klaus wandered in last, paint still smudged on his cheek, humming under his breath. He had an art exhibition in a week, though he insisted it was terrible and unfinished and also the best work the city has ever seen. Behind him, two young werewolves followed with baskets of herbs and vegetables collected from the garden.

"Here, Nik," Marcel said, walking in with grocery bags in each arm, putting the supplies on the counter. "For the stew."

They didn't have enemies anymore. At least, not the kind that came with stakes and armies. There were whispers, of course. The former ancient vampires who had taken their newfound humanity and carved out power once more; the old covens wary of a Mikaelson family of witches. But they were mortal problems. Debates. Politics. Nothing a werewolf army with moonlight rings, a clever spell or two, and Elijah's and Marcel's negotiating power couldn't handle.

You sat at the big oak table in the center of the kitchen, mending a tear in your daughter's tiny dress. The needle worked through the fabric with a steady, practiced motion. The old ache in your shoulder was just a memory now, a reminder of all that you had survived and all you had chosen to let go.

The magic inside you had settled. It was no longer a screaming thing, but a quiet, deep reservoir you could draw from. You used it to protect your family now, to mend a scraped knee or coax the herbs in the garden from the soil. You used it on days when the world felt too loud, weaving small, gentle shields of silence around your home. 

Kol was bravely letting your daughter stir the flour. "Now, little bug, we whisk gently. Gently… no-no, that's not…" The whisk clattered to the floor. A giggle. "Yes, all right. Gently means we throw it on the floor. My mistake."

Rebekah cackled. "She takes after me." She pointed a wooden spoon at Marcel, who was chopping garlic with surprising efficiency. "Perhaps our son will be just as gifted."

"Don't curse him before he's even born," Marcel laughed, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

Klaus took the basket of herbs from one of the wolves, sniffing them critically. "These will do. And thank you," he added with a nod that, months ago, would've been unthinkable.

The young wolf straightened, proud. "Alpha," he said softly.

Klaus's expression flickered, not pride, not arrogance, but something quieter. Something earned. "Take a break," he told him. "Stay for dinner, if you like."

The wolf blinked, surprised. "Really?"

"Don't question it, or he will change his mind," Kol called out without looking up from the flour-covered floor.

Your daughter, tired of baking, reached her hands toward her father. "Dada."

Elijah crossed the room and took her, settling her on his hip. He dusted the flour from her cheek. "Kol, why did you think it was a good idea to give a toddler free rein with a bag of flour?"

"To foster her creative spirit," Kol said loftily. "One cannot make art without a little mess. Isn't that right, Niklaus? You of all people should understand that."

Klaus simply looked at him, then at you, then at Elijah holding your daughter. His gaze lingered on her small hands gripping Elijah's collar, and something in his face smoothed over, the sharp edges of a thousand years of discontent finally, truly, worn down.

"I see a little artist in the making," Klaus finally spoke.

You watched them all, these immortal beings fumbling their way through a fragile, precious mortality. There were still bad days. Nights when Klaus would pace the courtyard, a caged animal struggling with the phantom pull of the full moon. Mornings when Elijah would wake with a gasp, the past dragging its claws across his newly human ribs, echoes of violence in a body that now bruised.

But there were good days, too. More and more of them. A family growing like the garden in the courtyard, chaotic and wild and alive.

Elijah came to stand behind you, your daughter nestled against his chest, her small head on his shoulder. He rested a free hand on the back of your chair, his touch a familiar comfort.

"I'm going to give her a bath and put her down for a nap. Save me a plate?" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You nodded, tilting your head back to look at him. "We'll wait."

He leaned down and kissed you. A simple, everyday kind of kiss. Then he turned and carried your daughter from the room, her quiet babbling fading down the hall.

The argument in the kitchen had subsided, replaced by the companionable clatter of Rebekah and Marcel now successfully making some headway on the stew. Kol was pouring the cake batter into pans, still humming to himself. Klaus was directing his wolves to set the long table on the patio, a string of fairy lights blinking to life as the sun dipped below the rooftops.

Outside, the New Orleans afternoon had faded to a soft, golden evening. Fireflies were beginning to spark in the garden.

And for the first time, the Mikaelsons weren't surviving.

They were simply living.

Together.

Merciful, forgiven, and free.

ACT I

PART ONE

Tonight was the night, whether you were fully ready or not. You took the steps up to your flat two at a time. The old wood groaned under your boots. The air inside was thick and humid, smelling of dust, melting wax, and the sharp scent of herbs boiling in a pot on the stove.

The ritual waited in the center of your main room, laid out on the worn floorboards. You cleared the space for it, a perfect circle of salt glinted white in the candlelight. Inside it, a tarnished silver dish. Within the dish: crushed vervain seeds, torn up parchment from an old grimoire, a single drop of your blood from a week ago, now dried black, and the final piece was about to be added... 

Something you loved. Someone you loved.

You heard him rattling around in his cage, covered with a velvet cloth in the corner. The sounds were faint: a ruffle of feathers, a quiet coo.

He was your father's beloved owl, a mottled gray thing named Poe… a joke your dad made once about the bird being 'a proper little critic.' Poe had been with you since your family died. Your only friend in this world.

You had known this would hurt, that was the point. A true sacrifice of life had to have weight.

You opened the cage, your hands trembling. "I'm sorry, my friend," you whispered.

A gasping shudder worked through you and you forced yourself to reach for the owl. His feathers were soft against your skin. He tilted his head, his big dark eyes regarding you without fear. That only made it worse.

"You will see Dad soon, remember him? How he always fed you the best mice." Your voice was a raw whisper, a pathetic attempt at soothing both him and yourself. A tear slid down your cheek and landed on his head, glittering in the low light like a tiny, perfect pearl.

Then you did it. You drew a thin silver blade across his throat.

It was over in a second. He didn't struggle. Perhaps he knew. Perhaps he was just that good. Either way, the last breath left his body in a tiny, warm puff against your palm.

It broke you. A wave of hot shame and regret washed through you, so potent your knees buckled. You fell to the floor beside the circle, a raw sound tearing from your throat. Dark blood spilled from your clenched fists onto the floorboards.

You held his body above the dish. You squeezed his tiny neck, willing the lifeblood to fall. Each ruby-red drop hit the other ingredients with a soft hiss, like bacon hitting a hot pan. The air grew thick with the coppery scent.

There was no moon in the sky that night, no starlight. The world outside was all velvet black. It was a night for endings. A night for curses.

Your hands hovered over the dish. Muttering the words with unshed tears burning behind your eyes, words in a language older than the crumbling city around you. "May this blood be poison, may my flesh become ashen to them. May my touch be death..."

All the candles in the room went out at once. A deep silence fell, broken only by your own ragged breathing.

You reached for the silver dish. It was cold. So cold it burned, a flash of searing frost that shot up your arm and buried itself deep in your chest. But you held on to it, bringing it to your lips, tilting your head back and letting the thick liquid slide down your throat.

It tasted like regret.

The magic hit you then. Not like a shield, but like a current of dark water pulling you under. It was inside you, rewriting your blood, settling into your marrow. A cold, heavy presence, humming with a low and hungry power.

You rose to your feet, stumbling back a step. You looked down at your hands. They looked the same. But they didn't feel the same. They felt... charged. Dangerous.

There was only one way to test this. One way to know if you had succeeded. 

You knew that it was time to go hunting.

PART TWO 

It was a morbid little scene, curling your hair with a dead owl cooling on the floor behind you. Sweet Poe who had always kept you company. The cheap drugstore hairspray didn't quite cover the faint, iron tang of blood that still clung to the air. You wiped a stray smudge of mascara from under your eye and appraised yourself in the wavy mirror. You looked a little sick. Your eyes wide and shadowed. But you also looked like exactly what you were meant to be: easy prey.

The dress you picked out was old, a tight little red number that clung in all the right places. It had been a hopeful gift a lifetime ago. Your sister had given it to you for a date you never went on. You spritzed on some cheap perfume that smelled like roses and chemicals, a mask for the scent of blood and brewing herbs.

Then you left, stepping out into the thick soup of the New Orleans night. The city was alive. Music spilled from open doorways, laughter and shouts bled into the street, the air was thick with the smell of fried food and stale beer and, underneath it all, that sweet, cloying scent of decay.

The bar you chose was a local hot spot for tourists, a place designed to look charming and disreputable. It was all cheap neon signs and sticky floors. You slid onto a barstool, crossing your legs, letting the dress ride up just a little. You ordered some red wine and pretended to watch the band playing on stage.

You felt eyes on you within minutes. You didn't turn. You just let him look. You let him see the pulse beating in your throat, a frantic little butterfly against your skin.

"Can I buy you a drink?" a voice whispered in your ear, smooth as silk. It was a voice that promised things. Dangerous things.

You turned, and he was exactly what you expected. A little too eager, a little too sharp. But the predator glint was undeniable.

"I already have one," you said, taking a slow sip. You let your gaze linger on his mouth, just for a second too long.

He smiled, a slow, lazy curve of his lips. "Then perhaps I can buy you your next one."

He took the stool next to you, ordering you another glass of wine. You talked about nothing. About the music, about the heat, about all the silly things people who don't intend to see each other again talk about. He had a name, you learned it, but it meant nothing.

It didn't take long for him to ask you to come home with him, but you didn't intend on going that far. And neither did he.

"Maybe we could just... get some air," you suggested, your voice a little breathless. You put your hand on his arm, your fingers tracing a line on his sleeve.

He knew exactly what that meant.

The alley behind the bar was a different world. It was dark and it was quiet, the sound of the band and the crowd a distant, muffled beat.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. He kissed you, a little rough, a little hungry. You could taste the whiskey on his tongue, something else too, something ancient and powerful. It was a battle, but you let him win.

His mouth moved down to your throat. You tilted your head, a silent invitation. You wanted him to sink his fangs in and drink deep, to taste your cursed blood. To taste his own death.

But that's not what happened.

You heard a sound, a quiet little gasp. You felt pull back, he reached for his mouth and stared at his hand, where he'd touched his lips. "What..." he started, his voice a little hoarse.

"What's wrong?" you asked, your voice calm, steady, but your heart was racing. Did he smell the poison in your blood? Did he sense the danger?

He looked at you, and for the first time, you saw something other than confidence. Something else was in his eyes, you saw something... fragile.

His face was pale, but it wasn't the pale of a vampire. It was a sickly, sweating, human pallor. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I .... I don't feel..." he started again, his voice thin, reedy. "My fangs…"

He reached for the wall for support, leaning against it heavily. He looked down at his hands, turning them over and over as if he had never seen them before.

Then his eyes went wide with a panic that was purely, utterly human.

"What is happening to me ... " he said, looking at you again. This time, there was no hunger, there was no power, there was only raw, naked fear.

A wave of your own panic hit you. This wasn't what you wanted. This wasn't a deterrent. You had expected him to feel pain, to die in agony. He was just... Human.

You stumbled back, your boots scraping against the grimy pavement.

"What did you do to me?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

He reached out and grabbed your arm. His grip was weak, his palm was clammy, but he was still able to hold you, to pull you closer. "What did you do?!" he repeated, his voice rising.

Your own breath caught in your throat. You watched his eyes go black, dark veins spidering under them. His vampirism was returning. You had not broken him, you had only bent him temporarily. And if you let him hold on to you any longer, he would win.

You raised both hands and pushed on his face, trying to keep his fangs away from you. "Get off me!" you snarled, and the moment your skin made contact with his, you felt that charge again, the crackle of energy in your hands, like a static shock but deeper.

His grip loosened, and he just stared at you, all hints of his true nature gone, replaced by a stunned look of a man whose world had just been shattered. It was a look of utter disbelief.

You didn't wait to see what would happen next. You shoved him again, hard this time, and he stumbled back against the wall, sliding to the ground in a heap.

And then you ran.

You ran out of the alley and into the crowd, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The neon lights of bourbon street blurred into a kaleidoscope of color as you pushed your way through the throngs of tourists. You didn't look back. You couldn't.

Because now you knew. Your blood wasn't poison.

It was a cure.

And for one minute. one impossible, ruinous minute…you had unmade a vampire.

PART THREE

One minute you were in your apartment, cleaning blood off the wooden floor, worrying about your rent deposit, bags ready to go. Ready to do the only logical thing you could: run for your life.

The next you found yourself chained up and gagged in an old abandoned church, its vaulted ceilings shrouded in cobwebs and dust. The stained glass windows were dirty, the pews overturned. An entire new, fresh set of terror was dawning on you.

A man sat opposite you, on one of the only pews that wasn't damaged. His back was straight. His hands were folded in his lap. He wasn't old, at least he didn't look it. He was young, maybe your age. His hair was dark, combed back from his face, and his eyes were nearly black. He had the kind of stillness that spoke of immense, coiled power. He wasn't watching you, not at first. He was watching his own hands, as if he could read a story in the lines of his palms.

"You know," he said, his voice low and calm, a voice that was used to being obeyed. "I'm not really the gossiping type... It all seems so trivial to me. And yet, I do so enjoy a good story. Especially one with a truly surprising ending."

He stood up and walked toward you, his steps echoing in the empty space. He stopped just in front of you, crouching down so he was at eye level.

"Two nights ago, one of mine went out for a bit of fun. A simple indulgence." He leaned in a little closer. "He came back with a story. A truly fascinating one. About a girl who... broke him." He let out a small, dry laugh. "He said, for just a moment, he felt human."

He watched you, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"I didn't believe him, of course. I thought he'd simply had too much to drink." He reached out and pulled the gag from your mouth, tossing it aside. "But I was curious. You seem like a curious person too."

"You have the wrong person," you said, your voice a raw whisper.

He shook his head slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "No. I don't think I do." He reached out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, not quite touching your skin. "Lots of cameras around bourbon street, you were easy to track. Even easier to find your flat. That poor owl was a particularly grim touch."

You flinched at the mention of Poe, a fresh wave of grief and guilt washing over you. Your magic stirred at his touch, a low hum under your skin, a warning.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "What you've done... It's not just an anomaly. It's a threat. To everything we are. To our very existence. So you can understand my interest." His smile faded, his expression turning hard. "One touch, and we are as vulnerable as... You."

"So shut up and kill me then," you said, looking him in the eye. Your heart was a wild, frantic drum against your ribs, but you forced the words out.

He laughed then, a real laugh this time, full and deep, dimples flashing. "Why would I do that? You made yourself into a weapon. My family loves to collect such things."

"You're one of them… an old one." You said it as a realization, the words a puff of air. You could feel it in the room now, the weight of his age, the sheer, unadulterated power that rolled off him in waves. This wasn't some two-bit vampire.

"Elijah," he said simply, as if it were a name any schoolchild would know. He straightened up, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive jacket, dusting off a bit of nonexistent lint. "I find your unique situation is something I simply cannot allow to wander about. It's far too messy. Vampires don't act well under threat. So I am left with two choices."

"Kill me, or cage me." You finished for him, your voice flat.

"Precisely." He said with a small, approving nod. "And I am rarely in a messy sort of mood. So I'm choosing the cage."

He leaned down, his hands planted on the armrests of your chair. His face was inches from yours again, and you could smell the faint scent of aftershave and mint on his breath, a mask for innocent blood he likely drank by the gallon. "The only issue is you are a bit of a feral thing, aren't you? Killing a poor, innocent animal just for a bit of attention and power." He tsked.

You whipped your head forward, colliding with his. It sent a white flash of pain through your own skull, but it was worth it for the sharp hiss of surprise that escaped him.

He stumbled back, genuinely stumbled. His fingers came away from his bleeding nose, looking at the living red, human red blood on his hand. For a long heartbeat he just stared at it, transfixed. The air seemed to thicken between you.

"Oh," he breathed. "That's… interesting."

Something changed in him. You couldn't name it, but you felt it ripple through the room like a shift in gravity. His eyes unfocused, his chest lifted in a startled inhale, then another.

He looked up at the stained glass windows, light spilling in dusty columns, and laughed softly. A sound that wasn't elegant or rehearsed, but wild and startled, as if had been pulled from the depths of his soul.

For one impossible minute, Elijah Mikaelson was human.

His gaze darted to his hands, flexing them open and closed. You caught the faint tremor there, the wonder of a man feeling warmth for the first time in centuries. His voice, when it came, was almost reverent.

"The air… do you feel it? It moves. I had forgotten how good it once felt."

You didn't answer. You didn't understand what you were seeing, only that he seemed suddenly human in a way that frightened you more than his power ever had.

He pressed his palm flat against his chest as though testing the rhythm beneath. A shudder went through him, not pain, but something closer to weeping. Then the awe shifted; his jaw tightened, the miracle retreating behind discipline.

"Fascinating," he murmured, the word a prayer and a threat at once.

He straightened, every trace of that tremor vanishing into the posture of a man who would never admit what he just felt. He dabbed at the blood with his handkerchief, looked once more at the light, and said quietly, "It's lovely."

"It's not." Your voice was rough, the words tasting like ash. You thought of Poe's soft weight in your hands, your parents' cold in the ground. This wasn't some miracle. It was theft.

The faint glimmer in his eyes vanished. The cold superiority slammed back into place like a vault door. He was no longer a man marveling at the air; he had returned to being a vampire, a king in this city, and you were his new, terrible problem.

He took one step closer, then another, deliberate and predatory. He stopped inches from you. Then he did something you did not expect. He leaned forward and placed his hand on your cheek, taking another shuddering breath, closing his eyes as if the touch was a drug.

"You're not a cure, little dove... You are the end of us all." His voice was quiet, a death rattle of wonder.

In that moment, you broke the very idea of him. He could have anything he had ever wanted, power beyond comprehension… and it wouldn't mean a thing compared to this quiet second of human awareness he just stole.

It was your one and only advantage. It was his one and only fear. And in that cold and ruinous church, you both knew it. The end of everything had just been chained to a chair, wearing a cheap red dress. 

And its name was you.

ACT II

PART FOUR

Elijah insisted on nightly dinners, as if ritual will make captivity polite. You were a guest, not a prisoner. But the compelled guards outside your door and the endless daily experiments told another story.

You sat at one end of a long oak table, silk gloves climbing all the way up your arms, at this point they felt like a second skin. Klaus, Elijah and Kol sat opposite you. They were quietly drinking and chatting, their voices a low murmur of civility that felt utterly unreal.

You got up to grab some more wine that was at the center of the table, but the moment you got to your feet, all three of them went silent. The air seemed to crackle.

"Sit down," Klaus said, his voice was low and calm, but it was full of a warning.

"What can I possibly do with the three of you here?" you said, grabbing a bottle of red a little too aggressively. "Touch you, Elijah and Kol at the same time? Then fatally stab you all in less than a minute? Do you think I'm some sort of super assassin?"

Your sarcasm was a cheap shield, but it was all you had. Klaus didn't laugh, just watched you, his eyes calculating. He was thinking about it. Of course he was..

Kol grinned a wolfish grin, "It would be fun to see you try."

You poured your wine, and downed the cup in one go, before pouring yourself another, glaring at him over the rim of your glass.

"Please, sit down," Elijah said, his voice a gentle command. "We wouldn't want any…accidents." He wasn't smiling.

You sat. The moment you were back in your chair, the tension in the room eased. Elijah signaled for a compelled waiter to bring you your own bottle. You let him. You were learning to let them do these things. It was easier.

"You've been drinking a lot more lately," Kol said, a sly smile on his face. "It's not healthy."

You knew better than to respond to that. You just took another sip of your wine and looked away, pretending to be interested in a painting on the wall.

The silence stretched on for a moment until the sound of heels clicking on the floorboards broke it. Rebekah swept in, bright and beautiful, smelling like something expensive.

"Evening, boys," she said, sliding into the room like she owned the air itself. "And our favorite little science experiment."

You didn't bother to respond. She never expected you to.

Rebekah came up behind your chair and with casual grace she brushed her bare fingertips against your cheek.

It was nothing, a swipe of skin on skin. But it changed the air. You felt it. She felt it more.

Rebekah exhaled, eyes fluttering shut, color blooming faintly in her face.

"God, that never gets old," she murmured.

Klaus looked up sharply. "Rebekah-"

She waved him off, already moving to pour herself a drink.

"Relax. I didn't faint or burst into dust, did I? It's harmless."

She smiled at you, that lazy Mikaelson smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "She's just a fun party trick, that's all. A little indulgence."

Kol snorted. "You sound like an addict describing her poison."

"Maybe I am," she said, lifting her glass in a mock toast. 

Elijah's voice, quiet but firm. "That will be quite enough."

Rebekah took a sip of her wine, eyelashes fluttering at the taste. "Wine tastes so much better after."

Kol snorted.

Rebekah raised a brow, lips curling in a smile. "Don't pretend like you don't enjoy it Kol. I know what you get up to with your little experiments."

He grinned. "Of course I enjoy it. But that doesn't make me act like a junkie."

"Neither of you should be indulging." Elijah said, his voice quiet and calm. 

You looked at him, the way jaw was set, the way his knuckles were white around the stem of his glass. What a little liar he was. You knew he liked it too. 

"Strix are in town, by the way." Rebekah said, dropping the bomb casually as she crossed the room and took her seat. "They heard rumors that there is a new weapon around, one that can kill us."

Klaus's expression darkened. "Of course they have."

"As long as she is under out control, they should have no reason to concern themselves." Elijah said.

"She would like to have a say in her own fate," you snapped, your voice was louder than you intended. "I'm not an object."

All four vampires turned their gaze on you. For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

Elijah leaned forward, his expression softening. "I am doing everything in my power to keep you safe."

"By keeping me prisoner?" you asked.

He smiled. "Yes."

"I'd rather die."

Kol let out a short, hard laugh. "Darling, is it so bad here? You have food, shelter, and the best wine money can buy."

You looked away, your jaw tight. "That's not the point."

"I'll be more than happy to snap your neck," Klaus offered. "Then we can call it a day."

"No." Elijah cut in. "No, we have already decided this. She's here until we know exactly what we are dealing with. End of discussion."

"How very noble," you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I think it's time we do some more research, right darling?" Kol said, turning to you. His eyes were lit up with a kind of dark excitement.

"Rebekah has inspired me to try a new test," he continued, standing up and grabbing another bottle of wine. He held it in his hand. "Can I get drunk while touching you?... And how fast do I sober up when I return to my vampire state?"

"You're not serious."

"I assure you I am. This is a purely scientific inquiry."

"This isn't a joke, Kol," Elijah said.

He ignored all of them and held out his hand to you. "Shall we?"

You sighed, and put down your glass. "Fine."

PART FIVE

Kol had constructed a little research room up in the attic, which was filled with various herbs, books, and the stink of old blood. He dragged up an old sofa, a coffee table, even a few mismatched lamps. It was almost charming, if you ignored the pile of vampire corpses in the corner.

He said the space needed ambience. You thought it needed ventilation.

He tried to make it feel less like a torture chamber and more like a study, but it didn't work. Nothing about Kol Mikaelson's curiosity ever felt academic. There was too much pleasure in it.

The vampires had been low-level drifters, half-feral things pulled off the streets. Each one had been used to test a new theory. Could a vampire starve while touching you? Could they heal? Could they be killed?

So far, the answers were yes, no, and yes.

Kol kept notes on everything. He scribbled observations on a chalkboard propped against the far wall, the surface already a maze of white smears and half-erased equations.

Subject 6: can be compelled as a vampire and stay compelled as a human. Cause of death: me :)

Subject 19: apparently diabetic as a human. Cause of death: sugar crash, lol.

Subject 35: as human I turned the subject, fed my blood, and snapped their neck. Usual protocol. Witch touched them the entire time. They stayed dead. Conclusion: can't be turned twice. Cause of death: me once again :)

Below those, he'd started a new section labeled CONFIRMED.

Transformation lasts exactly sixty seconds from contact.

Maintaining physical contact sustains human state indefinitely.

Compulsion, vamp-speed, and advanced healing all suppressed during human period.

Deaths in the human state are permanent. 

"So..." He set the bottle on the table and took a seat beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"Are we going to have a fun time or a terrible time?"

"It depends," you said. "Are you going to drag another vampire in here and torture them in front of me?"

He chuckled. "I thought you hated vampires, darling."

"I do. But I'm not a big fan of torture."

"You're a strange little witch," Kol said, leaning back against the sofa and taking a long drink from the bottle.

"You're a sociopath," you replied.

"Nawww, that's my brother Finn. You would have gotten along great. He's dead now."

"That's a shame," you muttered, grabbing the bottle from him and taking a long drink.

"Cheers to that."

He pulled the bottle out of your hands, his expression suddenly serious.

"Take them off now, darling," he said, nodding towards the gloves. "The real test begins now."

With a sigh, you did, laying them out on the coffee table in front of you. You looked back up at him, the two of you watching each other for a moment.

He held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation, you took it.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, like he was enjoying a particularly decadent dessert. "That's nice."

He opened his eyes and looked down at the bottle. "Right then."

He took another swig, then another, and another. He drained it completely, setting the empty bottle back on the coffee table.

"Oh," he breathed, his free hand going to his stomach.

"That feels odd."

"Good odd or bad odd?"

"I'll have to get back to you," he said, pressing his palm to his belly.

He fell silent. Then his shoulders started shaking. You leaned closer, frowning, unsure what was happening.

"Kol?"

He looked up. He was laughing. "I think I might have a tummy ache," he said, a grin spreading across his face. 

"Congratulations?" you said, unsure of the correct response.

He was still chuckling, a soft, genuine sound. "My god, I feel so bloody awful," he said, his words slurring together.

You watched him in utter bafflement. "You're drunk."

"I might be," he agreed. "I can't remember the last time I was."

"One thousand years?" you asked, the sarcasm coming naturally.

"Closer to eleven hundred years, but who's counting?" He collapsed back onto the sofa beside you, one hand still clutching yours, the other waving the bottle dramatically. "Fuck Klaus, I'm not letting him kill you. I'm keeping you around just for this."

You stared at him, your mouth dropping open.

"I'm sorry, did you say … not letting him kill me?'"

He laughed again, louder, almost a giggle.

"You are such a strange girl. So angry. Like a little ball of fire. I don't get why you want all of us dead so badly. Surely you understand you are in more danger out there than with us."

"Because vampires are the epitome of safe." You said flatly.

He grinned, leaning in, his voice dropping lower. "Admit it, you like me."

You let out a long sigh. "You are tolerable."

"Tolerable! I'll take it!" he said, giving your hand a squeeze. "I'm also a catch."

"Oh yeah?" You asked, an actual smile creeping across your lips.

"Oh yes," he said. "I have been thinking about one certain experiment I would like to try... With your permission of course."

"Permission for what?" you asked, a bit wary.

"The most human thing two humans can do."

"Which is?"

He leaned in, his eyes fixed on yours, his voice low. "Making a baby."

"You've lost your fucking mind," you said, immediately letting go of his hand and jumping up, heading towards the door.

He grabbed your wrist and stopped you, pulling you back. "Come on darling, I said with your permission. Don't get all offended now."

You glared at him, snatching your hand away. "You have a lot of nerve."

He gave a shrug, that shit eating grin back on his face. "It was just a suggestion."

"It's not funny, Kol."

"A bit funny."

You reluctantly sat back down, not meeting his eye. He held out his hand. "Come on, don't leave me hangin'."

After a long pause, you took it.

"I'll tell you a secret," he whispered. "I like holding your hand."

You glanced over at him, continuing to glare, but saying nothing.

He took another sip from the bottle, looking up at the ceiling.

"Witches, god I love them so much, the lot of you are beautiful, powerful and deadly... " He began to giggle again, and it was an oddly endearing sound. "I miss being one, I really do."

He suddenly sat up and got to his feet, pulling you with him.

"I wonder..." He began to lead you into the middle of the room, setting the empty bottle down and holding both of your hands.

He closed his eyes, and you felt it, his magic humming to life all around you. His dried herbs turned green again, full of life, the air crackling.

He hummed, swaying back and forth, still holding your hand, the alcohol making his movements a little sloppy.

"I can feel it." His voice was quiet, but excited. "I can feel it, my magic… It's been so long since I've done this."

A small smile crept across your face. This was the first time he smiled in a way that actually seemed sincere.

"Not many witches can do magic while drunk," you murmured.

"I was a bit of a prodigy in my time," he said, opening his eyes and winking.

"Of course you were," you muttered.

"Dance with me." He said, the words not a request, but a demand.

"What? No, absolutely not," you said, trying to pull away, but he held your hand tight, and pulled you closer, until you were chest to chest, his face inches from yours.

"Come on, we are both humans, this is what we do. Dance. Flirt. Make love. Eat. Get drunk. Have children. Die."

"You make it sound so awful."

He laughed, "I would have agreed with you a thousand years ago. But now I'm not so sure."

"KOL," Elijah's voice, sharp and angry.

Both of you turned your heads. The eldest Mikaelson was standing in the doorway, a look of pure disappointment on his face.

"Oh, good evening Elijah, do come in, join us."

Elijah didn't move, his arms were crossed, his jaw clenched. "Are you... Drunk?"

"Yes, I believe so," Kol said, not seeming phased in the slightest. "This is delightful. I would highly recommend it."

"Enough." Elijah's voice was sharp, cutting. "You're done for the night."

"Ohhhh, am I? Did someone call the fun police? I think the fun police are here. He is the fun police," he stage whispered, nodding his head at his brother.

Elijah just glared. "Kol."

Kol sighed. "Fine, fine."

He let go of you and stepped back, grabbing the bottle, taking one final sip of his wine and then causally smashing it on to the floor. Then he walked towards the chalkboard, his steps a little unsteady. He picked up a piece of chalk, twirling it between his fingers like a knife. "Let's see," he muttered, squinting at his scrawled notes.

CONFIRMED

Can get drunk.

Can do magic :)

He added a smiley face at the end and stepped back to admire his work. "Brilliant," he said softly. Then he turned toward you, still beaming, eyes glazed with mischief. "You see, darling? Science. Progress. And all it took was-"

The air shifted. It was a small shift, but you felt it. The tether between your skin and his snapped.

Kol froze. His smile faded. The veins reappeared under his eyes in a ripple of black. He blinked once, twice, then exhaled sharply.

"Oh, bloody hell."

"Sober?" You asked.

"Unfortunately," he muttered, his face twisting into a scowl.

He glanced toward the door where Elijah still stood, silent and disapproving. Kol gave him a lazy salute, eyes dull again.

"Don't worry, brother," he said, voice suddenly sharp. "Experiment's over. Fun's dead. Back to being monsters."

With that, he strolled out, his shoulders rigid, his footsteps loud. Elijah watched him go, his expression one of pure disappointment.

Then looked at you and his gaze softened. "You've had a long day, may I escort you to your room?"

"Sure," you said, putting your gloves back on.

Elijah held out his arm and you took it, trying to ignore how nice his cologne smelled.

The two of you walked out of the attic, and down the stairs. It was a quiet, awkward silence between you.

"I hope Kol isn't... too much," Elijah said. "His behavior is highly undignified."

"It was fine," you said. "He's not terrible when he's not killing people."

"That is true," he murmured, glancing down at you. "But the line between fun and murder is very thin for him."

"Isn't that true for all vampires?"

Elijah smiled. "Touché."

Your room was in a small corridor that was tucked away from the rest of the mansion, and guarded by a vampire at all times. There was a sitting room, a bedroom, a bathroom and a balcony, which was a nice touch.

The vampire outside the door gave Elijah a quick nod and departed, leaving the two of you alone. He opened the door, and gestured for you to step inside.

"Thank you," you murmured, letting go of his arm and stepping through the threshold. "For what it's worth."

"It's worth a great deal," he said softly, from behind you.

You turned around to find him staring at you, his hands in his pockets. He looked… sad. For a fleeting second.

"Elijah," you said, your voice quiet.

He took a step into the room, then another, closing the distance between you, until you had to tilt your head back to look at him.

"I apologize," he said quietly. "For all of this."

"Then let me go," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

He raised a hand, his fingers ghosting over your jawline, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"If I let you go," he murmured, "someone else will find you. And they won't be as kind as me."

His fingers brushed against your skin.

The world tilted. It was quiet. There was only you and him, and the sound of your own heart beating in your chest.

For a split second, the predator was gone. In his place was a man who looked lost, haunted. He looked at you not like you were a weapon, or a cure, but like you were something he'd been searching for, for a very long time.

He pulled his hand away, letting out a deep breath, as if surfacing from deep water. He took a step back and adjusted his cufflink, the mask of composure sliding back into place.

"That was inappropriate of me, I should have asked your permission." He said, his voice calm and measured again. 

"Your siblings seem to think that's optional." You said, your voice tight.

"They are indulgent," he said. "I am not."

You weren't sure if you were angry, or scared. Or something else entirely. You couldn't trust this feeling, couldn't trust the pull, or the pity, or the strange, fragile connection that was weaving itself between you and your captor.

"Goodnight Elijah." You said, trying to keep your own voice steady.

"Goodnight," he replied, then he turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

PART SIX

Days blurred into weeks, that soon turned into months. The Mikaelsons had settled into a strange kind of routine with you. You would eat your meals with them, go for short walks around the courtyard with Rebekah, and then every second day you would be dragged up to Kols lab to test another one of his macabre theories. He was especially proud of the one where he proved a vampire could get sunburnt while touching you.

At night you couldn't sleep, restless nightmares of being attacked by owls with the faces of vampires waking you up in a cold sweat. You knew the guards always switched at midnight, and there was a small window where no one was at your door. So you began to sneak out and explore, finding little hiding spots in the vast compound. A small library full of old poetry books, a dusty attic full of old clothes, and a closet full of torn-up half finished paintings on the third floor.

There was one locked door that particularly interested you. Every night you saw the glow of light seeping from underneath it. It was down the hall from Kol's lab, far from everyone's bedrooms. Sometimes you heard music through it.

You had almost knocked once, then thought better of it. Klaus could very well be on the other side, and you rather not test your luck.

Tonight, as you passed, the latch wasn't completely closed. A sliver of warm light and a low, melodic hum spilled into the hall.

Your curiosity won. You nudged the door, it swung open silently.

It was another library, cozy and small, a fire crackling in the hearth. And there, sitting at a grand piano, was Elijah.

His fingers moved over the keys with a fluid, natural grace, weaving a melody that was beautiful and incredibly sad. His back was to you, his shoulders hunched in concentration. He looked so different from the composed, untouchable man he pretended to be. He looked... real.

You took a step inside, listening. The music was so full of a longing that was so profound it almost hurt to listen to. You could hear a thousand years of loneliness in every note.

His playing slowed, then stopped. The sudden silence in the room was deafening.

He didn't turn. "Is there something you need?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Your breath caught. "I... no. I heard music. I was just curious."

He turned then, and the firelight caught the planes of his face, highlighting the exhaustion etched around his eyes.

"I apologize if I disturbed you."

"You didn't," you said, taking another step into the room. "It was beautiful."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "An old habit. It helps to quiet the noise."

He patted the empty space on the piano bench beside him. An invitation.

You were a prisoner. He was your captor. Every instinct screamed at you to run.

But you walked over and sat down, leaving a careful, deliberate space between you. You saw a stack of sheet music beside him. A book of Chopin nocturnes. Your mother had loved Chopin.

She had tried to teach you once, but you had no patience for it. Music flows from your heart, not from wooden hammers and strings, she had said. The memory was a sudden, sharp pang of loss.

"It is an interesting paradox," Elijah said, almost to himself, as if he were following your thoughts. "To create something so fleeting. A moment of sound, and then it is gone forever. Yet it can continue to play in your mind for eternity."

"Isn't that what life is?" you countered softly. "Fleeting memories?"

He looked at you then, truly looked at you. "Yes," he said, his voice husky. "It is."

He turned back to the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys. "Do you play?"

"No," you said, a little too quickly. "No talent for it."

"Talent is often just persistence in disguise." He started playing again, a different piece this one, but just as melancholic. "Tell me," he said, not taking his eyes off the keys, "when did your magic manifest?"

You were used to their questions, to Kol's invasive experiments and Rebekah's casual prodding. But Elijah's questions felt different. He wasn't testing you, he was trying to understand you.

"I was nine," you said. "I set the curtains on fire because I wanted my sister's doll."

A small, genuine laugh escaped him. "Did you get the doll?"

"No. My mother made me apologize to the curtains."

You were both smiling now. The absurdity of it all. The lines felt blurred, the room too warm, the firelight too soft.

"May I try something? With your permission, of course."

Your stomach tightened. "What?"

He gestured to your gloved hands. "May I?"

This was the core of it. The constant, unrelenting ask. To be touched, to be prodded, to be used. You were exhausted from fighting it.

Slowly, reluctantly, you nodded.

He peeled off his glove with an almost reverent slowness, his dark eyes never leaving yours. He didn't lunge. He didn't grab. He simply turned your hand over, palm up, and laid his bare hand against it.

The change was instant, but subtle this time. The room didn't tilt. The world didn't fall away. Instead, it just gently softened. 

He made an almost imperceptible noise, a soft sigh of release. He closed his eyes. "It never becomes less extraordinary."

He placed his other hand back on the keys, the one touching yours resting in your lap. He began to play.

This music was different.

Where before there was sorrow, now there was a fragile hope. It was a bit less refined, a touch clumsy, the way a human might play. He was no longer the vampire who had practiced a thousand years to achieve perfection. He was just a man, playing a song to a girl in the firelight.

You listened, mesmerized, watching him play with one hand while the other held yours. You looked at where your skin met his, a strange intimacy that felt more dangerous than any threat.

"Here," you said softly, letting go of his hand and reaching up to touch his cheek. Maintaining the contact and freeing his hand in one fluid motion.

He smiled, both hands now finding their place on the keys. The music swelled. More complex, more complete.

"I've always respected the classics, but I do have a soft spot for rock music. Queen, Bowie, Nirvana..." He confessed into the quiet room, the notes of the nocturne transitioning into the raw opening chords of a Nirvana song, played with a strange, classical elegance.

A laugh burst from your lips, unbidden. "Nirvana? Really?"

He was actually smiling now, a real, open-mouthed smile that transformed his entire face. "What?"

"Never took you for a grunge fan," you teased, your body instinctively leaning closer.

He played the opening riff, a little slower, with a mournful gravity that made it sound like a funeral dirge. "The dissonance speaks to a certain existential ennui." He winked. "And the chorus is rather... cathartic."

You were both laughing. "Okay dude, stow the pretentiousness, that's literally the opposite point of Nirvana." You said, playfully poking him in the shoulder.

He stopped playing, turning his body on the bench to face you fully. The laughter faded, replaced by something else. Something warmer.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"For what?" you asked, your own smile faltering slightly.

"For letting me play for the first time as a human," he clarified. "Pianos didn't exist when I was mortal."

"Oh," was all you could manage. A wave of something washed over you. A strange mix of pity and affection.

You were aware of the fire, the closeness of his body, the scent of him, and the weight of a thousand unsaid things hanging between you. He gently pulled away, your hand no longer touching his cheek. 

He stood up, straightening his jacket, the vulnerable musician slowly retreating into the composed vampire.

"It's late, you should try and rest."

"Right," you said, getting to your feet, the brief bubble of normalcy popping.

He walked you back to your rooms. The vampire standing guard looked a bit sheepish at seeing you outside of it.

"Your job is to guard her," Elijah said in a low, hard voice to the vampire. "Not to allow her to wander."

The vampire looked down at the floor. "Yes sir."

You frowned at that, giving Elijah a disapproving look. Like all that you just shared was an oversight, a security breach. "I was just exploring."

"Perhaps it is best if you refrain," he said, as he looked down at your gloved hands.

Without another word, he opened your door and waited for you to step inside. You did, your heart sinking.

You stood there for a long moment, just looking at each other. The memory of the laughter, of the music, hung in the air between you, a fragile, beautiful ghost.

He gave you a curt nod, then closed the door without a word, leaving you in the familiar, suffocating silence of your room.

ACT III

PART SEVEN

Kol dragged you by the elbow towards the living room, a grin on his face. It was entirely unsettling, you knew it meant he had an idea. Most of Kol's ideas started with him being bored and ended with you being exhausted.

"Rebekahhhh!" He sang out, letting you go when you reached the archway. "I've got the stuff, I hope you are prepared."

She was sitting on the sofa, a giant spread of desserts and sweets on the coffee table in front of her. She had clearly compelled an entire bakery to close up and work just for her.

"Took you long enough," she said, not even looking up from the cake she was cutting.

Kol scoffed dramatically and plopped a plastic baggie onto the table beside a plate of pastel macarons. "It is surprisingly difficult to find quality MDMA in this city."

Rebekah rolled her eyes. "How would you know what's quality?"

"I... may have compelled the dealer to try his own supply," Kol said, pulling you down onto the sofa, in-between him and Rebekah. "His review was positive."

You looked between them. Your life had truly reached a new level of weird.

"I also got this!" He pulled out a baggie of rolled joints, the pungent, earthy smell of marijuana filling the room.

"Not to sound like a PSA... but is this really what you want to do with your temporary mortality?" you asked, trying to pull away from him to no avail.

"Absolutely," Rebekah said, finally looking at you, her eyes sparkling with a kind of manic joy. "I got all these desserts just for this. We are going to taste. Really taste."

Kol grinned like a man unveiling a masterpiece. "Right then. Witchy, gloves off."

You froze. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come now," he said, nudging your shoulder with his. "Just a touch. A teensy brush of skin. Enough to make us feel something for once."

"I refuse to be your party trick." The words were flat, a lie you told yourself every day. You were already their trick, their weapon, their curiosity. This was just a new, more pathetic version of the same arrangement.

Rebekah sighed. "Must you be so melodramatic? We aren't going to torture you... We're just asking to get high."

"And Kol wants to study the human-high-vampire-sober metabolism," you added.

"I am a man of science!" he declared, puffing out his chest. "It is my duty."

A small, bitter laugh escaped you. "Is it worth it? You'll just sober up in sixty seconds. The moment you let go."

"That's the best part," Rebekah said, leaning forward, pulling the gloves off your hands for you. "No consequences. No hangover. Just the fun."

They both looked at you. The sheer, pathetic boredom radiating from them was its own kind of weapon. You were a balm for a wound you couldn't even see.

"Fine," you said, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "One hour."

"Brilliant!" Kol cheered, capturing your left hand in his, pressing your palm against the inside of his wrist and Rebekah took the right with equal fervor. "Just maintain contact, okay darling?"

The air shifted, the familiar slight softening of the world. Kol let out a blissful sigh, and Rebekah's eyes fluttered closed.

"That's the stuff," she murmured.

Kol popped an MDMA pill into his mouth like it was a candy. Rebekah followed suit.

"So... do you swallow it like a human or does it just dissolve?"

"Swallow," Kol said, "now shush, I'm focusing on the come-up."

A few minutes passed. Kol turned on some music and Rebekah began to dig into the pastries, her movements a little less fluid than usual. Even when reaching for food, she kept your hand pressed against her thigh, pulling you with her every motion.

"Do you feel it yet?" he asked.

"I don't know... maybe my teeth feel fuzzy," she said.

Another few minutes. Rebekah suddenly gasped.

"Oh my god," she whispered, staring at her hand, which was still holding yours. "I can feel the ridges of your knuckles."

"Fascinating," Kol said. Then he stopped. He blinked. "Oh."

"Oh what?"

"It's... it's started," he said, his eyes wide with wonder.

A slow, brilliant grin spread across Rebekah's face, her pupils blown to the point of swallowing her irises. They looked at each other, then at you, their faces lit with a kind of idiotic glee.

"Well, this is fun," you said, the sarcasm barely even registering.

"Love is all," Kol said with great profundity.

"We should smoke the weed," Rebekah said. "Science."

"Naturally," Kol agreed.

He let go of your hand for a split second to fumble with the lighter. Rebekah immediately began to count down, making his expression flicker into panic, going as fast as possible 

"49...48...47..." she chanted.

Kol managed to light the joint and grabbed your hand again, letting out a little breath of relief.

"This tastes like shit," he said, coughing as he took a deep drag from it. He then offered it to Rebekah, who took a similarly deep drag before handing it back.

"What do you feel?" Kol asked, turning to you.

"Like I'm trapped in a very strange, very old house with two immortal toddlers," you replied, deadpan.

He giggled again, and handed the joint to you. "Here. For your troubles." Then he seemed to think of something. "Will it affect you?"

"Yeah, it will affect me," you said, your patience wearing thin.

"Good. You need to loosen up."

You took the joint, more out of spite than anything else, and took a long drag. The smoke was harsh in your lungs, but the familiar warmth that followed was a small comfort.

"You've definitely done that before," Kol observed.

You didn't answer, just took another drag and handed it back to him.

"What came first? The witch or the pothead? It's a chicken and egg scenario," he mused, staring at the glowing ember of the joint.

Rebekah had a sudden and intense fascination with a single cream puff, which she held up to the light like it was a flawless diamond.

"The texture," she breathed.

"What about it?" you asked.

She broke it open and gasped again.

"Oh, the cream! How do the bakers do it? They must be magic." She looked at you, her expression suddenly earnest. She squeezed your hand to her chest, clutching your skin like a lifeline. "Are you a baker? Do you have that kind of magic?"

Kol burst out laughing at Rebekah's question. "Bex, what the fuck are you talking about?"

A genuine smile finally reached your lips, and the weed started to soften the sharp edges of your anger. This whole situation was so monumentally stupid it had circled back around to being funny.

"I just want to taste it," Rebekah said, her eyes filling with tears. She took a delicate bite, and her face went slack with bliss. "I think... I think this is love. This is what love is. A cream puff." She locked eyes with you, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm sorry for being a bitch to you."

You blinked. "Okay."

"No, I mean it," she insisted, reaching out to touch your face. "You are just... stuck here. With us. It must be awful. We're awful."

Rebekah sniffled, mascara smudging as she leaned fully into your space, palm cupping your cheek with devastating sincerity.

"We're awful," she repeated, lip wobbling.

Kol nodded solemnly, as if this were a funeral. "Monsters, really."

"Absolutely terrible. We're horrible hosts. Kol, get her a tart," Rebekah commanded, pointing a finger at the dessert table. 

Kol was already halfway over the dessert table, shoving pastries around like a raccoon hunting treasure. "Which tart though? The raspberry one? Blueberry? Lemon? Lime?!"

Rebekah placed both hands on your shoulders. "We don't deserve you."

"The lemon one looks good," you offered.

"Excellent choice," Kol replied, picking it out of the pile.

He collapsed onto the carpet at your feet, dramatically resting his head against your knee, reaching up to place your hand on his cheek. "You are our angel," he declared, then tried to feed the tart to you.

Rebekah giggled at that, and then couldn't stop. She was laughing so hard she was crying, actual tears running down her face, as she patted the top of his head. "I love you so much brother," she wheezed.

"Love you too, Bex," he said, muffled by your dress.

You took the tart out of his hand and took a bite, it was utterly delicious. Sweet, just the right amount of lemon, the crust a perfect shortbread.

"This is good," you said, the words coming out lazy and mellow. "You guys might be onto something."

"I love you more Kol, like you don't even understand," she said, leaning her head against your shoulder, sandwiching you between them.

"No, listen," he reached out and cupped Rebekah's cheek. "I love YOU more. What other sibling could I do this with?" He wiggled your joined hands. "Literally who else?"

"Finn." Rebekah said deadpan.

Kol paused, then absolutely howled with laughter. He collapsed sideways against your knee, shoulders shaking, while Rebekah folded into your side like a drunk swan.

You barely had time to breathe before the living room door suddenly opened.

Just a soft click. But the sound was enough to shatter the hazy, sugar laden bubble. Elijah stood there, dressed in a sharp suit, his expression carved from disappointment.

He didn't speak.

He didn't move quickly.

He didn't need to.

The laughter died in a single instant, like someone had sliced the sound out of the air.

Rebekah froze mid-giggle, hand still wrapped firmly around your wrist.

Kol blinked up from the floor, your ankle in his grip like he'd forgotten he was holding it.

And you… you just stared, your stomach dropping.

Elijah's eyes took in exactly three things: them, you, and the undeniable fact that he was the only sober person in the room.

Something in his expression flickered, not rage, not shock, but something quieter and sharper. Something you had only seen when Klaus pushed him too far.

He said one word. "Enough."

Rebekah flinched.

Kol actually straightened, like a child caught with stolen candy.

Neither of them let go.

Elijah stepped forward. "Release her."

Calm. Level. Final.

Rebekah dropped your hand. Kol hesitated, and then with a heavy sigh, he let go and climbed back onto the sofa.

Rebekah attempted a weak smile. "We were just having fun."

"Your fun ends the moment it endangers her." he said, picking up your discarded gloves and handing them to you. He kept looking between you, them and the drugs on the coffee table.

"Lighten up, brother. The most tragic thing that happened tonight is that we have to sit through you telling us how disappointed you are." Kol said, standing up and stretching.

You didn't speak. You just stood up and started pulling on your gloves, each finger finding its home, re-building your armor.

"Weed has never killed anybody," Kol added with a sigh.

Elijah walked over to the coffee table and picked up the baggie of joints, holding it delicately between two fingers like something distasteful. "No," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "But they could have been laced, same with the... pills." He gestured at the other baggie.

Rebekah sank into the sofa with a pout. "They weren't."

Elijah didn't dignify her with a response, just reached out his hand to you. "Come." It was not a request.

You looked at Kol, who gave you a lazy, half-hearted grin and then to Rebekah who was munching on another cream puff, looking thoroughly disappointed.

You took Elijah's arm, feeling the familiar strength in it, the rigid control.

"Ughhhhh." Kol let out a dramatic groan, flopping back down onto the sofa. "I'm sober again."

"Me too," Rebekah grumbled, swallowing her bite, and putting the rest down. "Now I just want blood."

"It was brilliant while it lasted," Kol muttered, closing his eyes, a look of pure bliss still on his face. "That's a memory I will cherish forever."

Elijah let out a long sigh and guided you out of the room. He was silent all the way to your door, dismissing the guard with a wave of his hand.

He followed you into your rooms, closing the door behind him, his footsteps nearly silent.

For a moment, he didn't speak. He just looked at you, taking in the slight redness in your eyes, the way you swayed just a touch, the faint fog still clinging to your expression.

His voice, when it came, was low and unbearably gentle. "Are you alright?"

You blinked up at him, surprised. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

There it was, that annoying, lovely, concern of his. Real, unguarded, unmasked. And something in you, softened by weed and exhaustion, snapped just enough to let the truth slip out.

"I'm surprised you care."

His brows drew together, a small, wounded crease forming between them. "Why would you say that?"

You gave a small, humorless laugh. "Because last time we spoke you couldn't get away from me fast enough. You walked me back to my room like I was a problem that needed storing away. So yeah. I'm surprised you care."

A flicker of guilt crossed his face quick, almost invisible, you were too tired to notice it.

"That is not true," he said softly. "I do care, more than is wise."

The room went very quiet. You were left standing there in your pretty, gilded cage, and he was your jailer, suddenly admitting the keys were heavy.

You didn't know what to say to that, you just turned to face him fully, your head tilting.

He took a half-step closer, reaching out, but stopping himself before he could touch you.

"Their indulgences are… irresponsible," he said, changing the subject, but not really. "They treat you like a toy. An amusement. I do not." 

"But you want to touch me too," you countered, your voice losing its defensiveness.

His mouth twitched and he looked away from you, as if the floor had suddenly become fascinating.

"It would be nice," he finally admitted.

"Just nice?"

"Very nice."

You sighed, a little looser than you would've been an hour ago, the lingering warmth of the weed still smoothing out your edges. You began pulling off the gloves, one by one. The last fingertip caught for a second, and you had to focus more than you should've.

Elijah watched the whole time, his face a careful mask of control. You took a seat on the edge of the bed and held out your hand.

"Go ahead," you murmured.

He reached for it, his movements slow, careful, like he was afraid he might frighten you away. His palm slid against yours, and you felt the tension leave his body in one long exhale. His eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his cheek briefly to the back of your hand, like he was memorizing the warmth.

Then he sat down beside you, still holding on.

"I didn't realize how much I missed it," he said quietly.

"Being human?" you asked.

"Yes."

You studied his face in profile, the dark lashes, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. He looked younger like this. Softer. Tired.

"What's nice about it?" you asked. "I hate being human."

His eyes opened, turning to you. "Do you?"

"Of course," you said, the words coming out sharper than you meant. "Being human makes you vulnerable in this world. Humans are weak, stupid, and fragile."

"But they're not only that," he said. His thumb brushed absently over your knuckles. "They're resilient. They endure. They heal."

"Aren't we just all food to you?" you muttered. "Why do you care?"

Elijah looked down at your joined hands. "Younger vampires can turn it off," he said. "That tether to their humanity. They can shut it away to survive. Feel nothing at all."

You frowned. "Yeah, I've heard. Why would anyone want to do that?"

"So they don't break," he said simply. "But it doesn't last. Not for us. The longer we live, the harder it is to stay numb. It creeps back in. The guilt. The grief. The… hope." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Whether we want it to or not."

"Sounds like a punishment," you said.

He let out a quiet huff of amusement. "Knowing my mother… perhaps."

He tipped his head back, gaze unfocused on the ceiling. "I forgot so many little things about being human," he admitted. "How everything smelled, and felt, and sounded. But now it's all so clear again when I touch you."

You stared down at his hand, watching his thumb move in slow, soothing circles over your skin. Your chest ached with something you didn't want to name.

"I like it when you touch me," you said softly, the confession slipping out before you could catch it.

His head turned, eyes meeting yours. "I like it as well," he said. There was a faint flush along his cheekbones now. "May I ask another favor?"

"What's that?" you asked, your voice quieter than before.

His cheeks were slightly pink. "I would very much like… a nice human sleep."

You blinked. "That's all? Just a nice human sleep?"

"If you are amenable," he said, his hand squeezing yours, the smallest hint of nerves in the gesture. "Nothing more."

Your stomach flipped. "As long as you don't expect anything more," you said, suddenly very aware of how close he was, how warm his hand felt in yours.

He chuckled, his face softening. "I'm not Kol. I know how to behave."

"Okay then," you murmured. "Just…let me change."

You slipped your hand from his and crossed the room to your wardrobe. You could feel his gaze on your back for a second before he caught himself and turned around.

You pulled out a soft nightgown and shrugged out of your dress, then folded it over the chair by habit before tugging the nightgown into place.

Behind you, you heard the faint rustle of Elijah moving, the subtle clink of cufflinks, the low slide of a belt being pulled free. When you turned back, he had already loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, his back still turned.

You looked. You couldn't help it.

Your gaze tracked the line of his shoulders, the exposed expanse of his back. He glanced behind just in time to catch you staring.

His brow lifted, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Would you prefer I remain fully clothed?" he asked.

Heat crept up your neck. "No, I just..." You cleared your throat and looked away. "Nevermind."

He let the smile linger for a heartbeat, then finished unbuttoning his shirt, folding it with the same care he gave everything. He draped it over the back of the chair beside your dress, then stepped out of his trousers. By the time he reached the bed, he was down to his boxers and a thin undershirt, as proper as undressed could possibly look.

The mattress dipped as he settled beside you. You lay on your back, stiff and awkward for a moment, the room suddenly too quiet.

He reached for your hand again, his fingers sliding between yours, and you felt him relax. You shifted closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," you murmured.

"Good,"

Silence settled over the room, but it wasn't suffocating this time. The only sound was his soft breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. The world felt muted, like someone had turned the volume down on everything except him.

You turned your head to look at him. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful in a way you'd never seen when he was awake and guarding himself.

You lifted your free hand and brushed your fingers across his cheek. His stubble was soft against your skin. He smiled, leaning into your touch, but didn't open his eyes.

Your heart rate slowed, your body sinking deeper into the mattress. The lingering warmth of the weed and the solid weight of him beside you wrapped around you like a blanket.

The last thing you saw before sleep pulled you under was his peaceful face, and the gentle, human smile on his lips.

PART EIGHT

Dawn crept in, and sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, the air turning warm. You woke first, your neck stiff, your mind cloudy.

Elijah was still sleeping, his head heavy on your shoulder, his hand still intertwined with yours. You looked down at him, a smile creeping across your lips, feeling... peaceful.

You watched him for a while, running a finger over the lines on his palm, feeling the warmth of his skin.

His eyes blinked open, unfocused at first. Then the realization hit and he sat up abruptly, jerking his hand away.

"Oh... Forgive me. I..."

"It's alright," you said, reaching over to touch his arm, but he moved out of reach.

He cleared his throat, a hint of color rising on his cheeks. "I... Don't remember the last time I woke in such a manner."

"It was just a sleep, Elijah."

"I'm aware. It is merely... disorienting."

He got out of the bed, and started picking up his clothes. Silence stretched heavy between you, the only sound was a clock ticking on the wall. Counting down the seconds until he turned back into a vampire.

You watched him dress, a ritual so precise and practiced that you felt a pang of something you couldn't name. When he finished, he turned to face you. He looked like he wanted to say something else, maybe something about how nice it had been, or how he wanted to do it again. But he didn't, instead he seemed to harden his features, becoming more distant, more like a thousand-year-old man than your human bedmate.

"I shouldn't have asked that of you," he said, walking toward the door. "It was... an error in judgment."

"You don't enjoy sleeping with women?" You teased, a little bit of fire coming back into your voice.

"No, I don't. I mean of course I do… It's just... You are a prisoner here... It's not right." He floundered, his usual composure in tatters. He looked like a teenager, and you had to bite your lip to keep from grinning.

"Oh. So that's where you draw the line? Interesting moral code you have." 

"I apologize. It seems I am... Unsettled this morning."

"It was a human thing, Elijah," you said, standing up and walking towards him. You didn't put your gloves on, instead, you reached out and placed a bare hand on his cheek. He flinched but didn't move away, letting himself be human for a little longer. "You don't have to apologize. It was nice for me too."

He let out a slow breath and you felt him relax. "Thank you."

"You can be human with me," you said softly. "It's not a weakness."

He smiled, a real, genuine smile, "A dangerous offer."

His hands found your waist, and he pulled you closer. You could feel the warmth of him, the steady beat of a borrowed human heart.

"I fear... I am beginning to enjoy this cage more than I should," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

You tilted your head up, and you were so close that you could feel his breath on your lips. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the longing warring with his duty. For a split second, you thought he might kiss you, a human kiss, slow and soft. He leaned in, and your eyes fluttered shut.

Then he stopped. He pulled away, and you felt a sudden chill where his body had been.

"We should go, get dressed and put your gloves on, we are expected at breakfast." He straightened his tie, not quite meeting your eyes.

"Elijah..."

He shook his head, "This is a complication we cannot afford. Not now."

"Fine," you muttered, turning away from him and going over to your closet, trying not to show the heartbreak on your face.

You turned to say one more thing, but Elijah was gone.

PART NINE

Rebekah was sitting at the breakfast table when you arrived, a bloody mimosa and a plate of eggs in front of her. She was wearing a bright yellow sundress, a huge smile on her face.

"Good morning, darling," she smiled, snapping her fingers at the servants to grab you a plate. "Come sit, you must be famished. The sun is beautiful this morning, we should go out today."

"Absolutely not Rebekah," Elijah said from the head of the table, not even looking up from the newspaper.

"Oh Elijah, come off it, she's been trapped inside for months, she deserves a little shopping trip."

"She's not to leave the compound, those are Niklaus's orders."

You were silent, listening to them talk about you like you weren't even there. The servants placed a cup of coffee and plate of eggs in front of you, but your stomach was churning.

Rebekah gave a dramatic sigh, stabbing at her eggs.

"Honestly, you and Nik are both being ridiculous. She's a witch, not a toddler. Let her see the bloody sun." She looked at you, her gaze speculative. "Unless you're afraid she'll run?"

"I'm not afraid she'll run," Elijah said smoothly, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. "I'm afraid she'll be stolen."

"Stolen... Like I'm some sort of object?" you asked, finally finding your voice. "A party favor? A pretty little thing to be passed around and argued over?"

"No, not like that," Elijah said, his gaze softening. "Like a secret. A secret that cannot get out."

"Uh huh," you said, taking a sip of your coffee. 

"You and Kol are indulging far too much," Elijah said. "I fear what could happen if she is outside of these walls, where we can't control the variables."

Rebekah froze mid-sip of her bloody mimosa, eyes flicking toward you, then back to him. "Are you seriously going to pretend like you didn't stay in her room last night?"

Elijah didn't respond, his body went still, and a smug smirk appeared on Rebekah's lips.

"I wonder what Niklaus would be more upset over? Taking the witch for a walk or... sleeping with her."

Elijah was glaring at her now. "I did not..."

"We didn't have...," you interjected. "We only slept. That was it."

Rebekah laughed, delighted. "Oh Elijah, the way you blush, one would think you've done something worth blushing for."

He ignored her and reached for his coffee, jaw tight enough to crack porcelain. "I'm done with this conversation."

"Of course you are," she said lightly, turning her grin on you. "Cmon, let's go get some fresh air, Elijah will only slow us down, the old stick in the mud that he is."

"No." Elijah's voice was a sharp whip-crack, a command, not a suggestion. "If she leaves this house, she doesn't go alone."

Rebekah arched a brow. "She won't be, I will be with her?"

"You will also take Marcel."

The word landed like a dropped glass. Rebekah's smile faltered. "Seriously?"

"Would you rather I accompanied you?" Elijah asked, a challenge in his tone.

Rebekah held his gaze for a long moment, then threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll bring your precious soldier. But if he lectures me, I'm snapping his neck and leaving him."

Elijah's mouth curved almost imperceptibly. "He'll manage."

Rebekah pushed back from the table and stood, smoothing her dress. "Come along, sweetheart. Before my brother thinks of another rule."

You rose, hesitant. "You mean we can go out? You're serious?"

"Yes, and you get to meet my ex, how fun."

You glanced at Elijah, but his face was blank, and he refused to meet your eyes.

"Go," he said. "Just be careful."

Rebekah rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Always am."

PART TEN

You were already sweating by the time you turned onto royal street. Brass drifted lazy over rooftops; something sweet fried in oil wafted through the air.

Rebekah looped her arm through yours like you were girlfriends on a spree. "We're buying you something frivolous," she said. "Elijah can scowl at the receipt later."

"Hey now," Marcel said from your other side, sunglasses on, smiling and nodding at the local vendors. "Can't the man have a hobby."

You couldn't help but chuckle at that accurate statement. 

"Why don't you go fetch some cold drinks, it's dreadfully warm for our little witch and I'll take her to find a fresh pair of gloves."

Marcel paused, and his smile slipped, a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

"Don't worry, we'll stay right in this area, promise."

"Alright, be careful," he said, giving her a quick nod. "And don't touch her, you never know what could happen."

"I'll touch what I please," Rebekah said, amused, and brushed her finger along your cheek.

Her breath went human in an instant, shoulders loosening as color warmed the high points of her cheeks. You pulled back, she smiled, small and private and a little wicked.

Marcel saw it. Of course he did. "Rebekah."

"Relax," she said, already drifting toward the door of a narrow shop tucked between a voodoo boutique and a gallery. The sign above the door was so faded it barely clung to the wood, the word ANTIQUITÉS in gold leaf.

The bell gave a small ring when she pushed the door open. Inside smelled like must, lavender and old books. Every surface was crowded: crucifixes, lace, porcelain dolls with missing eyes. Mirrors leaned on mirrors, reflecting the two of you from every angle.

An elderly woman looked up from behind a glass counter. Her hair was silver-white, braided and pinned, her face carved into lines and her eyes were a striking green.

"Miss Mikaelson," she said, the name shaped like a sigh. "It's been some time since you darkened my door."

"Della," Rebekah said, her voice suddenly devoid of its earlier lightness. "You're still here."

"It's my shop," the woman replied simply, her gaze settling on you. "And you've brought… a guest."

Della's eyes lingered on you, and you had the unnerving sensation she wasn't looking at your face or your clothes, but straight through your skin to the thing humming beneath. You shifted on your feet, the floorboards groaning in the silence.

Rebekah let out a long sigh, you could feel her vampire nature returning, the color fading from her cheeks, the sixty seconds from when she last touched you now up.

Della eyed her suspiciously, and you realized she was a witch too, could she feel it? Could she feel the change in the air, the static that surrounded Rebekah.

"Is there anything I can help you find today?"

"Actually," Rebekah said, smiling sweetly. "I was hoping you could recommend a pair of gloves, for my friend here."

"Hmm," Della glanced at the silk gloves that traveled all the way up your arms. "Rather warm for gloves,"

"She has a skin condition, absolutely dreadful thing, fakes everywhere," Rebekah lied.

Della looked back to you, her expression still suspicious.

"Right this way," she said, leading the two of you further into the store. She ran her fingers over a display of gloves in a glass case. "We have lace, we have silk, we have leather."

"They are all so beautiful," Rebekah said, picking up a pair of white lace gloves, holding them out to you. "What do you think, dear?"

You took them, the lace was soft and delicate, but thin. Not enough of a barrier.

"They're a little thin," you murmured.

"You're right," Rebekah said, her gaze scanning the room, landing on a pair of dark red ones, made of silk. "What about these?"

Della watched the whole exchange, her hands now folded neatly on the counter. "The gloves are lovely, Rebekah, but they won't work."

Rebekah's smile tightened. "I beg your pardon?"

Della stepped out from behind the counter, moving with an uncanny quiet. She didn't look at the gloves. She looked at you.

"What you are hiding," the old woman said, her voice low and steady, "it isn't a skin ailment."

She reached out, pushing your hair back from your shoulder. Her cool fingers brushed the bare skin of your neck, a quick, impersonal touch. You flinched, but it was over before you could react. She held your gaze, and you saw not fear, not horror, but a dawning of something ancient and knowing.

Before she could say another word, the bell over the door chimed again, and Marcel stepped inside, a trio of sweating bottles of water in one hand. He took in the scene in an instant: Rebekah's stiff posture, the old witch's penetrating stare, the glove on the counter between you.

"Everything okay in here?"

Della pulled her hand back, an unconvincing smile on her lips. "Just admiring the girl's aura. She has a very... interesting energy."

"I'm sure," Marcel said, his gaze shifting between you and the old woman, a warning in his eyes. "We should be going."

Rebekah grabbed the red silk gloves and slammed a handful of cash on the counter. "We'll take these."

Della didn't even glance at the money. "Come back anytime," she said, her eyes still fixed on you.

Rebekah didn't say another word. She just grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the door. Marcel opened it for her, and the three of you spilled back out onto the sun-baked sidewalk. The air felt different now, charged with an unspoken tension.

"What was that about?" Marcel asked, handing you a bottle of water.

"Nothing," Rebekah snapped, her good mood completely evaporated. "Just a batty old shopkeeper." She pulled the tags off the new gloves and practically shoved them at you. "Here."

The silk was cool against your heated skin, and you fumbled, pulling them on as Rebekah turned on her heel and started marching back the way you came. Her stride was longer, angrier.

"What the hell was that, Rebekah?" Marcel's voice was low, for your ears only, as he fell into step beside you.

"She's a crone. A nosy old biddy who sells junk to tourists," Rebekah said without turning around. "She sees one little sliver of magic and thinks she's an oracle."

She stopped in her tracks, making you both halt. "Don't tell Elijah."

You and Marcel both nodded.

Rebekah's smile was grim. "Good. Now, let's go home."

PART ELEVEN

You spent the rest of the day reading in your room. Hiding away from everything and everyone. You didn't want Kol to come find you, wanting to test out another theory. You didn't want to see Elijah's guilty face as he tried to explain away last night. You just wanted to be left alone with the words on a page, and a world that was not your own.

You had just finished a chapter when a soft knock echoed through the room. You tensed, debating on whether or not to answer. You didn't have to.

The door clicked open, and Elijah stepped inside, closing it softly behind him. He was dressed down, in just a t-shirt and jeans, and the casual look was so disarming that it took you a moment to register. He was holding a tray with a teapot and two cups.

"I brought you some tea," he said, his voice quiet, and it felt like he was invading your space in the most gentle way possible.

"Thanks," you said, closing the book and setting it aside.

He placed the tray on the small table in front of the sofa, and sat down in the armchair opposite you. He poured a cup of tea, and pushed it across the table.

"How was your trip with Rebekah?"

"Fine," you said, taking a sip. The tea was chamomile, but it did little to soothe your nerves. "She bought me new gloves."

"I see that," he said, his gaze lingering on the dark red silk all the way up your arms. "They are... a nice color."

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the only sound was the clinking of your cup against the saucer.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" He finally asked, breaking the quiet.

"Depends on what it is," you said, trying to sound casual.

"Why did you do this to yourself? Surely you knew it wouldn't end well for you." He gestured vaguely at you. At your hands, at your power.

You stared down into your teacup, watching the steam rise and dissipate. "I was tired of feeling vulnerable," you said. "I'm a witch, but I'm not a very powerful one. Not like the rest of my family was... I couldn't protect myself, so I had to get creative."

"What happened?"

You set down the teacup, your hands trembling slightly. "Oh you know... The usual... Witch pisses off vampire, vampire kills witch and then her entire family… Classic story."

You said it with a smile, but your voice was tight, and you could see the pity in his eyes, and it made you want to scream.

"So you found a way to even the odds," he finished for you.

"The intention of my spell was to make my blood poisonous, so any vampire who tried to bite me would die. I just... miscalculated." You said, letting out a self deprecating little laugh.

"What you did was a true anomaly, Kol has been trying to recreate it for months. A sacrificial spell of that magnitude…" He said, shaking his head. "It shouldn't be possible."

"My sister was the prodigy," you said, a bitter note creeping into your voice. "But she's gone. So it was just me and a grimoire full of spells I only half understood." You looked up at him, forcing a smile. "And now I'm a prisoner to the very monsters I created the spell to destroy. The irony is not lost on me, I assure you."

"I do not wish to be your jailer," he said softly.

"Then what are you?" You challenged him. "My guard? My therapist? The good cop who's supposed to make me feel... special?"

He let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair. "I don't know what I am." He ran a hand over his face, a gesture of such profound weariness that it made your chest ache. "I just know what I see when I look at you." He paused, choosing his next words with care. "Potential. Not just for a weapon, but for something else entirely. But Niklaus ..."

"He sees a weapon," you finished. "A gun with a funny trigger. He always has."

He looked up at the ceiling, a muscle in his jaw working. He was weighing his words, balancing the family loyalty he wore like armor against the fragile new thing growing between you.

He leaned forward again, his gaze intense and unwavering. "I see redemption, not just for my family but... For whatever drove you to this." He gestured to you, to your gloved hands, to the power humming beneath them. "A gift like yours, it isn't born from a place of peace. It is born of fury, of loss, of sacrifice."

You didn't want him to see your pain. You didn't want him to understand you. It was safer when they were just monsters. It was easier to hate them when they were just the enemy. But Elijah… he kept stripping away the layers, peeling back the armor you had so carefully constructed.

"The owl... The one I used in my spell... He was my fathers, his name was Poe. I killed him because it was the only thing I had left of my family..." you admitted, the words catching in your throat. "I knew the spell would probably kill me, but I was just so angry and afraid…"

"Of the ones who killed your family?"

"It was just one," you said, your voice cracking. "He was my sister's boyfriend, we all thought he was so charming and thoughtful... but he wasn't. He got bored and then he killed them all... I only survived because I wasn't home."

Tears streamed down your face, and you didn't bother to wipe them away.

"What was his name?" Elijah asked, his voice dangerously calm.

"It doesn't matter. He's gone." You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself. "He just collapsed a few years ago... Along with scores of other vampires all over the world. I never found out why, and it didn't stop me from being scared of every single one of you."

"Sirelines," Elijah said softly. "He must have descended from Kol or Finn... When an original dies, everyone they have ever sired and turned over the last thousand years... Dies with them. A domino effect of death."

"Oh ..." you said softly, the idea settling over you. "But Kol is... alive..."

"He can't seem to stay dead for long, he's like cat with nine lives..." Elijah paused, a thoughtful expression on his face.

You chuckled at that, wiping away the last of your tears. "It's nice to finally have the answer to why my family's killer died... I always assumed it was some sort of karma or a curse... I guess it was a bit of both."

"You have my sympathies," he said, rising to his feet, and picking up the empty tea cups. "And you have my word, no one else will hurt you. Not while I'm around."

He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, you called after him.

"Elijah..."

"Yes?" He said, turning around, his gaze questioning.

"Stay," you whispered, the words slipping from your mouth.

"I... It's not a wise idea..." he hesitated, his gaze flicking to the bed, and back.

"Why? Because you might fall asleep with me again?" You asked, a slight tease to your voice. "Or... something more than sleep?"

His throat bobbed. "Yes. Exactly."

Silence hung between you, heavy and charged. He was still looking at the bed, and you knew, with a sudden and complete certainty, that you were both hurling towards the same inevitable conclusion.

You rose, and crossed the room, until you were standing right in front of him.

"I want that too," you murmured, reaching up to push his hair back from his forehead, the silk of your glove brushing his skin.

"We can't..."

His eyes closed, and a quiet, hungry sound escaped him. It made the heat coil in your belly. His lips parted, as if he were going to say something else, but you were too lost in the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him.

You rose on your toes, pressing your lips to his. It was a slow, achingly soft kiss, and it took his breath away. His hands slid up your arms, fingers tracing the bare skin above the gloves, then hooking under the fabric and slowly pulling them off. He let the gloves fall to the floor, and then his hands were back, tracing your forearms, the curve of your shoulder, the column of your throat.

"Every time I touch you... I don't want to stop, to go back..." He breathed the words against your mouth.

"So don't," you murmured, tugging him closer.

His arm looped around your waist, and he lifted you, and the two of you tumbled onto the bed, your bodies slotting together like pieces of a puzzle.

He pulled up your dress, peeling it away until his hands were sliding over the bare skin of your thighs. His mouth was on your neck, and the heat of his breath sent shivers through you. Your hands slid under his shirt, feeling the planes of his chest, and the way his heart stuttered when you dragged your nails down his stomach.

He let out a strange little gasp, and you laughed, and the sound made him smile. His lips ghosted over yours, a whisper of a kiss.

"I fear I haven't done this as a human in a long, long time." He said, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"How different is it?" You asked, tracing a finger along his lower lip.

"Quite different," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your finger. "Right now I feel... warm."

"Warm?"

"Like my skin is burning... And my heart is beating too fast," he murmured, and he looked so serious and sincere, that you couldn't help but smile.

"I think it's called being turned on," you teased him.

"Vampires know that feeling quite well," he countered, his hands trailing up your sides, pulling your body flush against his. "This is different."

"Oh really?"

"Mmhmm," he said, nipping lightly at the shell of your ear.

You laughed, pushing his shirt up, and he sat up, stripping it off, and tossing it aside. His jeans quickly followed. He was kneeling, hovering over you, his body silhouetted by the dim light, his face a perfect mask of shadows and desire.

"I think perhaps my... nevermind," he trailed off, his cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

"Finish the sentence," you challenged him.

"I think my human side... Very little stamina," he confessed, a shy little smile on his face.

"What a tragedy," you teased, sliding your hand down his chest and resting it on the band of his boxers.

"You're mocking me," he said, his voice low, but his eyes were bright, and his smile was playful.

"Maybe a little," you whispered, dragging a finger along the inside of the band.

"I haven't lost my skills sweetheart, I can promise you that."

He leaned down, kissing his way down your neck and over the swell of your breast, his hand dipping between your legs.

You let out a startled gasp, and he smiled against your skin, his fingers stroking slowly. "You're very sensitive."

"Shut up," you said, tangling a hand in his hair and pulling him back up to kiss you.

He moved his fingers in small circles, your hips bucking against his hand. He trailed kisses down your neck, across your chest, his hands never leaving your skin as he moved lower.

When he settled between your thighs, he paused, looking up at you from under dark lashes. He didn't say anything, just watched you as he lowered his head.

You jumped as the flat of his tongue lapped against you. The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you heard a soft moan from deep in his chest, a human sound of satisfaction. He took his time, slowly parting you with the tip of his tongue, savoring every taste, every shudder of your body. 

It was a slow, deliberate exploration. He wasn't rushing toward a goal, but simply learning you. His hands held your hips, not with vampire strength, but a firm, human anchoring that spoke of possession, of reverence. He would pull back slightly, his gaze lifting to watch your face, to read the arch of your back and the way your hands fisted in the sheets. Then he would dive back in, a new tactic, a different pressure, finding the rhythm that made your breath hitch.

"Elijah," you whimpered, your hand finding his hair, and tugging lightly.

He moved back up your body, his fingers taking over the movements of his tongue, his thumb finding a new rhythm, and you felt a pressure building inside you, a heat coiling in your stomach.

"You have to be quiet for me," he whispered, his mouth hot against the shell of your ear. "We can't let anyone hear us."

You nodded, biting down on your lip. He was watching you, his expression focused and intent.

"Good girl," he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

The praise sent a new jolt of pleasure through you, and a soft sound slipped from your lips, even as you tried to swallow it.

"That's cheating," you panted, tugging him down to kiss you.

He smiled against your lips, but didn't say anything, and the smugness of the gesture made you laugh.

His fingers picked up speed, and the pressure inside you reached a fever pitch, your entire body shaking. He pressed his mouth against yours, swallowing the sounds of your release. Your back arched, and he held you there, his fingers slowing as the waves of pleasure ebbed.

"Beautiful," he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth.

Your body went limp, your breathing shallow, and you couldn't find the words to respond.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he teased, kissing your forehead, and shifting his weight.

You reached for him, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him closer. "Not so fast," you said, pushing him onto his back.

He stared up at you, eyes wide and unguarded. His expression was full of awe, of reverence. "You actually pushed me," he said, sounding delighted.

"Yeah, well... You don't have super strength, so it was pretty easy," you teased him, tugging off your bra and tossing it aside.

"First time I didn't have to let someone have the upper hand," he murmured, sitting up and capturing one nipple in his mouth.

His teeth scraped lightly, and a soft moan escaped you.

"Shhhh, we can't be too loud," he teased, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass.

You pushed his boxers down, and wrapped your hand around his cock, slowly pumping your fist. He hissed a breath, his eyes falling closed.

"Shhhhhh," you mocked him, moving to straddle him.

You shifted your weight, slowly sinking down, inch by inch. He held your hips, guiding you as you took him all the way, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Are you alright?" He whispered, his gaze searching yours.

"Mmmhmmm," you moaned, rolling your hips experimentally.

His lips parted, gently tugging your head down, kissing you softly. You rocked slowly against him, the motion sending little shocks of pleasure through you.

"I'm not going to last," he said, the words tumbling out, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and you were struck, once again, by how human he looked. "You are too good at that."

"Me? Too good?" You laughed, and it sent a ripple of pleasure through him.

"I'm only a man," he said, a smile curving his mouth.

"Mmm, yes you are," you agreed, grinding down on him harder.

"Shit," he swore, his grip on your hips tightening, and then he moved, rolling the two of you so he was hovering over you.

The sudden shift sent a new wave of heat through you, his hips pressed flush against yours, his weight pinning you down. He didn't pull out, he just held you there, his hips moving in tiny circles.

"'lijah," you murmured, reaching up to cup his face.

He kissed the palm of your hand, grinding into you slowly, making sure to fill you completely with every pass.

"Right there," he breathed, and you weren't sure if he was talking to himself or to you.

He had found a rhythm now, a slow, deep grind that was maddening. His eyes locked with yours, making you feel all too vulnerable under his gaze.

A breath shuddered through him. A human breath, mortal and fleeting. He wanted to watch you, to keep his eyes locked on you. He wanted to see your face, to witness the pleasure blooming in your eyes as he filled you. But the human instinct, the deep, rolling tide of it, was pulling him under. 

You felt it too, something was happening between the two of you, something ancient and primal.

He started to move faster, a little more desperation in his movements, and he buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, as if he could breathe in the scent of your skin and keep it there.

You were right there with him, lost in the slow burn, the building pressure.

"Come with me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, his hands moving to lace with yours, pinning them on either side of your head. "I want to feel you."

His words sent you over the edge, and you gasped, your back arching as the waves of pleasure washed over you. He groaned your name, and you felt him tense as he found his release, a warmth spreading inside you.

He rolled onto his side, keeping your bodies connected as you both lay there, panting. His head was still buried in your hair, and you could feel the still frantic beat of his heart.

He pulled back, and you turned your head to look at him. He was watching you, his expression a mix of awe and... terror?

"Are you okay?" you asked, your voice soft.

"Of course," he said, but he wouldn't meet your eyes. He carefully pulled out and rolled onto his back, running a hand over his face. "I'm fine."

"Elijah." you said, sitting up, pulling the sheet around yourself.

He was quiet for a long moment, and you could see the thoughts chasing each other behind his eyes.

"Being... human... with you. The feelings... They are so much... more." He finally said, sounding almost ashamed of the confession. "I always believed it was the other way around, that vampirism heightened the senses, made everything so much more... intense. But I was wrong."

You didn't say anything, you just watched him. He looked away, as if he couldn't bear to see your expression.

"I'm not used to feeling so..." He trailed off, searching for the word.

"Vulnerable?" you offered.

He nodded, pulling you close. "Yes," he whispered, his voice thick. "It's terrifying."

You knew exactly what he meant. You had spent your entire life building walls around yourself, trying to find a way to feel safe. And now here you were, in the arms of a man who was supposed to be your enemy, feeling more exposed than you had in your entire life.

"You know what they say about hard drugs," he murmured. "One taste of that perfect numbness, and you spend your life chasing it. This feeling… when I touch you… I'm chasing it."

You looked at him, trying to understand what he was getting at.

"That's what this is like," he said, his voice barely audible. "This feeling when I'm touching you... I'm chasing it."

His confession hung in the air, a fragile, dangerous truth.

"The vampire in me knows that this feeling is a liability. A weakness to be exploited. But the man... the man wants to drown in it."

"Have you considered that the man is stronger than the monster?" You whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

"No." He answered, the word immediate and absolute. "The monster always wins. It has for a thousand years." He sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist. "But this human weakness... I fear it will cost me everything. My family... my duty... you."

"Then we're both trapped, aren't we?" You said, a bitter smile touching your lips.

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. "I love you, you know," he said, the words so quiet, you almost didn't hear them. "That's the man speaking. A foolish, reckless, human declaration."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, wild bird beating against its cage. You wanted to say it back. You wanted to tell him that you understood, that you felt the same way. But the words wouldn't come. All you could do was lean in and press your lips to his, a silent answer to his confession.

The kiss was slow, and gentle, and full of a quiet despair. There was no heat in it, no urgency, just the simple, desperate act of two people clinging to each other in the dark.

"You don't have to say it back, I don't want you to…it's too new and  you are a prisoner here … I don't want to put this pressure on you," he said, pulling back slightly.

You shook your head, "I'm a prisoner to my magic, I am a prisoner in this house. And now I'm a prisoner to the thought of you leaving this bed." You finally said, the words tumbling out in a rush.

His breath hitched, and you could see the raw emotion in his eyes. He kissed you again, and it was a promise and a warning all at once. He was telling you that he felt it too, this impossible, terrifying connection. And he was also telling you to run, to get as far away from him as you could before it was too late.

But it was already too late. You were both lost.

The night Klaus and Cami met, at the painting, her explanation of the painter

"He's angry. Dark. Doesn't feel safe and doesn't know what to do about it. He wishes he could control his demons instead of having his demons control him. He's lost, alone."

Was about her. Cami was talking about her feelings and her struggle.

It was not about him. She had no idea who Klaus was, and up to that moment she had exchanged with him a look, an order, and a smile.

She was in that spot, lost in the painter's movements, because something on that piece spoke to her. It so happened that what she said about herself perfectly reflected Klaus in that particular moment and in general (the heated Original Hybrid).

Now that we have established the canon background of her character, let's talk about her dark vampire era and see if we can relate.

She was compelled to drink Aurora's blood, slit her throat, and silently bleed to death next to a sleeping Klaus. Vampirism was forced on her because she fell in love with the "wrong" guy.

See those words: compelled, forced. She was deprived of decisions and autonomy over her life and body by Klau's ex. And almighty Klaus—in his desperation yes—did everything he could to push her into completing the transition. He even admitted that "I'm just going to have to risk you never forgiving me. I'll never forgive myself if I let you die."

At the end of the day, Cami did choose to feed and complete her transition. Thinking that with this new power, she could do good. She could help and protect the innocent.

Although she never killed anyone or turned into a ripper. In fact, for someone who completed the transition by drinking blood directly from a human vein. Cami was able to stop, went to the mansion, loaded up a cooler with blood supplies, and returned to her apartment to continue her meal. But like all baby vampires, the moment she fed, she became reliant on blood. Her life was irrevocably altered. To survive, she had to consume human blood, which shifted her entire perception of herself.

And because what better way to deal with someone who was stripped of all control over his life, Klaus put her in protective confinement in the compound and not her apartment.

At this point, Camis's emotions are all over the place. She is not sure who she is; the volume in her life is turned on, and she can't hear herself think. And everything feels so good, but it's all happening at once… and Klaus is not helping… He is trying to teach her, but his expectations of her are high. He keeps reminding her that what he does and what she does are not the same thing. He points out that she acts in a way that her human self would not approve of. In a way that he does not approve. Because it isn't her. But Cami doesn't know who she is now.

She resents the critique, especially because from the moment they met, she always forgave him and always tried to understand him and help him. But he doesn't do the same. He tries to control her. She is disappointed in him and herself.

Did I fail to mention anger? Cami was angry!

The most powerful supernatural being had failed to protect her as a human and continued to let her down as a vampire. Her obsession with reclaiming her dark objects was a frantic attempt to reclaim control and shield herself. And since Klaus's interest was not fading. She was terrified that Aurora would come to finish the job.

So which of her dark actions was unjustified and out of character?

Was the compulsion of the guy at the bar and the feeding of the red-haired girl in the alley different than any other baby vampire would have done? And come to think of it, she defended her colleague against a slimy guy, something she would have done also as a human. As for the redhead, she might have been unconsciously punishing Aurora. My opinion is that she would have stopped as soon as the girl was about to faint.

Yes, she used Klau's feelings to make him drop his guard, and she snapped his neck… and compelled Will to get her dark objects back. Which made Klaus react, antagonizing her.

She used the same weapon she always did, her words, to make him let go of her because next to him, manhandling her, she was powerless. She manipulated Klaus and Hayley. She was cruel and said hurtful things. But one totally stupid thing vamp Cami did: she took the white oak knight. If she had known the consequences, she never would have done it, that's for sure.

And if Klaus and the rest of the Mikaelsons were able to forgive her, you are too!

And give her some slack, guys. Step in her shoes for a moment.

Cami experienced a drastic shift in her life overnight. While she was aware that her life would change the moment she and Klaus crossed that line. She never anticipated the extent of that change.

Just think about it… They were dancing around their feelings, almost. 3 years. Why? Because they both knew the complications and dangers that came with their relationship.

Genevieve blackmailed her to stab Klaus with Papa Tunde's blade. Mikael kidnapped her, Finn approached her to spy on him, and Esther decided to host Rebekah in her body. She was placed in protective custody with an unstable Elijah to escape Finn. Klaus left her for dead to convince Daliah to trust him. Lucien kidnapped her, Aurora kidnapped her, and all those things happened with them being friends….

And yet, both were ready to give in. Because what connected them was more vital than the fears and risks that separated them.

Now imagine being her… Finally giving in to your complicated feelings, asking the man you love to confess his love for you. Sharing that first sweet kiss, that intimate laughter. Going to bed with him, not for sex, not yet, but to enjoy that intimacy and connection that you have both been longing for. Feeling safe and loved in his arms, knowing that you are finally where you belong.

Imagine opening your eyes and seeing him sleeping peacefully beside you, his face relaxed and vulnerable, all walls down. In that moment, all doubts and fears melt away as you realize that he truly loves you and he truly trusts you. You smile because you are happy, not just for you, but for him, for seeing him in peace, because you know he never felt that feeling before.

And then… You remembered that you are compelled to destroy that happiness, to take away that peace. You are to drink her blood and silently slit your throat, bleed to death, and become a vampire yourself. Because his ex believes that he is drawn to your humanity, and one way or another that humanity must die. A part of you, as you feel your life slipping away, hopes that he will hear you and he will save you. Another part is heartbroken because he would wake up to find your dead body next to him, and you know it would break him, and the last, last thought that crosses your mind just before your eyes close and you pass to nothingness is fear of the unknown and regret for losing your chance at a normal life.

Tell me honestly, who could handle all these emotions without breaking? Who would keep their composure, optimism, and empathy intact?