#original-doppleganger

Mercy wasn’t entirely convinced this wasn’t a wild goose chase.

Honestly, if you’d asked her an hour ago, she would’ve said she had better things to do than drive all the way out here on the word of some anonymous text. But the past few weeks hadn’t exactly been normal. Hunters dropping like flies, bodies turning up like warnings rather than casualties… and the whispers. An Original had passed through, a massacre followed, end of story.

She hadn’t mourned them though, most of those hunters had spent more time questioning her worth than actually doing their jobs, like being a Slayer somehow made her decorative. Like she was supposed to sit pretty while they played hero. Please. If anything, their little downfall just proved a point she’d been making for years. Meanwhile, the Council breathing down everyone’s necks. Orders being barked. Weapons being forged in secret, silver daggers, enough to put an entire family of immortals down if everything went to plan, but the thing was, the witches found it to be extremely difficult, as the spell had to be decoded and even when, it wasn't going to be a grand success, it could very well result in failure. A plan Mercy wasn’t even supposed to know about. Which only made that message all the more… interesting.

‘If you want more information on the current daggers, meet me.’

No name and no explanation, just a location that dragged her straight toward territory she’d rather avoid. Mystic Falls-adjacent, of course it was.

Her car sat idling at the edge of a quiet stretch of road, the engine humming low beneath her as her fingers tapped against the steering wheel. It was too still and too quiet. Her phone lit up her features as she glanced down at it again, rereading the message like it might suddenly reveal more if she stared hard enough. It didn’t of course.

A soft scoff left her as she typed anyway.

“Well… I’m here. Where are you?”

Her gaze flicked to the treeline, scanning shadows like she expected something, or someone, to step out of them.

“Are you alone?”

Her lips pressed together, something between annoyance and curiosity settling in her chest.

“Cozy spot to meet, by the way. Very serial killer chic.”

She hit send before she could overthink it, tossing her phone onto the passenger seat. For a moment, she just sat there, fingers tightening slightly around the wheel. This whole thing could be a trap…  Honestly, it probably was.

But if there was even a chance that whoever sent that message knew something about the Originals… about the massacre… about what the Council was planning, yeah. She wasn’t walking away from that.

With a quiet exhale, Mercy reached for the door handle, stepping out of the car and into the cool night air. Her boots crunched softly against gravel as she closed the door behind her, eyes immediately scanning her surroundings.

For Venera to be in a place like this, at a gathering hosted by the Original family themselves, was a bold move, even for her. She wasn’t entirely certain how no one had questioned her presence. Then again, she looked as though she belonged there: draped in an elegant gown, carrying herself with effortless poise and that dangerously self-assured aura that made people hesitate before asking questions. Perhaps no one cared, or perhaps most simply assumed she was yet another witch allied with the Mikaelsons in exchange for protection. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time.

The truth, however, was that the Mikaelsons rarely cared for the witches who did their dirty work. Well, with the exception of one brother, of course. Though even that hardly impressed Venera. Deep down, she saw his supposed admiration for witches for what it truly was: a desire to exploit them beneath the guise of reverence. And Venera had never enjoyed the feeling of being used.

Still, that was not why she was here tonight. No, tonight was about Tatia.

Tatia possessed everything Venera needed to elevate her coven to unimaginable heights. Yet beyond ambition, beyond power, Venera could not deny the effect the woman had on her. Tatia was breathtaking in a way that bordered on dangerous. Wedding ring or not, Venera found she did not particularly care. She wanted her, whether for her own desires, for the benefit of the coven, or perhaps some intoxicating mixture of both. A reckless craving, truly, considering Tatia’s noble husband would likely tear Venera apart without hesitation should he ever suspect such thoughts.

“Venera Galilei,” she introduced herself smoothly, the name rolling from her tongue like sugar dipped in honey.

“You are far too kind. My glow pales in comparison to the one that graces every room you step into.” Her voice softened. “I do not quite know how to properly put it into words... though perhaps I should not even attempt to. I doubt language itself could ever truly do you justice.” Her eyes drifted slowly over Tatia, shamelessly admiring.

“Though, truthfully, I did not come here hoping to leave with random suitors trailing behind me. I happen to have a rather specific taste.”

Another step closer.

“Something along the lines of almond-shaped brown eyes... long, wavy brown hair...” Her gaze flickered meaningfully toward Tatia’s lips before returning to her eyes. “A woman with the sort of beauty capable of making devotion feel almost religious.” She let the words linger between them like perfume in warm air before offering the faintest, teasing smile. “Though I suppose I may simply be out of luck tonight.”

Mercy did not recoil from the warning. If anything, there was something almost unbearably tender in the way she looked at Tatia afterward, as though she understood precisely what had been hidden beneath those words. It wasn't a threat. Not really. Tatia wasn't warning Mercy about what she wanted to do to her; she was warning her about what she feared she might do if instinct overwhelmed intention. There was a difference, and Mercy had spent enough of her life surrounded by monsters to recognize it.

Her fingers remained against Tatia's face, tracing lightly along the curve of her cheek before disappearing into the dark strands of her hair.

"I trust that you have considerably more self-control than you're giving yourself credit for," Mercy murmured, her eyes never leaving Tatia's. "Because if you didn't, I don't imagine we'd be standing here having this conversation. You would have killed me already. Or tried, at the very least." The faintest smile touched her lips. "And then we'd be having an entirely different evening involving considerably more property damage."

"You're not like them. You told me that yourself, remember? And perhaps I shouldn't simply take a vampire at her word, terrible Slayer etiquette, I'm sure, but I've had enough time to decide for myself whether I believe you." Mercy's thumb brushed slowly across Tatia's cheekbone. There was no trembling in her hand, no sudden second thought pulling her away. "I do believe you. More importantly, I trust you. I know you don't want to kill me." Her gaze briefly dropped toward Tatia's mouth before finding her eyes again.

"But I suspect that's not really what frightens you." Mercy's voice grew quieter. "I think you're afraid that wanting something and controlling yourself around it aren't always the same thing. That you could begin with every intention of stopping and then suddenly there'd be my heartbeat in your ears, my blood in your mouth, and instinct would become louder than whatever promise you made to yourself beforehand." She paused, studying Tatia with an expression that had lost nearly all of its teasing now. "And yes. That is dangerous. I'm not naive enough to pretend otherwise." She knew exactly what she was offering. Perhaps that was what made it so intoxicating.

Mercy tilted her head slightly, exposing just a little more of her throat without ever making the gesture theatrical. She didn't need to. Tatia could hear what existed beneath her skin perfectly well.

"Perhaps I want you to devour me. Not to death, obviously." There it was again, that flicker of irreverence that seemed determined to survive even when Mercy was standing inches away from something ancient enough to tear her apart. "I feel as though that qualification is rather important." Her smile lingered for another second before slowly fading.

"This isn't exactly my first rodeo, Tatia. I've had vampires feed from me before. Sometimes because I allowed them to. More often because they didn't bother asking." Something colder slipped behind Mercy's eyes at that, ancient wounds briefly stirring beneath otherwise calm features. "Those experiences were considerably less romantic, as you might imagine. And the ones who thought my blood was something they could simply take from me aren't around anymore to share their reviews." Her fingers slipped deeper into Tatia's hair, absentmindedly separating one dark lock from the rest.

"But you asked." There was something important about that.

"You have me against a wall, you can hear my heart beating like it's personally attempting to embarrass me, and you're still standing here asking whether I'm certain rather than simply taking what you want." Mercy's expression softened. "Do you understand how much that tells me about you? And don't misunderstand me. I know exactly what you are capable of. Probably better than most people foolish enough to stand this close to you." Mercy gave the lock around her finger a playful little curl. "You're an Original. Twice my strength would probably be an insultingly conservative estimate. You could snap my neck before I managed to blink. I could have a stake hidden behind my back right now and it wouldn't particularly matter, because the worst I'd accomplish would be making you very angry before you woke up again. Which sounds like an exceptionally poor survival strategy." And yet she remained exactly where she was.

"Every instinct I've been trained to have should tell me this is absurd. Slayers aren't supposed to willingly put themselves within biting distance of vampires. We're certainly not supposed to voluntarily offer our necks to Originals. I imagine somewhere, somehow, a Watcher has just developed a migraine without understanding why. But if I believed you had sinister intentions toward me, Tatia, I wouldn't be here." The humor disappeared again, leaving only certainty.

"I'm not the greatest Slayer who ever lived. I know that. There are women stronger than me, faster than me, probably considerably better at following the bloody handbook than I've ever been. But I survived long enough to learn the difference between something dangerous and something evil. They're not interchangeable." Her fingertips drifted from Tatia's hair back toward her cheek. "And you are dangerous."

There was something strangely intimate about saying it aloud.

"That's the part everyone seems to forget. They look at us and see opposite sides because it's easier that way. Slayer. Vampire. Light. Darkness. Hero. Monster. Everything neatly categorized so nobody has to ask uncomfortable questions." Her brow furrowed slightly. "But when I look at you, I don't see something entirely opposite from me. I see another girl who had something enormous forced upon her and was expected to somehow understand what to do with it afterward." Mercy's voice became softer still.

"Neither of us asked for the power we carry. Neither of us asked for the hunger that came with it—the literal sort in your case." A tiny smile. "But we've both had people decide what we should be because of it. What we're allowed to want. What we're supposed to destroy. What parts of ourselves are acceptable and which ones ought to be buried somewhere nobody can see them."

She fell silent for several seconds.

"And perhaps that's why I'm not frightened of your darkness. Because I've spent enough time fighting my own." There was no shame in the admission. If anything, Mercy seemed strangely peaceful saying it.

"I used to think darkness automatically meant evil. That if I enjoyed something I wasn't supposed to enjoy, wanted someone I wasn't supposed to want, or found comfort somewhere I had been explicitly told there should only be danger, then perhaps there was something wrong with me." Her thumb traced Tatia's cheek again. "But darkness isn't inherently cruel. Sometimes it's simply the place where nobody is watching." Her gaze wandered briefly toward the room around them before returning to Tatia.

"In the light, everything is terribly loud. There are rules. Expectations. Duties. People telling you what you owe them because of what you are. There is always something you're supposed to be doing, someone you're supposed to save, some version of yourself you're supposed to perform so everyone else can remain comfortable." Mercy leaned a fraction closer. "But none of that follows you into the dark. In the dark, you can simply be."

For a moment, neither Slayer nor vampire seemed particularly relevant. There were only two women standing far too close to one another, each perfectly aware of what the other could do. Mercy wound one of Tatia's dark locks lazily around her finger, the playfulness returning to her expression despite the seriousness of everything she'd just confessed.

"So yes. Maybe this is dangerous. Maybe you're right and the moment you taste my blood, you're going to discover that stopping is considerably harder than you imagined." Her eyes flickered toward Tatia's lips. "But I am standing here anyway. Not because I underestimate you." Her fingers tightened slightly around the strand of hair.

"Because I trust you. Besides..." She deliberately tilted her head again, leaving the graceful line of her throat exposed between them.

"You still haven't answered my question." Mercy's voice dropped into something soft and teasing, though the challenge beneath it was unmistakable.

"Do you want to know what euphoria feels like? Or are you going to make me stand here all night trying to convince an ancient, terrifying Original vampire that she's allowed to want something?"

Ayla didn't answer her right away. Instead, her eyes lingered on the doppelgänger's beautiful face, studying features that felt strangely familiar despite the fact that the woman herself was a complete stranger. It was odd. Unsettling, almost. Tatia carried the exact same face as Amara, separated by centuries and yet bound together by something far older than either of them.

It also made Ayla wonder whether this was perhaps not a random encounter at all.

Ayla carried Qetsiyah's blood. Perhaps her connection to that ancient lineage wasn't quite as prominent as that of the Bennetts, but the Mayar line still carried Qetsiyah's blood within it, and with that came a legacy of considerable power. From what Ayla understood, there had always seemed to be a Bennett somewhere in the life of a doppelgänger. With Elena, there was Bonnie. Katherine had crossed paths with Lucy. Even the existence of the doppelgängers themselves could ultimately be traced back to Qetsiyah's spell and nature's attempt to correct the immortality she had bestowed upon Silas and Amara.

So who had been Tatia's Bennett?

Or perhaps Ayla had misunderstood the pattern entirely. Perhaps it wasn't specifically about the Bennetts. Maybe it was simply a matter of someone carrying Qetsiyah's blood being drawn into the orbit of a doppelgänger sooner or later.

Was that why she was here?

"I am a witch," Ayla finally answered, seemingly unconcerned by the warning as her gaze remained fixed on Tatia. "I think I'll manage to keep myself safe." There was a brief pause before curiosity inevitably won out. "I assume you're a vampire, then?" Her head tilted slightly. "Which is interesting, actually. Somehow, it seems as though all the doppelgängers are destined to become immortal despite nature creating them for the exact opposite purpose. Amara became immortal. Katherine became a vampire. Elena became a vampire..." Ayla's brow furrowed as she considered the irony of it. "And now apparently you." A faint, almost amused smile touched her lips.

"Perhaps that's some nasty little side effect of Qetsiyah's spell. Nature created the doppelgängers because Amara and Silas couldn't die, so they were supposed to be mortal versions of them, something that could live and die as nature intended. Yet somehow, everyone keeps ruining the entire point by making them immortal." Her expression became more thoughtful, her gaze wandering briefly through the darkness of the woods before returning to Tatia.

"Although, I suppose vampires were never meant to exist either. Not according to nature, anyway. So perhaps the mistake isn't with the doppelgängers at all." Her lips curved slightly. "Perhaps everyone else simply needs to stop interfering with them."

(@original-doppleganger)

The first 5 Asks to send 💋 get a kiss - @original-doppleganger

Mercy wondered whether she had completely lost the plot... assuming she had ever known what the plot was to begin with.

She knew the reputation she carried. The Slayer who hesitated. The one who questioned whether every creature born into darkness deserved a death sentence. To Mercy, killing had never been the first answer. It was reserved for those who proved themselves to be monsters.

That, however, had never truly been the issue.

Some even admired that philosophy.

No... the problem had always been the line she insisted on walking.

That impossible, dangerous line between caution and curiosity.

She had an infuriating habit of gravitating toward those capable of ending her life with the smallest lapse in judgment. As though danger itself called to her. Every encounter had to be a little closer, every adversary a little stronger than the last. She always found herself standing within arm's reach, close enough to feel their breath, close enough that they could have ripped her throat out before she ever had the chance to react.

And somehow...

She always came back.

What could possibly be more dangerous than an Original?

Yet Tatia had surprised her.

There was an undeniable humanity about her, one that Mercy hadn't expected. Perhaps that was why her guard had lowered. Or perhaps this was simply another consequence of the infamous doppelgänger curse. Men always seemed destined to lose themselves at the feet of a Petrova. Mercy, however...

She wasn't entirely sure whether women were meant to be immune.

She certainly wasn't.

She questioned whether she should indulge these feelings at all. What if Klaus found out? Elijah? Both brothers still carried ghosts of Tatia within them, whether they admitted it or not.

Then again...

What exactly were they going to do?

Tatia had every reason to stay as far away from them as possible. Besides, Mercy doubted either brother viewed her as anything worth worrying about. Not as a threat.

Not as competition.

Frankly...

She didn't particularly care what either of them thought.

The only thing occupying her mind was the fact she found herself cornered against yet another wall, with Tatia standing impossibly close.

She could hardly remember what had led them here. Something witty, no doubt. One of Mercy's catty little remarks that had earned her that familiar look. Not anger.

Something far more dangerous.

Desire.

uncontrolled desire.

It had lingered between them for weeks now, woven into every conversation, every lingering glance, every second that lasted just a little too long. Neither of them could pretend not to feel it anymore.

So Mercy made the first move. She closed the remaining distance and captured Tatia's lips with her own.

There was nothing hesitant about the kiss.

It was bold.

It was daring.

It was utterly needy.

It was shameful on her end, as she knew she should not be doing this, yet here she was.

For one fleeting moment, Mercy allowed herself to stop pretending that this was merely an alliance born from circumstance.

When she finally drew back, she remained close enough that their breaths still mingled. She had no intention of putting real distance between them.

Slowly, her fingers reached for the designer scarf wrapped around her neck. With deliberate care, she slipped it free before tilting her head ever so slightly, exposing the smooth curve of her neck, a teasing smile curved her lips.

"Considering everyone has spent centuries lusting after your blood..." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"...perhaps it would be a nice change for you to be the one longing for someone else's." She searched Tatia's expression for the briefest moment before continuing. "I know a thing or two about people wanting my blood for all the wrong reasons. Apparently, Slayer blood has quite the reputation. Euphoric, they say." Her fingertips rose, brushing lightly against Tatia's jaw before coming to rest beneath her chin, their eyes never leaving one another. "So tell me... Have you ever wondered what euphoria feels like?"

Songs that remind me of your muse, unprompted – @original-doppleganger

Woodkid – Run Boy Run