and the truth is, little voices, the monsters in her head, always knew that she would lose him in the end. she was alive, very much human, fragile body and delicate skin. a beating heart. and he, dead from the inside, heart made of stone, a skin so cold. this was bound to happen, a fate so cruel, they were always meant to fall apart. but she’s a fighter, warrior at heart: she can’t lose him. not now, not ever. losing him means losing herself, in every way possible. but little does she know . . . she already lost him. love of her life, long gone now. it is the ripper who is in control now. and he destroys everything he touches. he takes and takes, hands stained red. and still, after all that he has done, she loves him. ‘’ don’t do this, stefan. ‘’ words escapes her, pleading hues laced with his own, another step closer, palms tugging his cheeks. as if her touch could heal him, as if her touch would bring him back home to her. ‘’ come back to me. come back home. ‘’