yondiii

[yondiii]

Dark Star {Part Six}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Six

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} A tense family dinner reveals the fractures in the Mikaelson bond as Elijah’s madness pushes his siblings to the breaking point. In the 13th century, you wake up with a new hunger, your transformation into a vampire marking the beginning of a new and prosperous life. Setting up everything that is to come. And as Elijah meets death itself, love and sacrifice blur into a haunting, unforgivable cost.

8.4k words - Warnings: ANGST, a stressful dinner party, sibling fight, full throttle red door Elijah, talk of suicide, tears, blood and so much pain... a sacrifice, a carved out heart & a resurrection that shatters everything...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}

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The first thing Klaus noticed when he returned to the compound was the smell of food cooking. The second thing he noticed was the looks on the faces of his little brother and sister. Kol was carrying a passed-out Bonnie Bennett, shackles around her wrists, and Rebekah looked shaken, her eyes distant, haunted by something she could barely process.

"What happened?" Klaus demanded, brow furrowing, his gaze shifting to Bonnie’s unconscious form. "Is she alive?"

"She's fine," Kol replied, setting her down on the sofa with surprising gentleness. "She… cried herself to sleep on the drive here," he explained, looking down at the young witch, his expression uncharacteristically soft, but shadowed.

"Well, that’s reassuring," Klaus quipped, though his voice held a thread of unease. His eyes flicked over each of them. "And where’s our esteemed brother?"

"Preparing a family dinner for us," Rebekah said bitterly, her voice hollow. "He’s completely off his rocker, he killed both the Salvatore's and now he's acting like everything's fine. It's madness, Klaus, pure madness."

Klaus' eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He looked to Kol, who nodded.

"He did, and he is," Kol added, his brow furrowed.

"How could you let him?" Klaus snapped, his words sharp, though the accusation in his tone was softened by a flash of disbelief.

"Let him?" Kol let out a harsh laugh, his eyes blazing. "Do you honestly think we could have stopped him?"

"You weren't there," Rebekah said quietly, her gaze unfocused, her mind elsewhere. "It happened so fast... How were we supposed to know? He's lost his bloody mind."

Freya entered the room, her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene. "Uh, dinner is ready," she announced, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Elijah wants you all to wear your best, so... go put on something nice," she said, her gaze drifting back to Bonnie. "And he wants her at the table too," she added, nodding toward the unconscious witch.

Kol let out a humorless chuckle, a grim smirk playing on his lips. Rebekah's face was pale, her eyes haunted, her hands trembling slightly as she reached up to touch her necklace.

"I'd rather not," she murmured, her voice soft and small.

"I don't think we have a choice, sweet sister," Kol said, his expression dark. "Unless we want to end up like the Salvatores,"

Klaus sighed, a scowl forming on his face. He glanced at his siblings, noting their unease. Usually he was the cause of it, but this time was different. He didn't know exactly when it happened, but it seemed his role in the family dynamic had changed. It was now his job to be the conciliator, and he hated it.

"It will be fine," he told them, though he wasn't sure he believed his own words. "I'll talk to him."

Kol's eyebrows rose, his eyes flashing with doubt. "I doubt he'll listen to anything you have to say."

"He'll listen to reason," Klaus said, his tone firm, his jaw clenched.

Kol laughed again, but this time it was filled with genuine amusement. "And what reason is that, brother?"

"I'd say it's best not to keep Elijah waiting," Freya sighed, a note of apprehension in her tone.

"Fine," Rebekah said, her gaze flickering to her brothers, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll go get ready," she muttered, walking away.

Kol and Freya followed her and Klaus stayed behind, his eyes narrowed, his gaze darkening. He could feel the anger rising inside him, but he kept it in check. He had to remain calm. For once, he was the reasonable one, the one in control. He would have to be careful.

Elijah was standing at the head of the table, dressed in his best suit, his face clean-shaven. He was pouring wine for everyone, moving with the unshakable calm of a man who was not currently sane.

"Good evening," he said, a smile tugging at his lips as they all entered the dining room. "I trust you're all well?"

Klaus watched him carefully, his eyes never leaving him as they all sat down. Kol placed Bonnie in the chair next to him, gently propping her up and taking a seat beside her.

"What are you doing?" Rebekah asked, her voice quiet and strained.

"Having dinner," Elijah replied, his voice smooth and calm, as if he hadn't just tortured and killed two people.

"You murdered Damon and Stefan," she accused, her eyes brimming with tears.

Elijah's smile faltered for a moment, a hint of guilt flashing across his face. But then he recovered, his expression becoming neutral again.

"We're here to discuss my wife," he said, his tone clipped, his gaze flicking around the table. "That is all."

"Your dead wife," Kol muttered, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed.

"My soon to be living wife," Elijah corrected, his tone cool. "With the help of Miss Bennett."

"I don't think it's wise to push the girl," Freya cut in, her voice quiet and hesitant. "And this spell... It’s not a straightforward resurrection spell. It’s a hybrid of rites… a mix of necromancy and invocation. I think it might summon the spirit of the dead back to earth while binding it to life,"

"I don't care what it is," Elijah retorted, his jaw clenched, his gaze steely. "Just make it happen."

"Elijah," Klaus began, his voice low, his gaze focused. "I understand that you're hurting, and I know that this is a difficult time for us all, but torturing and murdering our friends will not bring her back,"

"I recall you tortured Stefan not too long ago," he pointed out, his eyes narrowing. "And you Rebekah? You carved up Damon like a Thanksgiving turkey… how are my actions any different?"

Rebekah flinched, her shoulders tensing, her jaw clenching. She looked down at her plate, avoiding his gaze.

"First of all, our actions weren't permanent. Second, we acted rashly. You're a better man than us, Elijah. This isn't who you are." Klaus said, his tone even.

Elijah's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing, his gaze sharpening. He leaned forward, placing his palms flat on the table, his jaw set, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

"I'm not," he said, his voice hard, his words clipped. "And I will do whatever is necessary to get my wife back."

"You know as well as I that there’s no such thing as a spell without a price, and this one… this one sounds like it’ll cost us." Klaus stated, his gaze unwavering.

"I don't care what the consequences are," Elijah hissed, his tone venomous, his eyes blazing.

"Even if it means killing more innocent people?" Kol challenged, his voice a low growl.

"I would kill anyone and everyone if it meant bringing her back," Elijah snapped, his eyes wild.

He slammed his hand down on the table, his face flushed with anger. Everyone jumped, startled by his outburst, and for a moment, no one spoke.

The silence hung heavy in the air, suffocating the room. Elijah took a deep breath, his composure returning as quickly as it had slipped.

"Time for the first course," he said, a tight smile tugging at his lips as he straightened up.

A series of waiters came out from the kitchen, each one carrying an empty glass. A young blonde stood next to Klaus. Another young woman with brown hair approaching Kol. And a handsome older gentleman stopped at Rebekah.

"I've procured your favorites, all ab negative, in honor of the occasion," Elijah explained, his voice smooth and even.

He gestured for the three humans to approach the vampires, his gaze locked on his siblings. The trio walked over, their expressions blank, their eyes glassy. They all cut their wrists, pouring their blood into the glasses, not even flinching as their flesh was sliced open.

The siblings looked at one another, usually this would be the part where they would start drinking, but there was no enthusiasm in the air. Only dread and disgust.

"Go ahead," Elijah encouraged, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

They reluctantly grabbed their glasses, taking a few sips. Each sip was like a bitter pill, burning their throats as it went down.

"I want to thank you all for coming," Elijah continued, ignoring their discomfort. "And I want to express how much it means to me to have your support."

Klaus set his glass down, his expression unreadable, his eyes betraying a hint of anger.

"This is quite the pathetic manipulation, brother. Do you think you can convince us with our favorite food? That you haven’t gone completely mad… by bringing us a few snacks?" Klaus asked, his tone icy.

Elijah's eyes grew darker, his jaw tightening, but he remained composed. He walked over to the blonde standing next to Klaus and grabbed her roughly by the hair.

"I recall you enjoying draining the life from a girl like her," Elijah growled, his eyes wild, his voice dangerous. "Perhaps you'd prefer that instead?"

He wrenched her neck to the side, exposing her jugular. The others stared at him, frozen with shock.

"Stop, Elijah," Klaus said, his voice quiet, his gaze sharp.

"Or what?" Elijah sneered, his grip tightening on the girl's throat. "It's not like you haven't done it before. In fact, you enjoy it. You always have."

"Please," the girl whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please don't hurt me."

He leaned in closer, his mouth inches from her ear, his voice barely a whisper. "Tell my family to help me, or I'll dismember you in front of them."

The girl's eyes widened, her breathing quickening. She looked at the vampires, her gaze pleading, her lips trembling.

"Help him," she begged, her voice shaking, tears rolling down her face. "Please, help him."

Rebekah shook her head, her heart racing, a wave of nausea washing over her. Freya watched the exchange, her brow furrowed, a look of uncertainty and fear crossing her features. Kol's expression was a mix of anger and revulsion, his hands balled into fists, his body tense.

Klaus remained motionless, his gaze fixed on his brother, his eyes hard.

Elijah looked at each one of them, his eyes dark and wild, a hint of madness flickering in them.

"I’ve never asked any of you for anything," he said, his voice steady but laced with a quiet desperation. "Not until now. This is my wife. This is my life. I won’t give her up, not again."

The silence was heavy, the tension in the room palpable. None of them knew what to say, and none of them knew what to do. Their brother had lost his mind, and he wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted.

"Help him," the girl repeated, her voice breaking.

Rebekah rose slowly to her feet, her hands reached out in a calming manner, her eyes meeting Elijah’s, filled with pain. "You know we would do anything for you, Elijah. But this… this is dangerous."

Elijah’s eyes darkened, frustration flaring. "Not any more dangerous than when Klaus became a hybrid, or when Kol was resurrected, or any of the other times we’ve been forced to do the impossible."

Rebekah hesitated, her chest tightening, a knot forming in her stomach. She glanced at Klaus, then at Freya and Kol, her eyes pleading, her throat constricting.

"This is different," Freya interjected, her voice strained. "I can feel it, Elijah. This spell… it wants something in return. It’s alive, in a way."

Elijah’s gaze sharpened, his calm veneer finally cracking. "Why will none of you help me?" he snapped, his voice rising, his temper flaring.

"Because we loved your wife," Klaus retorted, his tone low, his expression fierce. "And because we know that whatever this is, it's going to hurt her. It's going to hurt you. And she wouldn't want that."

"Don't tell me what she wants!" Elijah bellowed, pushing the blonde girl away from him, sending her stumbling towards Klaus. "I am her husband. I'm the one who is supposed to be by her side, not any of you."

"Elijah, please," Rebekah pleaded, her voice cracking, her eyes welling with tears.

"No, you will help me," he commanded, his voice cold, his expression hard.

"Or what?" Klaus challenged, sending the blonde girl scurrying away, his gaze unflinching, his tone firm. "Are you going to hurt us? Your own family?"

Elijah's gaze met Klaus', his eyes blazing, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white. The two brothers stared each other down, a silent battle of wills.

Klaus could feel the anger, the desperation, and the grief rolling off Elijah in waves, but he knew he had to be strong, for his family and for you.

"I will do what is necessary," Elijah growled, his words dripping with malice.

"Then do it," Klaus snarled, he stood up and moved swiftly around the table, grabbing his older brother by the collar, pulling him closer. "Go ahead and rip my heart out, make yourself feel better, but it won't bring her back. And you know that."

"Niklaus," Kol said, his tone warning.

"No," Klaus said, his eyes fixed on Elijah, his grip tightening. "He needs to face reality. I won't let him ruin our lives over his selfish grief."

Elijah's nostrils flared, his hands clenching into fists, he bared his teeth, his fangs elongating, his eyes turning black. "You have no right," he hissed, his voice a low growl.

Before Klaus could react, Elijah struck him, his fist connecting with his jaw. Klaus stumbled back, caught off guard by the sudden attack. He recovered quickly, lunging at Elijah, tackling him to the ground. The two brothers wrestled on the floor, fighting viciously, the sound of their grunts and curses echoing throughout the room.

"Stop it!" Rebekah shouted, her voice breaking. "Both of you! This isn't helping,"

She ran over, trying to pull Elijah off of Klaus, but he shrugged her off, sending her flying into the wall. She crashed against it, a pained groan escaping her lips. Freya moved to help her, but Kol held her back, a wary look on his face.

"Stay back," he warned, his voice low, his eyes never leaving the fight. "It's not safe."

Klaus and Elijah continued to grapple, each one gaining the upper hand only to lose it a moment later. Blood stained their faces and clothes, their bodies bruised and battered, but neither one of them was willing to give up.

Rebekah tried to separate them one again, and this time Elijah turned on her, his eyes wild, his movements frenzied. She blocked his blows as best she could, but she was no match for him, his strength overwhelming her. His eyes were completely black, his rage overtaking him, a look of pure madness on his face.

He grabbed Rebekah by the throat, lifting her off the ground. She clawed at his arms, her nails digging into his flesh, but it was no use. He was too strong, his grip too tight.

Klaus yelled, a primal scream tearing from his throat, his anger and desperation fueling him. He launched himself at Elijah, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to the ground.

The impact was enough to break his grip on Rebekah, and she fell to the floor, gasping for breath. The three of them falling into a heap.

"Enough!" Freya shouted, her voice full of fury. She raised her hands, a blast of magic shooting out, hitting Elijah and throwing him against the far wall.

Rebekah clutched her throat, her face pale, her breathing ragged. Klaus crawled over to her, pulling her into his arms.

Freya kept her gaze locked on Elijah, her magic holding him in place. He was yelling and sobbing, thrashing against the wall, his eyes wide and unfocused.

"I can't keep him like this forever," she warned, her voice strained, her eyes full of pain and sorrow.

Elijah could hear you calling his name, his vision swimming. The room around him was fading in and out, the walls bleeding, the shadows stretching. He saw you, standing in the doorway, a look of sadness on your face.

"What have you become?" You whispered, your voice echoing in his mind.

Your words snapped him back to reality. He stopped struggling, his eyes meeting yours.

"Please," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Don't leave me."

You looked at him, your expression unreadable, and then you were gone.

Elijah felt his heart shatter into a thousand pieces, his chest tightening, his breathing growing ragged. He saw Rebekah on the floor, her eyes wide with fear. Fear of him. His baby sister, who looked at him with nothing but love and admiration, now looked at him as if he were a monster.

The guilt and shame overwhelmed him, his eyes filling with tears, his shoulders sagging.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

Freya's magic faded, and he collapsed to the floor, his body trembling. He curled up into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably, his pain and grief consuming him.

His siblings watched him, their hearts breaking for him.

"I see her everywhere," he cried, his voice raw. "She's always there, in my head, in my dreams, in my heart. I can't stop thinking about her, and every day, it just gets worse."

Kol moved closer to him, hesitantly reaching out to comfort him, but he pushed them away.

"Don't," he gasped, his voice strained. "I don't deserve it. I'm a monster. I can't even protect the people I love."

Kol crouched down, his expression filled with sympathy. "She loved you so much Elijah, you know that. Don't let her death destroy you," he said softly, his voice full of understanding.

Elijah met his gaze, his eyes full of anguish.

"If you won't help me, will you kill me?" he asked, his voice breaking. "I can't live like this, not without her."

"Elijah..." Rebekah whispered, her own tears falling.

"Please," he begged, his voice trembling, his eyes filled with pain. "Then I could see her again, and maybe... Maybe she would forgive me."

The silence in the room was deafening, each sibling processing his words. He was a broken man, a shell of the noble, honorable brother they knew and loved. And it was killing them to see him like this.

Klaus slowly approached him, kneeling down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll help you, brother," he said quietly, his voice laced with sorrow. "Damn the consequences, we'll help you."

Elijah lifted his head, his eyes wide with disbelief, his breath catching in his throat.

"Really?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Yes," Rebekah said, kneeling down on the other side of him. "Whatever it takes."

Elijah looked at his siblings, his gaze filled with hope and gratitude. He reached out, pulling them into a hug, holding onto them as if his life depended on it.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice cracking.

The siblings clung to one another, each of them feeling the weight of their decision, the uncertainty and fear they felt. They knew that whatever they were about to do, it would change all of them forever.

13th century Europe

You woke in an unfamiliar bed, the sheets soft and warm against your skin. You sat up, blinking, disoriented. You looked around the room, taking in the dark walls and mahogany furniture, a large window letting in a sliver of pale moonlight.

The memories came flooding back. The villagers, the pain, the darkness, and then, Elijah.

Panic rose within you, and you flung the covers back, stumbling from the bed. The stone floor was cold beneath your bare feet, and you glanced down, seeing that you were wearing only a nightgown.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering, and padded to the door. As soon as you pulled it open, a rush of sound met your ears.

There was a flurry of activity around you, men from the village were carrying things down the stairs, crates and chests, talking quietly among themselves.

"What's going on?" you asked, confusion clouding your thoughts.

One of the men turned, startled. "We must take everything to the carriage," there was a strange look in his eye, an emptiness, and he hurried away, carrying a crate.

You felt a pair of warm hands on your waist, and whirled around, seeing Elijah. He was dressed in a simple tunic, his sleeves rolled up, and his hair was slightly disheveled.

Your eyes met his, and a mixture of emotions flooded through you. You couldn't quite make sense of it all, the guilt and shame warring with relief and longing. He had the same expression, his gaze intense and unreadable.

He leaned in and kissed you, his lips soft and insistent, and you felt yourself melting into him.

"Elijah..." you breathed, pulling away, a million questions burning within you. "What's happening? Why are these men here?"

"We're leaving," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Leaving?" you echoed, your mind reeling.

He nodded, pulling you closer. "We have overstayed our welcome, and it is time to move on."

"Move on?" you repeated, the questions piling up, your thoughts still fuzzy.

He sighed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I have taken care of things, my dear. You need not worry."

"But...how? What did you do?"

"Come," he said, ignoring your questions. He took your hand, leading you down the stairs, the men following behind.

Everything was so loud, so chaotic, and you found yourself clinging to Elijah's hand, trying to make sense of it all.

Outside, a horse-drawn carriage was waiting, and the men were loading the last of the crates. Elijah led you over to the carriage, helping you inside.

The interior was richly appointed, with plush velvet seats and elegant carvings. There was a faint, spicy smell, and you settled back, the leather smooth beneath you.

"Stay here, I won't be long. And I'll explain everything when we arrive at our new home," Elijah said, his tone soothing, reassuring.

Before you could say anything else, the carriage door was closed, and you were left alone. Watching the men load more crates, a nagging thought tugged at the edge of your mind.

You could hear their heartbeats, clear as a song bird's call, pumping blood through their veins. Your stomach twisted, the hunger rising inside you and then your feet took over, moving almost of their own volition.

You ran, a burst of speed that took you past the men and straight into the village. You stopped, taking a deep breath, and the familiar smells overwhelmed you, the urge to feed becoming almost unbearable.

You didn't understand how you ended up here so fast, the manor house was nearly a days walk away. You didn't even realize where you were headed, until you heard it.

The beating.

A steady, rhythmic thumping, a heartbeat, and a familiar scent, sweet and tempting. You moved silently, almost instinctively, creeping through the shadows until you found her.

Sister Margaret.

Her habit was discarded, a pile of black fabric, and she was kneeling in front of an altar, a silver cross hanging from the wall, flickering candlelight surrounding her.

The sound of her heart was almost deafening, and the bloodlust consumed you, driving away all reason. You crept closer, the darkness concealing you, and before you knew what you were doing, your fangs had pierced her neck, the taste of her blood exploding in your mouth.

It was sweet and intoxicating, and you couldn't stop, even as the tears ran down her face, her body convulsing, her life ebbing away.

When the blood flow slowed, and the heartbeat stopped, you withdrew, looking at her with a detached curiosity. Her eyes were empty, the color gone from her face, and a wave of nausea washed over you.

"No," you whispered, stumbling back, your hand pressed to your mouth, a sick feeling settling in the pit of your stomach.

The realization hit, a jarring, gut-wrenching understanding. You were a monster, a demon, a creature of the night. You had taken a life, without a second thought, the need for blood consuming you.

A scream from behind tore you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Mother Mathilde standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock.

"No, this cannot be," she whispered, her voice shaking.

In the blink of an eye, you were standing in front of her, the hunger still burning within you. She stepped back, her face twisted in fear.

"O Lord Almighty, God of Hosts, we humbly beseech Thee to drive out this unclean spirit, this deceiver, this enemy of the faithfu-"

Anger flared within you. You could still feel the stones slamming into you, the pain, the betrayal, and a growl escaped your lips. You wanted to rip her heart out, to make her pay for what she had done, for all the pain she had caused. You lunged at her, the bloodlust driving you.

Your fangs sunk deep into her throat, and her blood filled your mouth, thick and bitter. You drained her dry, and it was the first time you felt true power. A rush of deep satisfaction flowed through you, the heady taste of vengeance.

"What a delicious sight," Elijah's voice came from behind, and you whirled around, seeing him leaning against the doorway.

He was staring at you with a mix of admiration and desire, and something about it made you blush.

You glanced down, seeing the blood dripping from your hands, and the reality of what you had done hit you. You let her lifeless body fall, her glassy eyes staring at the ceiling, her mouth open in a silent scream.

"What have I become? A demon, a monster," you whispered, the shame washing over you, threatening to drown you.

Elijah crossed the distance between you in a flash, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes met yours, his voice soft and soothing. "Don't be afraid, love. This is a gift, a new beginning, a chance to truly live."

"Live?" you echoed, the word heavy with meaning.

"Yes, to live," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "To see the world, and all its wonders. To experience every sensation, and explore every possibility."

His words were intoxicating, and you couldn't deny the truth. Something was changing within you, a spark of life, a hunger for more.

"Where do we go from here?" you asked, a flutter of anticipation rising in your chest.

"Anywhere you want," he said, his voice laced with promise.

"Show me," you whispered, and a wicked smile spread across his face.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. "With pleasure,"

Elijah stood at the stop of the old stone steps leading to the cellar, his face grim, his heart heavy. The only light in the room came from the torches on the wall, casting his face in shadow.

He hadn't been down there since the day you died. Your coffin still lay on the table, its lid closed, the silence in the air suffocating.

He walked over, placing his hand on the smooth surface. His throat tightened, his breath catching in his chest as he thought of you, your lifeless body, your empty eyes, gray skin. He would never see you smile, or hear your laughter again, and the grief was a raw wound that refused to heal.

He knew it was madness, he knew that the odds of this working were slim, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that it was his only chance. He had lost so much, sacrificed everything. He couldn't lose you too.

He told himself it was all justified as he removed the lid from your coffin. You deserved the chance to come back, to be happy.

He would do anything for you.

"I'm sorry, my love," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

He laid a blanket out, then gently lifted you out of the coffin, holding you tightly against him. Your body was cold, stiff, and lifeless, but he held you close, as if willing his life into yours.

"It'll be alright," he murmured, tears stinging his eyes, his throat aching.

He had to believe that, no matter what the cost.

As the darkness surrounded him, the silence was deafening. He placed you on the blanket, his fingers lingering on your cheek, wrapping the blanket around you, his face lined with sorrow.

He lifted you, his arms wrapped protectively around your body, carrying you up the stairs. Every step felt heavier, and by the time he reached the courtyard, his entire body ached, his mind swimming with grief and guilt.

Bonnie stood in the center of the courtyard, still handcuffed and surrounded by the Original siblings, her face pale, her eyes dark and wary.

"I don't want any part of this," Bonnie said, her voice low and shaking.

Elijah gently placed your body on the ground, his hands lingering for a moment before he turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

"If you want to walk out of here alive, you'll do this," Elijah's voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes fixed on her, dark and dangerous.

Bonnie swallowed, her face twisting in disgust, her mind reeling with the memories of Damon and Stefan's deaths, the sound of their bodies hitting the ground, their lifeless faces.

She couldn't bring herself to speak, her throat constricting as she fought back the tears.

Freya looked at her, her voice gentle but urgent. "You're the only one who can do this, Bonnie. It has to be you."

"Fine," Bonnie snapped, her gaze hardening. "But I'll only do it once, and I won't have any part of whatever else happens after."

Elijah nodded. "That's all I ask."

Freya stepped forward, the spell book in her hand, and placed it in Bonnie's. She unshackled her wrists, and Bonnie rubbed them, trying to relieve the aching pressure, glaring at her captors.

Elijah nodded to his siblings, and they formed a circle around the witch and the body, a solemn hush falling over the courtyard.

Elijah got to his knees, looking up at Bonnie with a pleading, almost desperate expression. "Do it," he ordered, his voice hoarse.

She hesitated, her eyes searching his, then nodded, her eyes growing cold as she reached out her hand to Freya. "Knife," she said.

Freya hesitated, "I was going to-"

Bonnie gave her a cold stare, cutting her off.

Freya's brow furrowed, but she handed Bonnie a small, ornate dagger.

Bonnie gave a slight smirk as she took it, then looked at Elijah. 

"Tenebrae animarum, viam aperite (Shadows of souls, open the way)"

Her words echoed through the courtyard, the wind picking up as the clouds parted, the moonlight spilling onto the courtyard, bathing it in an ethereal glow.

Bonnie raised the dagger, looking down at Elijah, and brought the blade down, the tip of the blade resting just above his heart. 

"I'm going to make sure this hurts," she hissed, her voice dripping with malice.

She plunged the dagger into his heart, a look of pleasure spreading across her face as his body jerked and his face twisted in pain. She wasn't gentle, or precise when carving out the organ, her movements jagged and rough.

He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to scream, his vision blurring as blood flowed from the gaping wound, soaking the ground.

Bonnie dropped the dagger, her hands stained red, and reached inside the open wound, her eyes gleaming as she pulled out his still-beating heart.

She held it in her hands, the organ pulsing, the blood flowing down her arms, the moonlight glinting off the crimson liquid. Elijah's body collapsed next to yours, his eyes staring sightlessly into the sky.

Bonnie closed her eyes, the wind swirling around her, the moon shining brighter. Her hands glowed with power as she began the spell.

Rebekah looked away, her stomach churning as Bonnie dropped the heart into the bowl, the blood pooling inside.

"Ex corde sacrificium, dilectionis vinculum. (From the heart, a sacrifice, bound by love.)"

Kol's jaw clenched, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the bloody heart in the bowl. While Klaus stood stone-faced, the muscles in his jaw tightening, a glimmer of unease in his eyes.

Freya stood next to Bonnie, her expression focused as she chanted, her hands clasped in front of her.

Even though his siblings knew he would rise again, the sight of Elijah's body was still unsettling, the gravity of what they were doing finally sinking in.

Bonnie handed the knife to Klaus, the blade stained red, and he took it, his eyes narrowing.

She held out the bowl to him, her expression blank, devoid of emotion. "We need enough blood to submerge the heart," she explained.

Klaus nodded, his jaw clenched, his gaze never leaving hers. He took the knife, slicing his wrist open, his blood dripping into the bowl.

He handed the blade to Rebekah, and she repeated the gesture, her face pale. Followed by Kol, who did the same.

Freya took the bowl once there was enough blood and dipped the heart into it, the blood soaking into the flesh.

"Sanguine renascitur, vita et mors iunguntur. (By blood reborn, life and death are joined.)"

She knelt next to you and Elijah's body, placing his heart on your chest. She glanced up at Bonnie, a look of apprehension on her face, and the witch nodded, her expression grim.

Freya closed her eyes, and placed her hands over the heart, pressing down gently, her brow furrowing in concentration.

Bonnie's face twisted with strain, sweat beading on her forehead as she chanted.

"Corpus recipiat cor, anima revocetur. (Let the body receive the heart, let the soul return.)"

Freya's voice rose, and she felt the magic building inside her, swirling like a hurricane. Her hands began to shake, her fingers trembling as she felt the spell reaching its climax.

"In nomine dilectionis, viam ingredere. (In the name of love, cross the path.)"

Bonnie's voice shook, the words almost impossible to understand, her body shaking as the magic surged through her.

Freya's eyes flew open, her hands gripping the heart tightly, her eyes wild. With all her strength she picked up the heart, as though it weighed a thousand pounds, and placed it back into Elijah's chest.

The wind whipped around them, howling like wolves, and thunder rolled across the sky, lightning illuminating the courtyard.

Freya placed her hand over the wound, pouring all her magic into it, and the air was filled with tingling, sparks dancing along their skin.

"Animam caram reducite, ad vitam resurgite. (Bring back the cherished soul, rise again to life.)"

Bonnie's words echoed through the air, the power flowing from her into the spell, her body trembling, her mind filled with the rush of magic, the smell of rain, the roar of the storm.

And then, there was silence. The wind stopped, the clouds drifted apart, and the moonlight bathed the courtyard once again.

Rebekah's eyes widened, and she rushed over, kneeling next to her brother. Freya looked up, her face drawn, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Did it work?" Rebekah whispered.

"I don't know," Freya replied, her voice shaky.

Rebekah touched his shoulder gently. "Elijah?"

Elijah's body was motionless, the wound on his chest beginning to heal.

"He's gone to fetch her," Kol said, his voice quiet.

Freya stood, breathless and pale, her gaze fixed on Elijah. “He’s crossed over. Now we wait.”

As the living world faded, Elijah felt the pull of an unseen force, and a swirling mist began to envelop him. He felt like he was falling through clouds, the darkness closing in around him, until finally, he came to a stop, his feet touching solid ground.

His footsteps echoing as he moved through the dense, ghostly fog. Shadows whispered, and time seemed to fold around him, twisting and bending as he descended further, guided only by an instinct that he couldn’t name.

Through the mist, a faint light glimmered, soft and warm. He made his way toward it, the shadows fading, the light growing brighter, until he reached the edge of the fog.

Before him was a garden, lush and green, filled with the scent of flowers and grass, and the sound of birdsong. The sun shone, its warmth caressing his skin, and the trees swayed in the gentle breeze.

As Elijah walked through the garden, his eyes adjusting to the light, he saw you. The real you. He knew it instantly.

There you were, sitting on a stone bench, wearing a white sundress, your hair falling in soft waves. You looked like an angel, and his heart swelled, a knot forming in his throat.

He stepped forward, his footsteps soft against the grass, and you turned, a smile spreading across your face, your eyes bright and shining. You leapt up, throwing your arms around him, and he held you close, breathing in the scent of your hair, savoring the feel of your skin.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

"I'm here to bring you home," he murmured, pulling away, taking your hands in his.

"But I am home," you said, confusion coloring your tone.

"Not yet," he replied, his expression pained, his heart aching. "But soon."

You pulled back from him, cupping his face, your brow furrowed. "Elijah, what's wrong?"

He couldn't answer, his throat tightening. There were so many things wrong, confessions that needed to be made, a pain that had no end.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong, not anymore," he managed, his voice choked.

"Elijah," you said softly, concern flashing in your eyes.

He couldn't bear it any longer, couldn't hide the anguish that had been eating him alive, the pain of losing you. He kissed you, his lips capturing yours, the warmth of your mouth, the taste of you, filling him with a longing so powerful that it threatened to tear him apart.

"Come home," he whispered against your lips. "Come back to me."

Your eyes searched his, your brow furrowing, but he leaned in, kissing you again, his hands gripping your waist. You kissed him back, the desperation in his touch, the ache in his voice, sending a stab of worry through you.

"Oh my love. My sweet Eli. What have you done?" you asked, tears welling in your eyes.

He smiled softly, brushing the tears away, his gaze filled with an unspoken promise. "Don't worry. Everything will be alright."

"Do you feel this place?" You asked, gesturing around. "This peace, this warmth? We can stay here, forever."

Elijah's expression grew pained. "I'm not meant for peace, my love," he said softly.

Your hands slipped around his neck, fingers playing with his hair, and you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closing.

"Why do you think that? That you are undeserving," you whispered.

Elijah didn't speak, his gaze locked with yours, and you could see the pain, the anguish, the guilt.

"I've done terrible things," he whispered, his voice strained. "Things that I'm ashamed of, things that would make you think less of me,"

"No," you murmured, leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Yes," he replied, his voice hoarse.

He took your hand in his, squeezing it gently, before bringing it up to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles.

"I'm not a good man, and I never will be. But you… you are the best part of me," he murmured. "The only light I've ever known."

Your eyes met his, filled with sorrow, and your heart ached for him. "I love you, Elijah. All of you. Even the parts you don't want me to see," you said softly.

His face contorted with grief, his throat tightening, and his voice cracked as he spoke. "How can you?"

You leaned in, your lips grazing his, before resting your forehead against his. "Are souls are one, from the moment we met. We've always been connected, and nothing will change that."

"I failed you," he said, his voice strained, his heart heavy with the weight of his guilt. "I couldn't even avenge your death."

You brushed the tears away from his face, kissing the corner of his mouth, before pulling back to meet his eyes. "You didn't fail me, Elijah. You never could."

He held you close, his hands trembling, his body shuddering with the intensity of his grief. "Please," he whispered, his voice choked. "Don't leave me again,"

His arms tightened around you, his breath catching in his throat, and he pressed his face into the curve of your neck, his shoulders shaking.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, stroking his hair. Your own eyes stung with tears, the knowledge of what was coming weighing on your heart, the sadness and regret threatening to swallow you whole.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice hoarse, muffled against your skin. "More than anything."

"I love you too," you whispered.

He kissed you, his hands cradling your face, his mouth urgent and hungry. His fingers trailed over your skin, tracing the line of your collarbone, the curve of your neck, as if committing it to memory, and your heart broke at the thought.

You smiled, a faint hint of sadness in your eyes. "You have to let me go Eli, I belong here."

He shook his head, his gaze sharp, determined. "No. No, you don't," he said. "And I won't lose you again. Not for anything."

"Elijah-"

"Don't argue," he interrupted, his voice firm.

Your smile faltered, the look in his eyes, the pain and longing, stirring a sense of unease inside you.

"You are not going to let me choose are you?" You asked softly.

He smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek. "Not this time."

"Don't worry," he whispered, his grip on your waist tightening. "It will be okay,"

"No, it won't," you insisted, your voice shaking, tears stinging your eyes. "You don't understand."

"I understand that I can't live without you," he replied, his voice firm, his eyes dark.

You could see the resolve in his face, the determination in his gaze, and your heart sank. He lifted you up, his arms wrapping around you, and you clung to him, burying your face in his chest.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, not as he carried you out of the garden, the warmth of the sun fading, the light dimming, the air growing colder. You didn't want to see the shadows, the darkness, the pain that you knew awaited.

"Please, don't do this," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Shh," he soothed, his voice low, his arms tightening around you.

"Don't make me go back," you pleaded, the tears sliding down your cheeks, your voice breaking.

"Don't ask me to let you go," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"You have to," you insisted, the pain in your chest almost unbearable.

"No," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Fear, panic, and desperation rose, the memories swirling like a storm in your mind. Elijah’s hand pressed against your back, his touch steady, calming, though his own heart was pounding.

The wind howled, darkness pressed in, the cold seeped into your bones, and the air grew heavy with foreboding. Elijah’s arms tightened around you as your warmth began to fade, and his heart clenched, realizing he was losing you again.

Suddenly, from the mist, a voice echoed, slicing through the silence: "Cursed child."

The voice surrounded them, growing louder, the darkness thickening. Then a figure emerged from the fog. An indistinct, a shadowy form. Its tone was almost affectionate as it called out to him again, "there you are, my cursed child."

Elijah’s arms tightened around you as he faced the shadowy figure, his heart pounding wildly. He could feel your warmth slipping away, and he refused to let go.

“Do you think you could just steal from me?” the figure mocked, as though speaking to a child.

“She is mine,” Elijah’s voice was hoarse but unwavering, his gaze fierce as he held you protectively.

The figure tilted its head, a glimmer of amusement flickering in its hollow eyes. “Is she?” it whispered, almost tenderly.

Elijah felt a chill creep into his veins, the weight of its gaze bearing down on him like lead.

“What are you?” he demanded, his voice taut, trying to hold his resolve.

The figure stepped closer, its features emerging from the shadows. Possessing a woman’s face, ageless and haunting, with eyes that seemed to pierce into his very soul. “I am the keeper of what you seek to steal back,” she said, her voice both gentle and unyielding.

Elijah’s grip tightened around you. “I’m not giving her to you.”

The figure’s lips twisted into a faint smile. “Then perhaps you would trade, Elijah Mikaelson?”

Elijah’s brows drew together, his heart stuttering as he understood. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, desperation lacing his words.

The figure’s eyes glimmered, savoring his question. “I want you.”

Elijah’s pulse quickened, dread pooling in his gut as he felt your heartbeat slow in his arms, your warmth fading. Time was running out.

“Why?” he whispered.

“I gave you to Time long ago, binding you to a restless eternity,” the figure murmured, almost nostalgic. “It was a good deal, for me and your family. You alone have ushered thousands of souls into my void."

Elijah stared at her, his mouth dry.

"And yet," the figure murmured, her eyes gleaming with a dark hunger, "I long for your old soul…all the suffering, the pain, the blood on your hands. So many lives claimed by your own choices." Her voice was like a song, beautiful and chilling.

Elijah swallowed hard. "What do you want me for?"

"To be my shepherd," the figure whispered. "You will guide my souls into the dark."

A chill swept through him as the meaning sank in. She was asking him to forfeit everything: his family, his redemption, his freedom. He looked down at you, feeling your heart’s weak, faltering beat and watching the faint rise and fall of your breath. Desperation surged through him. He could not. Would not. Lose you again.

"Will she live?" he asked, his voice a tremor of vulnerability.

The figure’s eyes glimmered. "Of course… a fair trade, don’t you think?”

Elijah closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips to your forehead. After all that he had done. The countless unforgivable sins he had committed. He didn't do it all just to have you return to the living, he did it to have you. To be with you again. He was done trying to negotiate what he wanted, done pretending his intentions were anything other than selfish. He had no regrets, except perhaps the ones that were still to come.

The thought of leaving you, of leaving his family, it wasn't an option. He thought of your laughter, the way your eyes lit up, the way your voice softened when you spoke his name.

How could he let go of that?

"No," he said, his voice steady as steel, his grip tightening. "We are both leaving. Together. You'll have to kill me before I give her up."

The figure tilted its head, studying him, her expression almost curious. Then, her lips twisted into a sinister smile.

"I cannot stop you, Mr. Mikaelson."

In an instant, her form blurred, the air thickening with an oppressive weight. The ground trembled as a bitter, mocking laugh echoed around him, and the world twisted into darkness. Elijah felt an icy grip tighten around his heart, searing pain slicing through his chest. The shadows pressed in, colder, denser, the voices of the dead shrieking in his ears.

His entire body convulsed as the pain became unbearable, a scream tearing from his throat, reverberating through the void. He clutched you closer, his voice becoming a raw cry in the darkness, his vision fading.

Then, slowly, the agony ebbed, and he found himself on solid ground. He sat up, gasping, surrounded by the anxious faces of his siblings, but his eyes were fixed on you.

Your heart was beating, color had returned to your cheeks, and your eyes were beginning to flutter open. Rebekah knelt beside him, her voice a whisper filled with awe. “You did it.”

Elijah cradled you in his arms, a smile breaking through the tear-streaked relief on his face. "We did it."

He glanced up at his family, quiet joy spreading as they shared a look of silent victory. For a fleeting moment, peace settled over them.

But then, as he gazed down, you opened your eyes and looked up at him… Alive, yet with a distant, empty gaze.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice soft and confused. “What's happening?”

Elijah’s smile vanished, his world tipping into silence. Panic flashed across his face as he gripped your hands, clinging to the familiar warmth, willing recognition back into your gaze.

"It's me," he murmured, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. "It’s Elijah."

You searched his face, puzzled, your brow furrowing. "I’m sorry," you said, softly shaking your head, "but I don’t know who you are."

The world stilled, his heartbeat slowing as a cold ache settled into his chest, something hollow and irreparable. It was a wound that would not heal, a love now held in silence.

Death is merciful. Death is simple. A quiet release into the vastness of time.

But for those who have loved across centuries, who have woven their souls through lifetimes, death becomes something else. It becomes a relentless keeper of memories, a silent warden of all they cherished and all they have sacrificed.

To let go would be a mercy, but for the ones who cannot. Who cling to love even as it decays. Time warps into something dark and unyielding. Every lost moment, every choice twisted by grief, binds them tighter to shadows of who they once were. And as they descend deeper into that darkness, the memories, both beautiful and bitter, become chains that will never release them.

The cost of refusing to let go is an eternity haunted, a soul consumed by the ghosts of everything that was, and everything that will never be again.

For death is kind. It is love that is cruel.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}

XOXOXO Thank you for reading! & I'm only a little sorry.... Here is a sad song that inspired this whole fic (aka more pain)~

[yondiii]

Dark Star {Part Five}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Five

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Elijah’s obsession with resurrecting you drives his family deeper into darkness, where alliances fray and unexpected lives are lost as Bonnie Bennett becomes their reluctant pawn. In the 13th century, love turns to betrayal as your forbidden bond with Elijah transforms under the weight of sin, faith, and the cruelty of vengeance.

8.3k words - Warnings: uhmmmm PAIN, death, destruction, full-throttle red door Elijah, so much angst, more hallucinations, Kol and Rebekah still being the ultimate duo, a tragic brotherly bond, compulsion, murder, MY QUEEN BONNIE BENNET && i'm sorry babes.... this is where it begins to HURT ... xoxo

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Six}

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13 century Europe

The walk into the forest this time wasn’t filled with excitement and joy; it was heavy with dread. Each step felt like a descent into darkness, a part of you wondering if you would ever leave these woods again. But the pull toward Elijah was stronger than your fear, dragging you forward against your instincts.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together Sister Claire’s death and what it meant for you. You couldn’t believe Elijah would hurt anyone, but something told you that he was connected, somehow, to the terrible fate she had met.

He was too perfect, too healthy, too beautiful. He had led you to sin so quickly… He had to be a demon. There was no other explanation.

A cold wind swept through the trees, and clouds slid over the moon, plunging the forest into near-total darkness. You quickened your pace, as if Elijah’s presence in the clearing ahead could shield you from the shadows pressing in on every side.

Finally, you reached the clearing. A dying fire cast faint embers over Elijah’s dark form as he sat by it, his head bowed, lost in thought. He looked up as you approached, his eyes catching the firelight, flickering with an unreadable intensity.

He stood and moved toward you without a word, the shadows sliding over his face, and your heart pounded with a sudden surge of fear. You took a step back, tripping over a tree root and collapsing onto the damp ground.

“Stay away from me,” you warned, scrambling back, the words barely audible.

Elijah stopped, his gaze softening as he searched your face. “I would never hurt you,” he murmured.

You shook your head, panic bubbling up inside you. “What did you do to Sister Claire? How did she end up dead, her throat torn out?”

His expression twisted with pain. “Do you think me capable of such a thing? After what we shared, after what we promised each other?"

You took a shaky breath, fighting the urge to run. "You have led me into sin, and now a woman is dead," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

"I had no hand in her death," Elijah said, his voice firm, but there was a guilty look in his eye.

"But you know who did," you said, the truth dawning on you.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping. “Yes,” he whispered, sorrow clouding his eyes.

Your heart sank, the betrayal burning inside you. He was a demon, a monster. And you had been blind to it.

“You’ve corrupted me,” you murmured, your voice full of anguish.

“No.” He shook his head slowly, earnestly. “I would never. What we share…it is pure.”

A surge of rage welled up, fanned by guilt and shame. “You’re a liar, all demons do is lie,” you spat, tears streaming down your face.

“I would never lay a hand on you. Not in a thousand lifetimes.” Elijah knelt beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your face, and you flinched away.

"Stay away from me," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Stay away from all of us."

You stumbled to your feet and ran, not daring to look back. You had been a fool, blinded by his beauty, seduced into sin. And now, a sister was dead because of it.

Branches scraped your face, roots snagged your feet, but you didn’t stop. The darkness pressed in, thick and suffocating, and each breath burned as you ran through the forest, terror clawing at your chest.

Just as your strength began to fail, you saw a light ahead and stumbled out of the trees onto the convent grounds. Relief flooded you, but before you could catch your breath, something slammed into you, knocking you off your feet.

You hit the ground hard, the impact stealing the air from your lungs. Dizzy, you looked up to find another figure looming over you. It was Klaus... Elijah’s demon brother... grinning down at you, fangs bared, his eyes glinting with malice.

“Hello, love,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“No!” you gasped, scrambling back, but he grabbed you by the hair, dragging you to your feet with ruthless strength.

Without warning, he bit into your neck, and an explosion of pain shot through you, raw and searing. You screamed, clawing at him, but his grip was unyielding, the world spinning as your blood drained away, leaving you cold and weak.

Darkness swallowed you, the last thing you heard was Elijah’s anguished cry, calling his brother’s name.

You felt nothing. You saw nothing, lost in the void. Your last thought was a broken prayer, a plea for forgiveness. And then, warm hands cradled your head, a voice calling you back.

“Elijah?” you murmured, confusion clouding your mind.

“Yes, I’m here,” he soothed, his voice a balm, a lifeline.

There was the sound of an argument nearby, Elijah’s voice rising, but you couldn’t make out the words. Cool liquid touched your lips, the taste of copper filling your mouth. You drank instinctively, the sweetness flooding your senses, warmth returning to your limbs.

Your eyes fluttered open, finding Elijah’s face above you, his expression etched with worry. You reached for him, and he pulled you close, holding you tight.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

The memories flooded back. “Klaus…he killed Sister Claire, didn’t he?”

Elijah nodded, his jaw clenched. “I’m afraid so.”

“But why?” you whispered, still reeling.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured, regret shadowing his gaze. “Just know, I would never have let him hurt you.”

You clung to him, your mind spinning. He was a demon, dangerous yet the man you loved. The truth settled over you, cold and heavy.

“You really are a demon…” The words were barely a breath.

He met your gaze, pain flickering in his eyes. “Almost.”

Panic rose, and you tried to pull away, but his arms tightened, holding you close.

“Please, don’t be afraid,” he murmured.

“Let me go,” you whispered, fighting the ache in your chest.

Reluctantly, he released you, and you stumbled back, a final look of heartbreak passing between you before you turned and fled toward the convent, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The weight of his existence pressed down on you, a dark and terrible revelation. You loved him... and in that love, you knew you made a terrible mistake.

13 century Europe

You managed to climb back through the window of your bedroom and collapsed onto the cold stone floor, sobbing. The weight of what had happened pressed down on you, heavy and unrelenting, until you felt as though you couldn’t breathe. You lay there, the floor hard against your cheek, tears staining your skin and blood drying on your lips.

You weren’t sure how long you remained like that, lost in despair, until a soft cough broke the silence. You looked up, startled, to see Sister Margaret standing over you, her face shadowed, her expression unreadable.

Realization dawned as you took in your disheveled state. Your habit torn, stained with dirt, your face wet with tears, and the telltale smear of blood on your mouth. Shame burned through you, and you averted your gaze.

“What happened?” she asked gently, kneeling beside you. Her tone was concerned, but there was an edge to it, a hesitation.

You sat up slowly, wiping at your face. “I…I don’t know,” you managed, voice weak.

Sister Margaret’s brow furrowed as she took in your appearance. “You were gone for hours,” she murmured, her tone laced with worry.

“I know,” you whispered, a fresh wave of tears prickling your eyes. You tried to blink them back, but they threatened to spill over.

Her gaze grew sharper, her concern tinged with suspicion. “Is this…is this a result of Lord Mikaelson’s visit?” Her voice held a faint accusation, a disapproving edge.

The shame intensified, and you closed your eyes, feeling a hot flush crawl up your neck. “Yes,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

She sighed, disappointment heavy in her voice. “I warned you, sister. I told you not to stray from His light.”

You lowered your head, the weight of her words pressing down on you. You knew she was right, but guilt and regret were tangled too deeply for any comfort.

“Come,” she said, reaching for your hand. “We must tell Mother Mathilde.”

“No! Please,” you gasped, clutching her hand as panic flared within you. “I can’t…not after everything that’s happened.”

Sister Margaret hesitated, her eyes searching your face. For a moment, you saw a flicker of sympathy, but it was quickly replaced by duty. “You must confess your sins, sister. It’s the only way.”

“Please, I can’t…I don’t deserve forgiveness,” you choked, the words escaping in a broken sob. “What I’ve done… It’s beyond forgivable.”

“God is merciful,” she replied softly, settling down beside you, her arm wrapping around your trembling shoulders. Her voice was calm, reassuring, and you found yourself clinging to that sliver of hope. “You need to pray, sister. Ask for forgiveness, and it will come.”

“You don’t understand…” you whispered, the shame bubbling up, choking you. “Sister Claire… It’s my fault.”

Sister Margaret stiffened, her arm dropping from your shoulders as she pulled back, shock and confusion flitting across her face. “What…what did you say?”

“It’s my fault,” you repeated, feeling the weight of the confession bearing down on you, pressing into your chest until it hurt.

Her eyes widened, her voice barely a whisper. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed, forcing the words out, even though they tasted bitter. “The demon... Lord Mikaelson- he…he seduced me.” Your voice cracked, and fresh tears streaked down your cheeks, the shame almost unbearable. "If only I had seen sooner..."

Sister Margaret recoiled, her hand pulling away as if you burned her. She stared at you, horror and disbelief etched in her features. “Oh, sister…what have you done?”

You hung your head, guilt washing over you in waves. “I gave my body to a demon. I…I forsook all my vows.”

A long silence stretched between you, broken only by your quiet, hitching breaths. Finally, Sister Margaret drew herself up, her expression hardening. “We have to tell Mother Mathilde.”

“No!” Panic surged within you, and you reached out, grasping her arm. “Please, she can’t know…not after…”

“She needs to know,” Sister Margaret insisted, her voice growing firmer, colder. “This is a grave transgression, sister. The consequences will be severe.”

You looked at her, desperation in your gaze, seeing the resolve in her eyes and the fear. “Please…I’m begging you. Just…just give me time to figure this out.”

She shook her head, sorrow flickering in her expression as she stood up, stepping back from you as if you were a stranger. “I can’t keep this secret for you.” Her voice wavered, but her resolve was unbreakable.

Your heart dropped, and you felt as though the ground had been ripped from under you. The finality of her words settled over you, heavy as stone.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking at you one last time before she turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone with the crushing weight of your sins.

As soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, bathing the convent in a pale glow, you knew it was time to leave. You had packed a small bag, gathering a few meager possessions. A spare habit, some candles, a few coins, and a small silver cross.

The night had passed in a blur of restless sleep and tears, the shame and guilt a constant, relentless torment. Now, as dawn approached, a cold resolve had settled over you. If you didn't run, you would be condemned... purified to death. Sister Margaret would tell Mother Mathilde, and the truth would come out. You couldn't face that. You had to leave, now, while you still could.

You opened the window, glancing down at the courtyard below, a cold breeze sweeping in. The early morning air was sharp and clear, and you breathed it in, steeling yourself.

Slowly, carefully, you slipped through the window, gripping the ledge. You took a deep breath, saying a silent prayer, and began to climb down the rough stone wall.

The convent was quiet, the only sounds were the wind rustling through the trees and the faint chirping of birds. Your hands were numb, fingers cramped, but you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to keep going.

Just as your foot found purchase on the ledge below, you heard a shout. Startled, you lost your balance, the stone slipping from under your foot.

You fell, hitting the ground with a sickening thud, a searing pain shooting through your body. A scream rose in your throat, but no sound came. The world spun, a blinding light flashing in your eyes.

Hands grabbed you, shaking you, pulling you to your feet. Dizzy, you looked up, blinking, and saw the blurred face of sister Margaret.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice frantic.

You took a breath, forcing the pain aside, and shook your head. "No...I'm fine."

"What were you doing?" she demanded, anger and fear mixing in her voice.

You glanced at her, then away, unable to meet her eyes. "Leaving," you whispered, knowing that the truth would hurt her.

"I was afraid you would say that," she said, a touch of sadness in her voice. "Come,"

"I can't," you pleaded, desperation rising inside you. "Please, just let me go. This is my choice."

"It's not a choice, sister," she replied firmly, gripping your arm and leading you towards the chapel. "You have sinned, and now, you will face the consequences."

She dragged you through the courtyard, ignoring your protests, and you knew it was useless. You had no choice but to accept your fate.

Mother Mathilde was waiting, her expression hard and unforgiving. She stood, towering over you, a figure of unyielding judgment.

"You have betrayed God and your sisters," she began, her voice cold and full of fury. "For that, you must be punished."

Sister Margaret pushed you down onto your knees, the hard floor bruising. You looked up at Mother Mathilde, tears blurring your vision, the weight of her words a heavy burden.

"Please, I.. I didn't mean to..."

"Silence!" she shouted, cutting you off. "Do you think I'm blind to your indiscretions?"

You lowered your head, a quiet sob escaping. "Please, forgive me..."

"Forgiveness is not given freely," she said, her voice hard. "It must be earned. You will atone for your sins through suffering."

Your head snapped up, and you stared at her, fear and desperation coursing through you.

"Take off your habit and robe, you are not deserving of such garments," she commanded, her eyes blazing.

"Please, I can't," you begged, but Sister Margaret tugged the clothing from you, baring your flesh, exposing your shame.

Mother Mathilde leaned down, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at her. "You have brought darkness upon us all, and now, it is time to purge it," she spat, her eyes burning with anger.

Tears streamed down your face, the humiliation and regret a painful reminder of your sins.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, pleading with her, but she turned away, ignoring you. She nodded at sister Margaret, and a heavy metal collar was placed around your neck, the cold bite of iron against your skin.

"Take her outside, to the square," Mother Mathilde instructed, her voice laced with disgust.

You were hauled to your feet, the chain connecting to the collar yanked sharply, forcing you to stumble after sister Margaret. The other nuns followed, their faces shadowed and grim, and you felt the weight of their judgment pressing down on you.

The sun felt too bright, the air too sharp, as you were led into the village center. A crowd was already gathering, word spreading quickly about your punishment. You looked around, desperately searching for a friendly face, but there was no one.

The chain was fastened to a post in the middle of the square, the rough wood rubbing against your skin as sister Margaret secured it tightly.

"Behold!" Mother Mathilde's voice rang out, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "The wages of sin."

There was a ripple of gasps and murmurs as the people gathered closer, staring at you, their faces twisted with disgust and fear.

"Confess your sins, before I send you to meet the Lord," Mother Mathilde commanded, her voice echoing off the surrounding buildings.

"I...I gave myself to a demon," you stammered, shame washing over you as the words left your lips.

The crowd murmured, a low, angry buzz. You lowered your head, tears stinging your eyes.

"And what did the demon do to you?" Mother Mathilde pressed, her voice filled with malice.

You took a breath, feeling the weight of the chains holding you in place. "He...he seduced me. He used my body for his own pleasure."

"Whore! Harlot!" someone shouted from the crowd, the words a harsh and ugly accusation.

"Speak the name of this demon, this devil among men," Mother Mathilde ordered, her eyes boring into you.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak his name, the shame and guilt too raw and overwhelming. "I can't," you whispered, shaking your head.

"You will," Mother Mathilde insisted, her voice full of rage. "You will name the demon who corrupted you, or I will have your tongue cut out and fed to the pigs."

A wave of nausea rose within you, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the world to disappear. But the pressure remained, the iron collar tight around your neck as the crowd was grew louder, their voices raised in anger and fear. You closed your eyes, struggling to breathe as you spoke his name.

"Elijah Mikaelson," you finally whispered, the words barely audible.

The crowd erupted in shocked gasps and cries, a surge of fear and anger rippling through them.

"The Mikaelsons are demons, all of them!" a voice shouted, the words punctuated by a chorus of agreement. "They have brought evil into our midst!"

Mother Mathilde glared at you, her eyes cold and unforgiving. "Then the judgment is clear. For the crime of consorting with demons, and for bringing their curse upon us, you will be cleansed with stone,"

She turned to the crowd, raising her hands in the air. "Let this serve as a lesson to all, that the wages of sin are death!"

The crowd erupted in a frenzy, a storm of angry shouts and jeers. The first blow was from a young boy in the front of the crowd, he picked up a smooth, heavy rock and hurled it, the sharp edge catching your shoulder.

You cried out, stumbling under the force, the pain radiating down your arm. The next blow hit your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. You doubled over, the blows coming faster and faster, each one more brutal than the last.

Your world was reduced to nothing but pain, the rocks slamming into you, the chains holding you in place. You begged, screamed, pleaded, prayed, but the stones kept coming, the blows raining down on you, merciless.

You had abandoned God, and now he was abandoning you.

The rocks kept coming, tearing through your flesh, the blood streaming down your body. Each blow was a cruel and vicious punishment, and the crowd cheered, their voices ringing in your ears.

You fell to the ground, the stones striking you, tearing into you. Your world was a sea of red and pain, a never-ending cycle of suffering. Until the last stone was thrown, by the hand of Mother Mathilde herself.

You felt it strike your temple, the impact sending you spinning into darkness.

As the world slipped away, you had one final thought.

Elijah.

Elijah stood near the entrance of an old church, the crime scene tape fluttering in the wind. It was dark, the moon and stars hidden by the clouds, the air thick with humidity and the smell of death.

His gaze swept over the surrounding area, taking in the tall trees and dense foliage. Everything was eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of the leaves in the wind.

Klaus was reading the crime scene report out loud, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "... Victim was found hanging upside down from the altar cross, her throat slashed. Blood was used to paint the walls, a message written in Latin."

"A sacrifice," Elijah murmured, his eyes narrowing, his stomach twisting.

"No, just a psycho," Klaus corrected, rolling his eyes. "Apparently the murderer is fond of leaving little notes."

"What did the note say?" Elijah asked, his pulse quickening.

Klaus rattled off the words, frowning as he translated them from Latin. "Lord God Almighty, light and truth, we beseech Thee, that Thou mayest drive away every unclean spirit, every deceitful demon, every foe of our immortal souls. Hallow this place and our hearts with Thy light and strength."

"An exorcism," Elijah muttered, his frown deepening.

Cami cleared her throat, she leaned into Klaus as she glanced at the crime scene report over his shoulder. "That kind of twisted thinking doesn’t come from nowhere. There’s a deep-seated belief system here, maybe even a distorted sense of duty. This is someone who believes they’re acting in service of a higher power."

Elijah clenched his jaw, his eyes burning with anger. "This has nothing to do with my wife,"

"Maybe, maybe not," Cami shrugged, her gaze softening. "But it does point to a connection between her murder and these others. If the killer is targeting women who look like her, we have to consider the possibility."

"No," Elijah hissed, his voice laced with venom. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Brother," Klaus said, his tone careful. "There's a pattern. You can't ignore it,"

"It doesn't matter," Elijah snapped, his voice rising. "We need to find a way to bring her back, that's the priority."

"Guys, down here!" Marcel's voice called out, interrupting the tense moment.

He was crouched on the ground, examining a patch of dirt. A trail of dried blood led towards a stone wall.

Marcel followed it, running his hands over the surface of the wall. There were cracks, and he slipped his fingers inside one, a frown forming on his face.

"There's a door," he murmured, pulling it open, revealing a set of stairs leading down into the darkness.

"A cellar?" Elijah guessed, his brow furrowing.

Marcel nodded, his expression wary, he looked at the others.

"Let's go," Elijah said, a chill running down his spine.

The air smelled musty, stale. It was cool and damp, the shadows clinging to the walls like a blanket.

Elijah stepped inside, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. He could feel the darkness pressing in, the faint whisper of voices on the wind. Marcel was close behind him, with Klaus protectively hovering beside Cami, keeping her shielded from the unknown.

"This place gives me the creeps," Cami mumbled, shivering.

"Stay close," Klaus muttered, his arm sliding around her shoulders.

They followed the path, the stairs spiraling down into the earth, the air growing more oppressive, the temperature dropping.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the bottom. Elijah felt a sense of foreboding, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He couldn't explain it, but there was a dark energy here, a malevolence that clung to the air.

"I can't see anything," Marcel complained, his tone laced with frustration.

"Hold on," Elijah said, he felt around the walls until he found a torch attached to the stone, pulling it off and striking it against the wall.

A flame sparked to life, illuminating the room.

Elijah raised the torch, his eyes adjusting to the sudden light, his breath catching in his throat.

"What the hell is this?" Marcel whispered, his eyes widening.

The room was littered with long dead candles, moss climbed the walls, and bones were scattered across the floor. Blood was splattered on the walls, dried and brown.

Cami gasped, pressing her face into Klaus' chest, trembling.

Klaus held her close, his jaw clenching, a growl rumbling in his chest.

In the center of the room was a large cross, and upon it was a woman, a dead vampire. Her skin gray and covered in dark veins, her hands and feet nailed to the wood, her eyes wide open, glassy and unseeing.

Elijah's eyes were locked on the corpse, a terrible dread settling in his stomach. He recognized her, a face out of time.

On the floor next to her was another body, a wooden stake driven through her chest. It was clear that it was self inflicted, her hands not far from the weapon.

Your phantom stepped out from behind the cross, and Elijah's eyes widened, his breath hitching.

"Hello, husband," You smiled at him, tilting your head. Dressed in your nun's habit, the very same one you were wearing when he met you, the very same one the vampire corpses were wearing. "Do you remember them? What you made me do to them?"

Elijah shook his head, taking a step back.

"This is all your fault, Eli," you purred, your gaze burning into him.

He swallowed hard, his hands trembling.

"You corrupted me, made me drink their blood, made me crave it," you continued, your smile turning cruel.

"No," he whispered, his voice choked, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Yes," you replied, the word harsh, full of hate.

Klaus frowned, glancing at Elijah, his brow furrowed. He was muttering to himself, his gaze locked on the wall behind the crucified vampire.

"What is it, brother?" Klaus asked, his voice tense.

Elijah didn't respond, he was lost in the nightmare, trapped in the memories.

"Elijah" Klaus called, his concern growing.

Elijah blinked, tearing his gaze away from you, his eyes focusing on his brother.

"C-can you see her?" He asked, his voice strained, a desperate edge to it.

"See who?" Klaus asked, his confusion mounting.

"My wife," he whispered, his throat tight.

"She's not here, brother," Klaus said gently, his eyes full of sadness.

"But-" Elijah started, turning to look at you.

You were gone.

He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, his eyes stinging.

"There's something written on the wall," Cami pointed out, her voice trembling.

Elijah's gaze shifted to the wall where Cami pointed. In faint, jagged script, words were smeared in dried blood:

'In nomine eius quae nos decepit. In nomine eius quae nos corrupit. Tandem est purgata. Nunc quiescimus, missio sancta completa est. Salutem invenire possimus,'

Elijah felt a weight press down on him, his mind racing to translate the Latin. 

'In the name of her who deceived us. In the name of her who corrupted us. She has finally been cleansed. We rest now, the holy mission is complete. May we find salvation,'

The words struck him like a blow, each syllable carrying the weight of a fanatic’s conviction. His eyes darted between the two bodies sprawled on the cold stone floor. Mother Mathilde and Sister Margaret, both transformed into vampires. They had killed you, after all these centuries, they had gotten their revenge.

Elijah felt the world fall out from under him, his knees buckling, his mind reeling.

"You should have left me alone, Eli," your voice echoed in his mind.

"Elijah?" Cami said softly, placing a hand on his arm, concern etched on her features.

"It was them," he whispered, his eyes stinging with unshed tears, his heart aching. "They were the ones who killed her."

Klaus stiffened, his eyes darkening. "You mean to tell me, these two corpses were responsible for her death?"

Elijah nodded, his jaw clenching. "And now, they're dead too.”

Klaus stiffened, a wave of realization hitting him. "How could that be possible?"

Elijah turned to him, his face ashen, eyes haunted. "You tell me, you were the one drinking every villager dry!"

Elijah looked away, his gaze sweeping over the morbid scene. His heart was pounding in his chest, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.

He could feel the rage boiling in his veins, a dark, powerful fury threatening to consume him. His fists clenched, and he let out a roar, lashing out at the closest thing to him. His knuckles slammed into the stone wall, shattering bone and splitting the skin. Blood dripped from his hand, but he barely noticed, his anger too intense to be soothed by the pain.

Marcel grabbed Cami, pulling her behind him, shielding her.

Klaus stared at his brother, shock and concern etched on his face.

"Elijah," Cami said, her voice quiet. "This isn't your fault,"

"Isn't it?" Elijah hissed, whirling around to face him. "Don't you get it? They killed her!" He pointed at the two bodies, his voice shaking, his eyes wild with grief and rage. "After all this time... She turned them by mistake... and they must have tracked her down..."

"Elijah," Klaus said softly, stepping closer, his hands raised, palms facing outward.

"No!" Elijah shouted, pushing his brother away, his eyes blazing. "She's dead because of me!"

Klaus stumbled back, his expression stunned.

Elijah took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, his eyes closed. His hand throbbed, blood trickling down his wrist, soaking into his sleeve. He looked down at it, his jaw clenched, his mind reeling. Then he ran, darting up the stairs, his footsteps echoing off the stone.

Klaus started to follow him, but Cami put her hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Let him go," she murmured, her eyes filled with compassion.

Klaus sighed, his shoulders slumping, a grimace of resignation twisting his lips. "This is bad, Camille."

"I know," she replied, her brow furrowing.

"How the bloody hell could they have turned into vampires?" he asked, his confusion mounting.

"Sometimes, snatch, eat, erase, has unintended consequences," Marcel mused, a scowl on his face.

Klaus felt a pang of regret, he had never really reflected about his time in the village. Him and Kol spent most of it drinking their fill of the locals. It was a blur, his memory of it hazy and vague, like a drunken dream. He had no idea that his carelessness could have caused something like this.

Cami wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He held her close, burying his face in her hair, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Marcel watched them, his expression unreadable. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on the nuns' corpses, his stomach churning.

"Come on, let's get the hell out of here," he said, his voice strained.

"Right," Klaus agreed, taking Cami's hand, following Marcel up the stairs, and out into the night.

Elijah was nowhere to be seen, and Klaus didn't know where to begin looking for him. He had hoped that finding answers could ease his brother's burden, but instead, the truth had only served to deepen the wounds. There was no revenge to be had, and no one to blame but themselves.

13th century Europe

Death, it seemed, was a cold and endless void.

There was nothing... no light, no sound, no sensation. You drifted, suspended in an empty silence, time slipping away without meaning or measure.

But then, something broke through the emptiness. A gentle thumping, rhythmic and insistent, reaching out to you. It called to you, pulling you back.

Your heart.

Painfully, slowly, you felt consciousness returning, a heavy ache settling into your bones. Yet even as you opened your eyes, the darkness did not fade. Silence pressed around you, thick and unyielding, no hint of life.

You lifted a hand, reaching out and felt smooth wood just above your face. Your fingers moved to the sides, finding more planks, enclosing you in every direction. The realization struck, and a choked sob escaped your lips. You were trapped, buried alive, encased in wood and darkness.

A wave of panic gripped you, and you clawed desperately at the wood, splinters digging into your skin as you scratched, feeling the rough surface bite back. The air was stale, thick with the scent of earth. You were suffocating, the weight of the grave pressing in, sealing you away from life.

You were so hungry.

It was a hunger beyond anything you had ever known. It gnawed at your insides, a feverish craving that burned through you, leaving you weak and sick with need. You felt as though you might wither away, disappear into the dark if this hunger was not fed. And in the depths of your mind, one terrible thought rose, unbidden and irresistible.

Blood.

What had become of you? Was this hell? The punishment for your sins? You had failed. Failed God, failed yourself. Your body had been violated, desecrated, and now this was your fate. Condemned, starved, a monster craving blood.

But as the darkness closed in, and the hunger burned like fire, a muffled sound pierced the silence. A faint shuffling, a scraping, and then a loud thud. The wood above you cracked, dirt flooding in, dust filling the air.

Then, hands reached down, breaking through the wood and dirt, and grasping you by the shoulders. They pulled, dragging you out of the grave. The night air rushed in, cool and clean, filling your lungs with life. Above you, stars glittered in the dark sky, so beautiful, so bright it brought tears to your eyes.

A warm blanket wrapped around you, and a voice, soft and familiar, murmured reassurances. Strong arms lifted you, cradling you against a broad chest, carrying you away from the grave’s embrace.

Through the haze, you looked up and met Elijah’s eyes.

His gaze was intense, shadowed with worry, his face softened in relief. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, and as your vision blurred, his words echoed in your mind.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, his voice a balm against the terror that lingered in your heart. “Everything will be alright now, I promise you."

When Bonnie's house came into view, the first thing Rebekah saw was a distinctive figure sitting on the step. She expected he would turn up sooner or later, figuring Stefan had alerted him the moment they left the Grill.

"Is that who I think it is?" Kol asked, his smile widening. "Another bloody Salvatore."

"Well, aren't we popular," Rebekah mused.

They pulled into the driveway and parked, stepping out of the car and walking towards the porch.

"Hey there, Damon," Kol greeted, grinning. "Lovely evening for a visit, isn't it?"

Damon cast a glance at him, but his gaze remained fixed on Rebekah.

"How can I help you?" Damon asked, his voice low, his expression hard.

"Well, for starters, you can leave," Rebekah retorted, crossing her arms. "This is a private matter."

"You can't hurt Bonnie," Damon snapped, his jaw clenching. "Not without going through me."

"Who said anything about hurting her?" Kol quipped, tilting his head.

"Get off of her porch," Damon replied, his voice edged with warning.

Before Damon could blink, Kol's hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of his hair. In a single swift motion, he slammed Damon's face down onto the wooden steps, shoving him hard against the boards. The sound of bone meeting wood echoed in the quiet.

"You certainly have the confidence of a madman," Kol chuckled, pressing his knee into the back of Damon's neck, keeping him pinned.

Damon groaned, trying to pull away, but Kol dragged him back, forcing him to his knees at the base of the stairs.

"Bonnie Bennett?" Rebekah called, her voice cutting through the tension. "I know you're in there, I can hear your heartbeat."

"Don't answer," Damon growled, struggling beneath Kol's hold.

The door creaked open, and Bonnie stood there, just behind the threshold, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the three of them.

"What do you want?"

"We’ve come to ask a favor, love. But your friend here is being rather rude," Kol said, his grip tightening on the back of Damon's neck, amusement flashing in his eyes.

"Let him go," Bonnie ordered, her tone sharp.

"Come outside," Kol demanded, his smile widening.

"Bonnie, don't," Damon hissed through gritted teeth, his muscles tensing against Kol’s hold.

"It's fine, Damon," Bonnie replied, stepping out onto the porch, her gaze wary.

"Good," Kol purred, leaning close, his lips brushing the shell of Damon's ear. "If you move, I'll rip your head off."

Damon snarled, his eyes flashing, but he stayed still, his muscles quivering with barely restrained rage.

"There's a good lad," Kol grinned, releasing his grip, stepping back and away.

"Now," Rebekah said, moving closer to the steps, her eyes locking with Bonnie's. "What do you know about resurrection spells?"

Bonnie let out a humorless laugh, crossing her arms. "No. Absolutely not."

"Come now," Kol drawled, his eyes glittering. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Not a chance," Bonnie answered, her jaw clenching. "Even if I could perform a spell that complex, and believe me, I can't, I wouldn't do it."

"Why the hell not?" Rebekah asked, her brow furrowing.

"Look, even if I was inclined to help you, and I'm not," Bonnie shrugged, shaking her head. "A spell like that, the cost is too high. It's not worth it."

"I'm sure we could work something out," Kol smirked, his gaze sweeping over her. He reached out and grabbed Damon by the collar of his jacket, yanking him to his feet. "Maybe a little incentive for you, hmm?"

"Leave him alone," Bonnie warned, her eyes narrowing.

"I would if you'd be reasonable," Kol chuckled, his tone light, a dark edge to his words. "We could do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice, darling."

The sound of tires squealing against pavement drew their attention, and Bonnie looked to the street, a sigh escaping her as she realized who it was.

Stefan came bounding up the steps and onto the porch, his gaze dark, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Let him go," he demanded, his eyes locked on Damon.

"Oh, Stef," Kol purred, his smile widening, a wicked gleam in his eye. "I was hoping you'd show up,"

"Stefan," Damon warned, his brow furrowing, his voice low.

"You have two seconds to back the hell off, before I make you," Stefan said, his voice laced with threat.

"What is with the hostility?" Kol scoffed, his brow raising. "I'm just having a little fun,"

Rebekah stepped between them, her arms raised, her gaze flickering from her brother to Stefan. "Everyone relax, this isn't getting us anywhere."

"Tell your brother to let go of my brother," Stefan replied, his voice cold.

"You heard him," Rebekah said, glaring at her sibling, her jaw clenched.

"Fine," Kol muttered, shoving Damon towards his brother. "No need to get testy."

Damon stumbled, but Stefan grabbed him, steadying him, his arm wrapping protectively around his shoulder.

"Let's try this again," Rebekah sighed, looking at Bonnie. "We need your help resurrecting our sister in law, and you're the only person I can think of who can actually do it."

"I can't," Bonnie insisted, her brow furrowing.

"Can't or won't?" Rebekah countered, her eyes narrowing.

"Both," Bonnie snapped, a note of frustration in her voice. "I know better than to mess with forces I can't control."

"Oh please," Kol scoffed, rolling his eyes. "We're immortal, darling. If anyone can control those forces, it's us."

"Look, I'm sorry about your sister in law, really, I am," Bonnie sighed, her shoulders slumping, a pang of sympathy flitting across her features. "But there are always consequences, and they're usually catastrophic."

"That's a chance we're willing to take," Rebekah said, her tone earnest. "You don't have to worry about any fallout, whatever happens, we'll deal with it. All I'm asking is that you consider it."

"I'm sorry," Bonnie shook her head, her brow furrowing. "My answer is no."

"Miss Bennett," a familiar voice called, the sound of footsteps approaching.

All eyes turned to the man walking up the driveway, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his gaze intent, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Elijah," Bonnie breathed, her heart skipping a beat, a sense of dread settling in her stomach.

"I will only ask you this once," Elijah said, his voice steady, a glint of steel in his eyes. "Do as we request, and no harm will come to you or your friends."

A tense silence settled over the porch as Elijah’s words hung in the air, his calm tone laced with an unspoken threat. Bonnie took a step back, her heart pounding, but her gaze held steady.

“Elijah,” Stefan said, his voice low and tense, moving protectively in front of Bonnie. “You don’t want to do this.”

Elijah’s gaze shifted to Stefan, his face a mask of cold composure. “I assure you, Stefan, I am quite certain of what I want.”

Damon stepped forward, positioning himself beside his brother, his jaw clenched. “And we’re certain Bonnie’s not doing anything for you or your twisted family reunion.”

A flicker of something darker passed over Elijah’s face, but he remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the Salvatores.

Rebekah looked between them, an amused smirk playing on her lips, she glanced at her brother.

Kol shrugged, his brow furrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"We don't need the witch's cooperation," Kol said, his gaze turning back to Elijah, his voice filled with amusement. "We could just take her."

"You're not taking anyone," Damon snapped, his voice low, a growl rumbling in his chest.

"Damon," Stefan murmured, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, his expression grim. "Not a good idea."

"Listen to your brother," Kol smirked, his eyes glittering. "This is none of your business."

"Everything happening in this town is our business," Damon replied, his gaze sharp.

"Is that so?" Kol laughed, a dark edge to his words.

"It is," Damon retorted, his brow furrowing, his hands curling into fists.

"Enough," Elijah said, his voice soft, but authoritative. He turned his gaze back to Bonnie, his eyes filled with a mix of resolve and grief. "Miss Bennett, my wife is dead. And while I do not wish to threaten you, I will not allow anything or anyone to stand in the way of her return."

Bonnie hesitated, her eyes searching his, a chill running down her spine at the look in his eyes. She could feel the weight of his stare, a deep sadness, and a deep rage, burning in the depths of his gaze.

"I can't," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"I DON'T CARE," Elijah yelled, his voice booming like a thunderclap. "DO IT."

Bonnie jumped at his outburst. She had never feared the Mikaelsons before, not even when they were threatening her, but the look in Elijah's eyes was beyond anything she had ever seen. A deep, aching sorrow and desperation, mingled with a primal rage, all focused on her.

Damon scoffed, stepping up beside Stefan, his defiance barely masking the unease in his eyes. “So that’s it? You’ll sacrifice everyone and everything just to get what you want?”

Elijah’s gaze flicked toward him, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You know nothing of what I have sacrificed.”

Damon’s lips curled into a smirk, though his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Yeah, well, I don’t care how ancient or heartbroken you are. Bonnie’s not your pawn, and we’re done playing along.”

Without warning, Elijah grabbed Bonnie's wrists, shackling them and suppressing her magic. Her body went rigid as her mind tried to process what was happening as Damon lunged, his fist aimed straight for Elijah’s face. But Elijah was faster. In a flash, he sidestepped, grabbing Damon’s arm and twisting it behind his back, forcing him down to his knees.

Stefan’s face darkened, and he rushed forward to free his brother, but Elijah’s other hand shot out, gripping Stefan by the throat, holding both brothers captive with terrifying ease.

“Elijah, stop!” Rebekah shouted, alarm replacing the earlier tension in her voice.

Elijah didn’t answer. His expression was cold, detached, a shadow of the man they knew. He brought Stefan's face close to his, his pupils dilating as he stared him down.

"Rip out your brother's heart," he said, his tone calm, almost casual as he compelled Stefan.

Stefan struggled, fighting against the compulsion, a growl rumbling in his chest. Elijah let go of his neck, still holding Damon in place with his other hand. Stefan’s face contorted with the effort to resist Elijah’s command, his hand shaking as it moved involuntarily toward Damon’s chest. Damon’s eyes widened with alarm as he felt his brother’s fingers pressing against his ribs, the pressure building, his breath quickening.

Stefan screamed in anguish, his mind fighting against the compulsion, his arm trembling. But no matter how hard he fought, the magic coursed through him, pushing his arm forward.

"Stop!" Bonnie cried, panic seizing her as she watched Stefan's hand dig deeper into his brother's chest. She moved to rush towards them, but Kol was quicker, pulling her away.

"I wouldn't recommend that, love," Kol whispered, his grip tightening as she tried to fight him off.

“Elijah, please,” Bonnie’s voice shook, her eyes pleading. “This won’t bring her back. It won’t change anything.”

For the briefest of moments, Elijah’s resolve flickered. The pain in Bonnie’s voice seemed to cut through the haze of rage and desperation that clouded his mind, and the realization of what he was doing hit him. But then the memory of your dead body flashed in his mind, and the grief consumed him once again.

"Finish it," Elijah ordered, his voice a low, commanding rumble.

"NO!" Damon shouted, his face contorting with rage, his muscles straining against Elijah's grip.

Stefan's eyes met his brother's, and all he could see was the pain and fear in them, before they dimmed. He knew there was no fighting it, and the moment his fingers wrapped around Damon's beating heart, he accepted his fate.

Damon gasped, a strangled cry escaping him as Stefan began to pull his heart from his chest.

"I'm sorry," Stefan whispered, tears streaming down his face, his eyes locking with Damon's one last time.

Then, with a single, powerful jerk, Stefan ripped his brother's heart from his chest, blood pouring out over his hand. Damon's body fell to the ground, a sickening thud echoing through the night.

Bonnie screamed, the sound piercing the silence, her eyes wide with shock. Kol's grip tightened, holding her still, his other hand covering her mouth to stifle her cries. His expression was a mix of awe and revulsion, but he kept her pressed against him, watching the scene unfold with rapt attention.

Rebekah stood frozen, a wave of horror and guilt washing over her. She could feel the hot tears stinging her eyes, her throat constricting, the blood draining from her face. She looked at her brother, hoping for some sign of mercy, some trace of humanity, but his face was a blank mask, devoid of feeling.

Stefan, still compelled, released Damon’s heart and stared down at his own bloodstained hands in horror as the compulsion faded. He fell to his knees beside Damon’s body, shaking uncontrollably, his expression vacant as the reality of what he had just done settled in.

“Elijah,” Rebekah’s voice was a shaky whisper, her face ashen as she struggled to find the brother she had known. “What have you done?”

Elijah turned to her, his expression unreadable, his eyes empty. “What was necessary.”

“Necessary?” Rebekah’s voice cracked, a tear slipping down her cheek as she took a step toward him. “This… this isn’t you, Elijah. This… this is madness.”

Bonnie wrenched herself free from Kol’s grip, her gaze blazing with fury and despair. "I will never, ever, help you," she snarled, her voice quivering with rage.

Elijah looked down at her, then looked to Stefan, still kneeling beside his brother's corpse, a look of agony and guilt twisting his face.

"Is that your final answer?" Elijah asked, his voice quiet.

"Yes," Bonnie answered, her heart hammering against her ribs, her breathing ragged.

"Very well," Elijah said, he grabbed Stefan by the neck, pulling him to his feet. Then, without hesitation, he plunged his hand into his chest, tearing out his heart.

"No!" Bonnie screamed, her voice breaking as she fell to her knees.

Stefan's body dropped to the floor, lifeless and broken, his eyes wide open, landing with a soft thud next to his brother.

"Elijah," Rebekah's voice trembled, her eyes wide and unseeing, her mind unable to comprehend what was happening.

"Take her," Elijah said, his eyes fixed on the witch. "And do not let her go."

Kol hesitated, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the bodies.

"Now, Kol," Elijah ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Fine," Kol muttered, his brow furrowing as he approached Bonnie, his grip tightening on her shoulders.

"C'mon, love. Let's get this over with," he said to her softy, dragging her to her feet.

Bonnie didn't resist, her gaze locked on Elijah, the anger and hatred rolling off her in waves.

"We're going to do this, one way or another," Elijah told her, his voice calm, his eyes hard. "The only question is, how many more lives do you want to take before we get started?"

"I hate you," Bonnie said, her voice a harsh whisper.

"Yes, I imagine you do," Elijah answered, his expression unchanging. "But that doesn't matter, not now. What matters is getting my wife back."

Rebekah stood motionless, staring at the two corpses, her mind unable to process the horror that surrounded her. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, her heart racing, the world around her spinning. The Salvatores were a pain in her side, and she had always thought them fools, but they didn't deserve this. The gravity of what had just happened was too heavy, too surreal to fully comprehend.

Kol and Rebekah watched their once noble, honorable brother, the north star of their family, turn to face them. But that guiding light was now gone, consumed by shadow. What stood before them was no longer their Elijah, but something else entirely.

A dark star, collapsing under its own weight, dragging everything into its relentless abyss.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Six}

[yondiii]

Dark Star {Part Four}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Four

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} In the present day, Cami takes matters into her own hands by going to the police, urging detectives to search for your killer. Meanwhile, Rebekah and Kol return to Mystic Falls to seek Bonnie Bennett’s help...and run into an old friend. In the past, your church has a watchful eye on your every move as fear of demons brew among the villagers, risking your exposure and ruin.

5.4k words - Warnings: so much angst, Cami trying her best, Kol and Rebekah being an iconic duo in Mystic Falls, murder investigations, pain with a sprinkle of more pain on top, hallucinations, demons and Klaus having a little treat...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}{Part Six}

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Cami sat nervously in the waiting area of the police department, wondering why she ever thought this was a good idea. What was she going to say? That she knew a vampire that was murdered? They would want details she couldn’t give… like, where’s the body? How does she know there was a murder?

She could already hear them laughing her out of the office.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. This was the right thing to do. She had a hunch, and it was her job to follow through.

A door opened, and a tall, no-nonsense detective stepped out, scanning the room until his gaze landed on her. With a slight nod, he motioned for her to follow him, leading her to a small, windowless room.

“How can I help you, Miss O'Connell?” he asked, settling into a chair across from her.

Cami took a breath, the uncertainty bubbling up again. “I… I have a friend who went missing, and I was hoping the police could help me find her.”

“Missing?” The detective’s brow lifted, his expression shifting to mild skepticism.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. She’s been missing for several months…” Cami replied, realizing too late how wrong that sounded.

“Months?” His skepticism deepened, one eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” she repeated, trying to sound more confident.

“Miss O'Connell,” he said, softening his tone just slightly, “you’re aware that most missing persons cases aren’t solved. Many aren’t even reported until it’s too late.”

“I understand,” she replied, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap.

The detective sighed, studying her closely. “Do you have any evidence of foul play?”

Cami’s mind raced. “No… I don’t have evidence, but I know something is wrong. She wouldn’t just disappear.”

“Alright,” he said, pulling out a notepad. “Let’s start with her name and tell me what she looks like.”

Cami swallowed again, steadying herself as she described you: the color of your hair, the shade of your eyes, the way you always wore that silver bracelet. She felt the lump in her throat grow as she spoke, picturing you more vividly with each word.

The detective listened, his expression hardening slightly. “Did she have any enemies?”

A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “She… well, she had a lot of enemies,” she admitted, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, jotting something down. “Enemies?”

“Yes, but she was… a private person. I don’t really know who they were,” she said, guilt pricking at her as she lied.

The detective’s patience began to wear thin. “Miss O'Connell, if I’m going to help, you need to be honest. What aren’t you telling me?”

Cami hesitated, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. She glanced down, trying to find the words. “It’s a long story,” she managed, her voice small.

“We have time.”

“It’s a very long story,” she repeated, almost pleading.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I have several open murder cases on my desk. I’m not going to spend hours on a missing person unless you can give me a reason to. So if you have something to tell me, spit it out. Otherwise, we’re done here.”

“Right, sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks burning. “It’s just… my friend was married into a very powerful family of vampires, and she is one herself. And she was murdered, I know where and when, so I need your help collecting forensic evidence.”

He stared at her, his face blank. “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was,” she said softly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “Please leave.”

“But-”

“Miss O'Connell, unless you want me to throw you in jail for wasting police time, I suggest you leave now,” he said, his tone cold.

Cami rose, shame washing over her. “I’m sorry. I was just hoping-”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his expression hardening.

She hurried out, her heart pounding, a mix of anger and humiliation clouding her mind. She had been foolish to think the police would help. As she walked down the hallway, she caught sight of a bulletin board covered in photographs and reports. Missing people. Her heart sank as she stared at the faces.

“Hey!” she called out as a young officer passed by.

“Yeah?”

“What’s this for?” she asked, nodding to the board.

“Murder victims, same motive. Possible serial killer,” he said.

A chill ran down her spine. “Can I look at the case file?”

The officer raised an eyebrow, giving her a wary look. “Sorry, ma’am, but those files are confidential.”

“Right. Thanks.” She forced a polite smile, walking quickly out of the building. Once outside, she pulled out her phone and dialed Klaus’s number.

“Cami?” Klaus answered, his tone warm.

“I’m at the police station. They’ve got a case on a possible serial killer,” she said, her words spilling out. “All the victims… Klaus, they look just like her.”

There was a long, tense pause on the line.

“Stay where you are,” he said finally, his voice low and serious. “I’ll be there in minutes.”

Relief washed over her as she hung up, the weight of fear lessened. Maybe, just maybe, they were onto something real.

“Rebekah, darling, be a dear and pass me that bottle,” Kol gestured lazily toward the expensive bourbon behind the bar.

She raised an eyebrow. “Planning on getting wasted? We’ve got work to do, Kol.”

“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy,” he replied, grabbing the bottle as soon as it was in reach. He poured himself a generous amount, then one for her. “I died in this town. I’m entitled to a drink.”

Rebekah sighed but accepted the glass, taking a small sip. “Technically, we both did. Though, you managed to do it twice.”

Kol smirked, savoring his drink. “Ah, yes. I nearly forgot how much fun it was the first time.”

He turned, leaning back against the bar, surveying the Mystic Grill’s bustling crowd. Music hummed in the background, laughter and chatter filling the air along with the scent of alcohol. The place had changed, yet a strange sense of familiarity lingered.

“This place brings back memories,” Kol mused, his tone light. “There was a lovely little spot nearby where I’d... relieve myself. Quiet, private.”

Rebekah grimaced. “You’re disgusting.”

"What? Like you didn't have your spots, Rebekahhh," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I liked the view, nothing makes the bowels move quite like the morning sunrise,"

She let out a sound of disgust, and tossed back her drink, setting her glass down and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Not much has changed about this place, still a glorious shit hole," He quipped, taking another gulp of his drink.

She rolled her eyes, leaning back against the counter and scanning the crowd. Her eyes landed on a familiar face sitting in a booth, and she smirked. "You can't be serious,"

"What?" He asked, arching an eyebrow, turning to look at where she was staring. "Oh, for fucks sake,"

Stefan Salvatore was sitting in a booth, alone, sipping on his drink. He was watching them, his expression carefully neutral, his body tense.

"I'll deal with him," Kol muttered, standing up.

"Kol, behave," Rebekah warned, elbowing him.

"When have I ever not behaved?" He shot back, smirking.

"Do you want a list?" She snapped, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "We are here to convince that Bennett witch to help us, not cause trouble."

"I'm just going to say hi," he defended, holding his hands up. "If anything happens, it will be entirely his fault,"

She rolled her eyes and released his arm, giving him a pointed look.

He winked at her and strode towards Stefan, a grin spreading across his face, sliding into the seat across from him. "Well, well, if it isn't the famous Ripper of Monterey. Seems you have a new hobby of stalking people,"

Stefan smiled faintly, swirling the bourbon in his glass. "I'm just enjoying a drink at my local bar,"

Kol chuckled, shaking his head, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "How long have you been following us, hm?"

"Since you showed up," Stefan answered, taking a sip of his drink. "I thought you and your family moved on to New Orleans."

"Oh, we did," Kol grinned, tilting his head. "But, we've always had a fondness for this place. We are sentimental like that,"

"So this is just a vacation then?" Stefan asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"In a sense," Kol shrugged. "Family business, you know how it is,"

Stefan hummed, raising an eyebrow. "Does this have anything to do with the death of your sister-in-law?"

"Oh, you're a busy little birdie," Kol drawled, his smile widening. "Where did you hear that?"

"It's not everyday that a Mikaelson dies," Stefan replied, his tone light. "That kind of news gets around."

"Ah, yes, the supernatural grapevine," Kol sighed, rolling his eyes. "A dreadful thing. So, have you heard anything useful?"

Stefan stared at him, his jaw clenching, Kol could tell he was afraid, even though he made great efforts to hide it. "Like I said, just rumors."

Kol laughed, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Stef. You're safe, Rebekah would have my head if I killed you."

Stefan raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that would stop you,"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Kol scoffed, tilting his head. "Your neck is intact, isn't it?"

"Why are you really here, Kol?" Stefan asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Looking for a friend of yours, perhaps you could help me," Kol replied, a smile tugging at his lips. "We need to speak to a young Miss. Bennett."

Stefan frowned, his eyes darkening. "What do you want with her?"

"Relax, Stefan," Kol sighed, shaking his head. "We're not planning on harming her. We just need her help, that's all."

Stefan leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering to Rebekah who was walking towards them. "And if she says no?"

Kol's smile widened, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Then we'll convince her otherwise,"

Stefan tensed, his expression hardening, his hand tightening around his glass. "Is that a threat?"

Rebekah let out an annoyed sigh and leaned over the table, pinching Kol’s arm. "Stop being an ass."

"Ow," he whined, rubbing his arm. "You're supposed to be helping,"

She glared at him, then looked at Stefan. "Don't mind my brother, he was dropped on his head when he was a baby,"

"I was not," Kol protested, frowning.

She rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to Stefan, placing her hand over his, smiling sweetly. "Tell me, what is Bonnie up to these days?"

"Bonnie isn't going to help you," Stefan answered, his voice hard. "She's not exactly a fan of your family,"

"We aren't looking to be friends," Rebekah said, shaking her head. "All we need is a little help,"

"Help with what, exactly?" Stefan pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Kol and Rebekah exchanged a glance, and Rebekah gave him a nod.

"The death of my sister-in-law was a bit unexpected," Kol explained, his voice low, his smile fading. "We want to fix that, bring her back,"

Stefan let out a dark chuckle, leaning back in his chair, shaking his head. "So it's true? Elijah has gone off the deep end?"

"You are hardly one to judge, darling," Rebekah remarked, glaring at him.

"Look, I have no interest in being dragged into Mikaelson family drama," Stefan replied, his voice tight. "And neither will Bonnie,"

Rebekah let out a soft sigh, and glanced at her brother, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "Brother, will you get me a drink?"

"Sure, Bex," he said, giving her a wide smile before heading up and walking to the bar.

Rebekah leaned in, her voice lowering. "I think you have misunderstood us, this isn't a request. We are asking politely for you to tell us where Bonnie is... Or I will force the answer out of you,"

"I would like to see you try," Stefan replied, his words laced with challenge.

"I'm stronger than I look," she murmured, her gaze lingering on him, her smile turning sly. "You of all people should know that."

Stefan stared at her, and she could see the tension in his shoulders, the wariness in his eyes.

Kol returned and set a glass of whiskey down in front of her, sliding back into his seat, sipping on his own drink.

"One last chance, love," Rebekah purred, taking a small sip, her gaze locked on Stefan's. "Tell us where to find Bonnie, or things will get ugly."

"You can do whatever you need to do to me. I'm not giving up my friends," Stefan said, his jaw clenching, his eyes flashing.

Rebekah let out a long sigh, and reached over, her fingers trailing along his jaw, tilting his head to the side.

"Look around Stef, all the people in this bar, they have interesting looking drinks in front of them, don't they?" She asked, her voice soft.

Stefan stiffened, his brow furrowing, his gaze sweeping over the bar. All the glasses in front of the patrons seemed to be filled with a bright blue liquid.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice strained.

"Those drinks aren't exactly... safe," Kol chimed in, his tone full of amusement. "It's absolutely horrid what antifreeze can do to a human's internal organs."

"Antifreeze?" Stefan repeated, his eyes widening, a hint of fear flashing across his face.

"Mhm, it's actually a rather effective poison," Kol added, grinning.

"To Stefan Salvatore," Rebekah said, raising her glass, her gaze locking with his.

Stefan watched in horror as all the patrons raised their glasses with her, some holding their cups to their lips, poised to drink. She had compelled the whole bar, and it was a terrifying sight.

"Wait, stop," he stammered, panic rising in his chest.

Rebekah smiled and put her glass down, everyone else doing the same. "Where is Bonnie?"

"Fine," he said, swallowing hard, his pulse racing. "I'll give you her address,"

"Good boy," she said, her smile widening, patting him on the cheek.

"You're psychotic," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Oh, darling, I'm a Mikaelson, this is just a Tuesday for us," she replied, winking at him. "Write down the address,"

Stefan glared at her, but obliged, quickly scribbling down the address on a napkin.

She snatched it from him, and tucked it into her purse, before getting to her feet. Her blonde hair swayed behind her as she turned and headed towards the exit, not looking back.

"Lovely seeing you again, Stef," Kol called out, smirking. He got up and followed her, leaving a defeated Stefan sitting alone.

13th century Europe

Evening mass was almost over, and you were growing more and more bored, wishing you were anywhere else. Your attention was drawn to the window, the full moon hanging low in the sky. It was a beautiful sight, reminding you of your night with Elijah, and the promise he had made. You smiled faintly, a faint blush coloring your cheeks.

You could feel Mother Mathilde's stern gaze fixed on you, and you tried to look serious, straightening in the pew. But the thoughts wouldn't leave your mind. You wondered if he would ask you to marry him, if he would take you away from the convent. A strange sort of longing gripped your heart, and you realized, more than anything, you wanted to be his wife. You wanted to live by his side, grow old with him, share his bed, have his children. The realization surprised you, a wave of panic rising within you, and you swallowed hard, trying to calm yourself.

As the priest finished his final prayer, you joined the others, standing and reciting the closing hymn. Your voice faltered as Mother Mathilde stood, moving to the altar, her expression unreadable. She nodded to the priest and turned to face the congregation.

"There has been some troubling news," she announced, her voice loud and clear, filling the sanctuary.

Your brow furrowed, and you listened, waiting for her to continue.

"There is reason to believe demons may be among us," she continued, her eyes sweeping over the crowd.

Murmurs erupted from the congregation, and you felt a chill run down your spine, your stomach twisting into knots.

"Two of our children were nearly attacked last night in the forest," Mother Mathilde's voice rose, silencing the crowd. "We must be vigilant and pray that God will protect us from this evil."

Your heart was pounding, and you were certain that you had heard her correctly. In the woods? Was it near the same place you had spent the night with Elijah? 

"Be wary of those who tempt you into sin," Mother Mathilde's gaze swept over the room, her eyes stopping on you. "Be mindful of those who wish to lead you astray,”

Your stomach sank, and you felt a rush of embarrassment, a sudden urge to run out of the chapel. You stared at the ground, heat rising in your cheeks, shame burning within you.

"Have any of you been tempted? Speak now so we can root out this evil," the priest called out, his eyes searching the crowd.

You swallowed hard, keeping your head down, your heart racing. You knew it was a trap, and yet, you couldn't resist the urge to look at her. You raised your head, catching her gaze, and immediately regretted it. She was staring at you, her expression full of judgment. You felt like a child being scolded, your eyes falling back to the floor, unable to look at her anymore.

"For those who lay with demons are anointed by evil, and must be cleansed," she declared, her voice full of conviction. “We must prevent this sickness from spreading by all means that we possess,”

You couldn't move, frozen in place, panic rising within you. You didn't know what to do, or where to go, so you sat there, waiting, hoping she wouldn't come for you.

The priest began speaking again, and the rest of the congregation joined in, reciting a prayer. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the words, but it was useless. All you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears, the sound of your heart pounding. You were terrified, and all you could think about was running.

Suddenly, there was a commotion behind you, and the chapel door swung open. Several of the nuns rushed in, their faces pale, their eyes wide. They were carrying a limp body between them, and as they laid it on the ground, you realized with horror, that it was Sister Claire.

The other nuns gasped, and several cried out, crossing themselves. You couldn't look away, transfixed by the gruesome scene. Her throat had been torn out, and her blood was everywhere, pooling on the stone floor, staining the white robes of the nuns.

"Dear God," Mother Mathilde exclaimed, her eyes wide, her face ashen.

The priest crossed himself, his voice shaky. "It seems the demons have claimed their first victim."

Elijah was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, studying his reflection. His hair was damp and tousled, his cheeks smooth, his chin freshly shaven. His deep, dark brown eyes, full of secrets and sadness. He could see the weight of his years etched in the lines on his face, the shadows beneath his eyes that refused to fade.

He could feel the ghost of your hands wrapping around his shoulders, see your smiling reflection in the mirror as you gazed at him, your face radiant with happiness. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, allowing himself the dangerous comfort of imagining your touch. It was like being caressed by a shadow… your fingers tracing the contours of his body, exploring the planes and ridges. Your voice echoed softly, teasing and affectionate, calling his name as if you were still there.

"It’s okay to be sad, Eli," you had once told him, pressing a kiss to his neck, your fingers resting over his heartbeat. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."

He felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids and swallowed hard, forcing the memory back. He had been vulnerable enough already, and he couldn’t afford to give in further. Opening his eyes, he steadied his gaze in the mirror, his grip on the sink tightening until his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched. He had promised to always protect you, and yet, here he was. A failure. The ache in his chest spread, crushing, unrelenting, leaving him feeling like a ship adrift, helpless in the abyss.

He avoided looking at the wedding ring on his finger, a sharp reminder of what he had lost. It felt wrong to take it off, yet the temptation to cast it aside was almost overwhelming.

Turning away from the mirror, he grabbed a towel, drying himself off before wrapping it around his waist. Returning to the bedroom, he saw you. Your phantom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

"You know it's your fault, right?" you teased, tilting your head. "If you had just left me alone, none of this would have happened."

"I didn’t have a choice," he replied, his voice hoarse, tight with emotion. "I loved you. I couldn’t let you go."

"Liar," you laughed, shaking your head. "You didn’t love me. You wanted to own me, possess me."

"No, I-" he started, but the words caught in his throat.

"You turned me into a monster, corrupted my soul," you hissed, your eyes flashing, a cruel smile tugging at your lips. "You destroyed me, Elijah."

He closed his eyes, turning his face away, unable to look at this twisted version of you. "I’m sorry," he whispered.

"Pathetic," you sneered, contempt dripping from your voice.

He couldn’t bear it anymore, his heart breaking all over again. Retreating to the bathroom, he shut the door behind him, pressing his back against it as he took a shuddering breath, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

"Go away," he whispered, his voice strained.

"No," your voice answered, the doorknob rattling, the door shaking as if it would break under your rage. "You promised to love me, to protect me."

"I know," he murmured, his voice thick with grief and regret. "I know."

"You lied," you spat, the doorknob rattling harder, the door creaking and straining against its hinges.

"Please," he begged, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"Open the door," the voice hissed, rattling the knob with renewed violence, the door cracking under the pressure.

"Go away," he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest, every muscle tensed.

And then, abruptly, there was silence. The only sound was his own heartbeat, thudding in his ears, drowning out everything else.

He stayed still, afraid to move, unsure of what might happen if he did. His entire body felt frozen, rooted to the spot, waiting.

From downstairs, he heard the sounds of Cami, Klaus, and Marcel entering the compound, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain his composure. He couldn’t let them see hin so weak and broken. He knew he couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever.

"Elijah?" Klaus’s voice echoed through the compound, laced with worry.

Clearing his throat, Elijah steadied himself and opened the door. The bedroom was empty, the ghost of you nowhere in sight. He let out a long, uneven sigh, then went down to the courtyard, where Klaus, Cami, and Marcel waited for him.

On the table were at least forty photographs, each one of a different woman. They all looked hauntingly like you.

Elijah frowned, stepping closer, his gaze sweeping over the pictures, brow furrowing as he took in each face.

"What’s this?" he asked, his voice low.

"It’s the list," Klaus answered, his tone grave.

"Of what?" Elijah asked, his confusion mounting.

"Victims," Marcel explained, watching Elijah closely. "Louisiana has a serial killer."

Elijah stiffened, his eyes darkening as he picked up one of the photos, staring at it, his stomach twisting. It was an image of a woman lying in the woods, stab wounds in her hands and feet, her face pale and ashen. She had the same hair as you, the same shape of your mouth. He swallowed hard, anger rising in his chest.

"Why are you showing me this?" he asked, his voice strained.

"We think there might be a connection to your wife’s death," Cami said softly, her eyes full of sympathy.

"This has nothing to do with her," he growled, his fingers gripping the picture.

"They all look just like her, brother," Klaus pointed out, his brow furrowed. "It’s hard to ignore."

"No," Elijah muttered, shaking his head, refusing to accept the implication. "You’re wrong."

"Look at the pictures," Klaus insisted, his voice firm. "It’s too much of a coincidence."

Elijah’s gaze dropped back to the photos, the truth sinking in. It felt like looking at countless versions of you. And yet, none of them were truly you.

"The killer has been operating in Louisiana for years," Cami continued, her voice gentle. "No one has ever gotten close enough to identify the suspect, much less stop them."

"There was a pattern to the murders, at least until recently," Marcel added. "They were all killed in or around churches,"

"My wife wasn't murdered in a church," Elijah said, his voice hard.

"As far as we know," Klaus argued, his eyes flashing. "You found her body in the streets, but it doesn't mean she was killed there."

Elijah let out a frustrated sigh, his jaw clenching. He knew his brother was right, and the thought made his blood boil.

"Whoever did this is a sick bastard," Marcel said, his voice edged with anger. "They take their time, torture their victims for days, even weeks before they kill them."

Elijah's stomach churned, and he set the photo down, his eyes closing, a wave of nausea hitting him. The thought of you suffering like that made his skin crawl, his heart ache.

"I compelled a very friendly detective to let me borrow his files," Klaus said, smirking. "The last crime scene was not too far from here,"

Elijah's eyes snapped open, his gaze locking with his brother's.

"We could take a look," Klaus suggested, his tone cautious. "Maybe there's something there we can use,"

"I'll get my coat," Elijah said, his voice flat.

Klaus nodded, a grim smile tugging at his lips.

Cami sighed, her shoulders sagging, worry etched on her features. Marcel squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, his expression solemn.

"Let's go," Elijah muttered, moving past them, his thoughts racing.

There was no way this was connected to your death, it couldn't be. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was a chance. He didn't know what he would do if it was true.

13th century Europe Since the announcement of demons in the village, Mother Mathilde had increased her scrutiny over the sisters. You knew she was watching you, waiting for you to slip up, hoping to catch you in the act of sin. But you were careful, keeping your distance, staying out of her way. Still, she found excuses to punish you, giving you extra chores and longer hours.

"She's going to work you until your fingers bleed," Sister Margaret said, her voice hushed.

You shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, though you felt anything but. "It's nothing I can't handle,"

Sister Margaret looked at you, her eyes full of concern. "Still, it isn't right. You haven't done anything wrong."

You swallowed, thinking of the night you spent with Elijah, the promises he made. Had you been foolish? Had you led him to Sister Claire, causing her death? A wave of guilt washed over you, and you shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away.

"I'll be fine," you insisted, forcing a smile.

"If you say so," Sister Margaret sighed, turning her attention back to the task at hand.

You worked in silence, scrubbing the floors, your thoughts drifting. You couldn't stop thinking about Elijah, the way he held you, the promises he made. A part of you feared him, what temptation he had brought into your life. Another part was drawn to him, the desire still lingering within you.

You felt tainted, dirty, knowing that he was a demon. Still, there was a part of you that longed for him, the desire pulsing deep within you. You couldn't explain it, the way he made you feel, the way he changed your life. It was like a force of nature, powerful and all-consuming.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up, surprised to see Sister Margaret rushing towards it.

"I'll get it," she called, hurrying to the front of the convent.

You continued working, but your curiosity was piqued, wondering who had come to the door. You heard the muffled voices of Sister Margaret and the visitor, but you couldn't make out what they were saying.

"She's here, she'll see you," Sister Margaret said, her voice sounding surprised.

You straightened, wiping your hands on your apron, wondering who the visitor was.

Sister Margaret returned, her eyes wide, a hint of panic in her voice. "There is a nobleman here to see you... Lord Mikaelson,"

You swallowed, feeling a mixture of dread and excitement. What was he doing here? Why did he want to see you?

"Tell him I'm not available," you said quickly, trying to keep your voice steady.

Sister Margaret frowned, studying you. "Is something wrong?"

You shook your head, unable to meet her eyes. "No, everything is fine, I just... I don't feel well. Tell him I can't see him,"

She hesitated, her eyes full of concern. "I'm sorry, but he's very insistent. He says it's urgent."

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "Fine, I'll speak with him. Just give me a moment."

Sister Margaret nodded and turned, leaving you alone. You took a few moments to compose yourself, knowing that whatever Elijah had come for, it wouldn't be good. You smoothed your hair, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

You walked down the corridor, stepping into the reception room. The space was sparsely furnished, with only a few chairs and a small table. The walls were bare, save for a cross and a painting of the Virgin Mary.

You could see Elijah standing by the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked out of place, dressed in a fine tunic and cloak, the sunlight casting a glow on his pale skin.

You stood in the doorway, unable to move, feeling a strange mixture of emotions.

"You shouldn't be here," you said finally, your voice trembling slightly.

He turned, his gaze locking on yours. "Neither should you,"

"What are you doing here?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"I need to speak with you, in private," he replied, his voice low.

You glanced around, looking for Sister Margaret, but she was nowhere in sight. "This isn't the place," you said, shaking your head.

He approached, a hint of desperation in his eyes. "Please, just give me a moment of your time."

You hesitated, your mind racing. You knew you should send him away, but your gaze dropped to his lips, remembering the way he had kissed you, the way he had touched you.

"Tonight, in the place we went before," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt a flush of heat, the memory of that night washing over you. "I can't,"

"You have to," he said, his voice urgent. "Meet me there."

You bit your lip, torn between fear and desire. Finally, you nodded, unable to deny the pull he had on you.

"Tonight," he repeated, a flicker of relief in his eyes. He turned, walking towards the door, then paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll be waiting."

You stood rooted to the spot, watching as he disappeared through the doorway, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall.

"What did he want?" Sister Margaret asked, startling you from your thoughts.

"I'm not sure," you lied, swallowing hard.

"Well, he seemed upset," she said, her voice full of concern. "Perhaps you should talk to Mother Mathilde."

You shook your head, the thought making your stomach churn. "No, it's not necessary."

Sister Margaret studied you for a moment, a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "Don't stray from His light, sister," she warned, before turning and walking away.

You watched her go, her words echoing in your mind. You had already strayed, you thought, a wave of guilt washing over you. But what choice did you have? Your heart was drawn to Elijah, despite the danger, despite the consequences. He had stolen your heart, and you knew there was no going back.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}{Part Six}

[yondiii]

Dark Star {Part Three}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Three

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Klaus and Marcel hit a dead end searching for your killer. Until Cami offers a fresh perspective that could change everything. Kol uncovers a spell that might resurrect you, but the cost is steep. And centuries ago, under starlit skies, you surrender to a forbidden night with Elijah, binding your fate to his in ways that transcend time.

♡♡ It's finally time for some smuttt, ~ xoxo {Here is my playlist for the vibes} ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: smut, oral sex, first time, a bit of drinking, lots of religious talk, stargazing, so much sinning, Kol being Kol, Cami trying to help, a bonfire, dried fruit & magic mushrooms...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

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@origshipfan @cocoabliss

It was almost the end of Cami's shift when Klaus and Marcel walked into Rousseau's, the former looking unusually grim. Cami was used to seeing them bickering and bantering, but the atmosphere between the two was tense and charged. They sat down at the far end of the bar, and Marcel leaned over, grabbing a bottle and two glasses, pouring the drinks with an air of forced casualness. Klaus sat with his shoulders slumped, a frown creasing his brow, his fingers tapping anxiously against the countertop.

"You have to pay for that," Cami pointed out, a teasing smile playing on her lips, her hands busy cleaning glasses.

Neither of them smiled back, their expressions serious, and the smile faded from her face. "Okay, what's going on?" she asked, setting the glass down and walking over, her gaze shifting between them.

Marcel hesitated, exchanging a glance with Klaus, before sighing. "It's about Elijah," he said finally, his voice low.

"How is he?" she asked, concern coloring her tone. He had been seeped in grief since your death, and it was hard to see him like that.

"Not well," Marcel replied, rubbing his temples.

Klaus’s hand wrapped around his drink, his knuckles turning white. "He won’t speak, eat, drink," he said, his voice rough, his anger barely contained. "All he does is sit by the window, staring into space."

"Can you blame him?" Cami asked softly, her expression mirroring the grief in her voice. You had been a light in the family, always finding ways to bring them together, and she missed you, too.

"No," Klaus growled, taking a large gulp of his drink. He set it down so hard that tiny cracks formed on the surface of the bar. "That’s why I have to find who did this."

Cami nodded, looking at Marcel. "Any leads?"

Marcel shook his head, an edge of frustration in his voice. "Nothing. All of my connections… they’re either too afraid to talk, or Elijah already found them first." He hesitated, then added, "Including every last member of the Strix."

Cami’s eyes widened, the full weight of the statement sinking in. "He killed… all of them?"

Marcel nodded. "Anyone he thought might be involved, he left dead. Half of them didn’t even know her name."

Klaus slammed his hand down on the counter, anger sparking again. "This is unacceptable," he hissed. "We have nothing but Elijah’s trail of bodies. It’s like the killer is a ghost… we don’t even have a description, not even a name."

"So… no witnesses, no surveillance," Cami muttered, trying to think.

"No magical trace, no scent," Klaus added, his voice filled with frustration.

Cami tapped her fingers against the bar, her brow furrowing as an idea formed in her mind. She braced herself, knowing Klaus wouldn't like it but deciding to speak up anyway. "What if… what if it wasn’t a member of the supernatural community?"

Klaus turned, his gaze darkening. "Cami… she died with a stake in her chest."

"So? I didn’t say they didn’t know about the supernatural, just that they might not be part of it," she countered, crossing her arms and meeting his gaze.

Klaus sighed, leaning back in his seat. "They broke her bones, Camille. All of them," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "A human couldn’t do that."

"A group of humans could," Cami replied, her gaze flickering between the two vampires. Neither looked convinced.

"Why would humans target her?" Marcel asked, skepticism lacing his voice.

"Why not?" She shot back, her eyes narrowing. "You feed and kill a lot of humans, Marcel. Maybe someone got revenge."

Marcel flinched, a flash of guilt in his eyes.

Klaus’s jaw tensed, his fingers tightening around his glass. "But why her?" he said quietly, his voice low and strained. "Why not go after me, or one of the others?"

"Maybe because she was the weakest link," Cami said gently, hating how it sounded even as she spoke.

Marcel sighed, rubbing his forehead. "It’s… not a terrible theory, Cami. Especially if we’re dealing with someone who had something personal against her."

Klaus's gaze shifted, staring into the distance, his expression troubled. "We’re missing a piece of the puzzle. I just know it," he muttered, his voice distant.

"Well, there is another option," Cami said quietly, an idea flashing into her mind.

Klaus turned, his eyes meeting hers with a slight challenge in them. "And what would that be, love?"

"Go to the police?" she suggested, her voice firm despite the tension in the air.

"What?" Marcel and Klaus blurted out, identical expressions of confusion and shock on their faces. Klaus began to laugh, his entire body shaking with mirth. "You’re hilarious, Camille," he gasped, tears of laughter streaming down his face.

"No, no, I’m not joking," she retorted, her expression unflinching. "You could talk to the police, tell them that your sister-in-law was killed. You could offer a reward, get them to really investigate."

Klaus and Marcel exchanged glances, neither looking keen.

"And what can they find that we can’t?" Klaus asked, his expression souring.

"Forensic evidence," Cami said immediately. "Traces that can lead them to the killer."

"And then what? They go to prison?" Klaus chuckled, shaking his head.

"If they’re human, yes," Cami replied firmly, crossing her arms.

"And if it’s not a human? How will the police catch a vampire or a witch?" Klaus challenged, his brow arching in skepticism.

"They won’t," Cami admitted, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "But it's worth a shot?”

Klaus shook his head, his tone brooking no argument. "Absolutely not."

"Niklaus…" Marcel began, his voice trailing off when he caught sight of the fury in Klaus’s gaze.

"The only thing the police will do is get in the way," Klaus said, his voice cold and final.

"In the way of what? You aren’t doing anything," Cami shot back, her own temper rising. "Sitting here drinking and wallowing isn’t going to find who killed her."

Klaus rose to his full height, his anger flaring, casting an intense shadow over the dim bar lighting.

"Woah, woah, relax," Marcel interjected, sensing a fight brewing. "We are not getting anywhere arguing."

Klaus sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You can try it your way, Camille. Go tell the cops," he muttered, waving his hand dismissively.

"And you can go do whatever it is you do," Cami shot back, grabbing her phone from her pocket and speed-dialing the number.

Klaus watched her walk away, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, before turning to Marcel. "Have someone tail her. If she gets in over her head, intervene."

"What are you going to do?" Marcel asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

"Finish this bottle, then that one over there… and possibly that one," he said, gesturing toward the collection of bottles behind the bar.

Marcel sighed, lifting his glass and clinking it against Klaus’s. "You can count me in."

13th Century Europe

As soon as the sun began to set, you climbed out of your window, heart pounding as you crossed the convent grounds and took the path leading to the forest. Shadows stretched over the path, but you kept moving, quickening your pace to ease your nerves. You were going to meet Elijah, the thought filling you with both a heady thrill and a quiver of fear.

Ever since the day in the field, when he had kissed you, and you had kissed him back, everything had changed. He had begun attending church, sitting near the back during Mass, his dark eyes meeting yours, his gaze a gentle, knowing promise. After the service, he would linger, waiting until the others had left, stealing quiet moments with you, his hand brushing yours, his soft words dissolving your willpower. The guilt weighed on you, but the pleasure, the anticipation… it was overpowering.

Tonight was different. Tonight, you would meet away from prying eyes and listening ears, beyond the convent walls. The trees loomed before you, their branches dark and skeletal against the fading twilight. You took a shaky breath, then heard soft footsteps from behind. You turned to see Elijah stepping out from the shadows, his gaze warm and intense.

"I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind,” he murmured, his words wrapped in mischief.

“Maybe I should have,” you replied, a blush warming your cheeks.

He chuckled softly, the sound curling through you like smoke. “Shall we?” he asked, extending his hand. Without hesitation, you placed your hand in his, letting him lead you deeper into the forest. The last of the sun’s light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows over the earth.

The excitement fluttered in your chest, but as you glanced back toward the convent, doubt slipped in, and you resisted the urge to cross yourself. As the night deepened, you reached a small clearing where moonlight streamed through the branches, illuminating the grass in silvery light.

“This is beautiful,” you breathed, looking up at the stars. They seemed brighter than ever, as if they had appeared just for you.

He nodded, pulling a blanket from his bag and laying it on the ground. He sat down, patting the space beside him, his hand beckoning you.

You sank down next to him, the warmth of his body soothing, calming the flutter of anxiety within you.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his lips brushing your temple. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," you replied, letting out a long breath, the tension leaving your body.

"Good," he murmured, his fingers trailing along your arm.

You leaned into his touch, enjoying the feel of his skin against yours. "I can't believe we're doing this," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

He chuckled, the sound sending a thrill through you. "Doing what?"

"Sneaking out," you said, smiling shyly.

"There's no sin in two people spending time together," he said, his tone laced with amusement.

“But there is a reason we’re hiding,” you replied softly, thoughts of the convent creeping in. “If the villagers knew…if Mother Mathilde knew…”

“Then let them know,” he murmured, though his tone turned more serious. “Life’s blessings should not be squandered in fear. Sometimes, it’s worth the risk.”

You thought of the sermons, the warnings, the fear of losing God’s favor. Yet, as you looked into Elijah’s eyes, something inside you rebelled, a longing to believe that this closeness, this love, was a blessing. 

You distracted your trembling hands by digging inside your bag, pulling out some dried fruit, cheese, some wine you borrowed from the church, and a special treat you'd been saving. Elijah chuckled as he watched you lay the food out, a grin on his face.

"What?" You asked, blushing.

"You brought all of this?" He replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," you said, the flush in your cheeks deepening.

Elijah took a piece of dried apple, chewing it thoughtfully. "What is that?" he teased, pointing at some dried mushroom caps.

"Special mushrooms," you replied, your heart pounding. "They make everything feel more...real,"

"Oh, really?" Elijah asked, a playful smile spreading across his face, "Show me,"

Your hand shook slightly as you took a piece, placing it on his tongue. He closed his mouth, the muscles in his jaw flexing, a hint of a smirk on his face.

You took another piece, placing it in your own mouth, the earthy taste filling your senses. You chewed slowly, savoring the flavor, a warm, tingling sensation spreading through your body.

"And the church allows this?" he asked.

You shook your head. "They would be furious if they knew,"

"So it's a sin to eat these?" He teased, popping another one in his mouth.

"I think it brings me closer to God," you said, smiling.

"Mmm," he chewed, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Perhaps."

"Well?" You asked, the suspense too much to bear.

He swallowed, his gaze meeting yours. "Interesting," he murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching.

You smiled, relieved that he seemed to like them. "Try the wine,"

He took the bottle, uncorking it and taking a long swig. "Not bad," he said, handing it back to you.

You took a drink, the sweetness coating your tongue, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through your veins. The cold night air seemed to fade, replaced by a feeling of contentment.

You ate the rest of the food, the conversation flowing easily. You told him stories of the convent, the sisters, and your childhood. The world around you becoming a bit hazy, the trees moving with the wind, the moonlight casting a soft glow on the forest floor.

Elijah was a good listener, his eyes never leaving yours. He was charming and witty, his humor making you laugh, his presence making you feel safe.

As the night wore on, the wine and the mushrooms made you feel bolder, loosening your inhibitions. You were lying on the blanket, looking up at the stars, the night air cool against your skin. You curled up against him, feeling his warmth as you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"Being with you, it feels right," you confessed, tracing patterns on his chest.

He hummed in agreement, his arm tightening around you.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of closeness, the sense of connection. It was a feeling unlike any other, one that filled you with a deep contentment, a peace you had never known before. You had searched for this feeling in God for so long, but it was Elijah who had given it to you.

"Do you see that?" he asked, pointing at a cluster of stars. "It's the great bear, it holds the brightest star in the sky,"

You smiled, watching the constellation, the stars seeming to dance across the sky. "Tell me more," you said, nestling closer.

"It’s a protector, a guardian watching over us.” His gaze lingered on the constellation, his expression distant.

You watched him, captivated by his words, by the passion in his voice.

"I used to look at the stars when I was a boy," he said, his voice soft. "My mother taught me their names, and their stories. I would sit with her for hours, listening as she told me tales of gods and heroes, of quests and battles."

"How very pagan of you," you teased.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. "I suppose so," he mused.

You glanced up at him, seeing a hint of sorrow in his eyes. "Where is she now?"

"Dead," he said simply, his gaze fixed on the sky.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, a wave of sadness washing over you.

"It was a long time ago," he replied, his tone detached.

You sat in silence for a moment, the air heavy with sadness and regret. You had no family, none that you remembered, that pain had been dulled by the passing years. But his felt raw, still fresh.

He looked at you, a sad smile on his face. "I didn't come here to burden you with my sorrows,"

"It's not a burden," you protested, shifting to meet his gaze.

He smiled, the sadness fading. "Perhaps not," he murmured.

You began to shiver as the night grew colder, the thin fabric of your habit doing little to protect you from the elements. Elijah noticed, pulling off his cloak and draping it over your shoulders. The warmth of his body lingered on the fabric, his scent enveloping you.

"I'll build a fire," he said, rising to his feet.

You watched as he gathered the materials, his movements quick and efficient. You marveled at his skill, the ease with which he created the flame, the flames dancing across the dry leaves.

"Aren't you afraid someone will see?" You asked, worried about the smoke and the light.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No," he replied, settling down beside you.

You felt the warmth of the flames, the cold night air forgotten. You looked up, seeing the stars again, the constellations shimmering above.

"I wonder what the stars are made of," you mused, staring up at the vast expanse of the night sky.

"Hmm, perhaps the same things as we are," he said softly.

"Flesh and blood and bone?"

"Yes, and water and air,"

You nodded, a thoughtful expression on your face. "Do you think God is a star?"

He laughed, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. "Perhaps, it's a pleasant thought, isn't it?"

"Mmm, to think of him looking down on us, guiding us," you sighed, a contented smile on your face.

Elijah smiled, a melancholy look in his eyes. "That would be a nice thought indeed."

The two of you lapsed into silence, the fire crackling, the air thick with the scent of wood smoke. You sat curled up together, watching the stars and enjoying the night.

"Will you tell me a story?" You asked, glancing up at him.

He smiled, a look of surprise on his face. "A story?"

"Yes, like the ones you used to hear, about the star gods," you pressed, eager to learn more about him.

He chuckled and got to his feet, walking over to the fire and stoking it, sending sparks dancing into the night.

"There once was a great goddess, with many mortal children, who she loved with all her heart. But one day, one of her mortal children died at the hands of a beast, and the goddess was filled with grief. She set out to avenge her child, and in her grief she created a weapon, a blade that could cut through the very fabric of the universe."

You watched him, enthralled by his voice, by the story he was telling.

"With this blade she wanted to protect her children, but instead, she ended up dooming them. The goddess stole her children from death and sold them to time, who is far less merciful,"

He paused, his eyes glimmering with emotion.

"Now those children walk the earth, forever tormented by the knowledge that they will never die, and by the guilt of having brought so much suffering into the world."

You sat in silence for a while, the fire casting shadows on the trees, the only sound the crackling of the flames. You thought about his story, the weight of immortality, the price of defying death.

"Does it frighten you, the thought of an endless existence?" He asked, his gaze locking with yours.

"Yes," you admitted, feeling a shiver run down your spine.

"It frightens me too," he said, a grim smile on his face.

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in.

"I've never heard a story like that before," you said finally, your voice barely a whisper.

He gave you a faint smile. "It's an old legend, from my homeland,"

"What happened to the goddess? Is she still out there, somewhere?" You asked, curious.

He sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. "She was banished, forced to watch the earth from an empty place, an eternity of loneliness. Despair her punishment."

"That's awful," you murmured, feeling a sense of sadness wash over you.

"That's the fate of anyone who defies death," he said, his voice low and solemn.

You reached out your hand, beckoning him closer, the distance between you unbearable. He sat back down on the blanket and wrapped his arms around you, the warmth of his body soothing, the feel of his breath on your cheek comforting. You looked into his eyes, the dark, mysterious depths drawing you in, the flames flickering.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured, his fingers caressing your cheek. "Death will never touch you,"

"That isn't what I'm afraid of," you confessed, a blush creeping into your cheeks. "It's the idea of a life without you that scares me."

He smiled, his eyes sparkling. "Then we'll just have to make sure that never happens."

You laughed, the sound a mixture of joy and relief. Then you pulled him closer, your lips meeting in a tender kiss, the firelight casting shadows on the trees, the wind rustling the leaves.

You lost track of time, lost in the moment, in the taste of his lips, the warmth of his embrace. It felt like a dream, the flickering flames, the gentle breeze, the stars twinkling above. But it was real, and in that moment, you knew that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. And what you wanted was pleasure.

"Touch me," you whispered, pressing your body against his.

"What would God say?" he murmured, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Let's find out," you breathed, kissing him again, the fire burning hotter, the night growing darker.

He pushed you gently onto your back, the blanket soft beneath you, the bright night sky above. His lips trailed down your neck, his fingers slipping beneath your habit, teasing the skin of your thighs. You arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips, desire pooling in your core.

He pulled away, his gaze burning into yours. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you gasped, desperate for him, for his touch, for the release only he could give you.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, his voice strained, the desire clear in his eyes.

"You won't," you promised, tugging at the laces of his tunic, aching to feel his skin against yours.

"But you are an innocent," he murmured, a gentle smile on his lips. "I do not wish for you to regret this, not with me."

You cupped his cheek,"I will never regret being with you," you whispered, your thumb caressing his lower lip. "Never,"

He gazed at you for a moment, then bent down, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. Then he pulled back, removing his tunic, his body bathed in moonlight. Your breath caught in your throat and you reached out, running your hands over his chest, his skin smooth and warm.

He tugged at the hem of your habit, his gaze locking with yours. "May I?"

"Yes," you whispered, lifting your arms, allowing him to pull it over your head, exposing your bare skin to the cool night air.

He tossed the garment aside, his eyes roaming over your body, a hungry expression on his face. "You are so beautiful,"

"So are you," you replied, drinking in the sight of him, the lean muscle of his torso, the planes of his chest, the strength in his arms.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hand trailing down your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He slipped his fingers inside your undergarments, finding your most sensitive place, his touch setting every nerve alight.

Why must sin feel so good? Did God give us this chance to feel pleasure just so we could resist temptation, or did He create our bodies so we could enjoy it? This felt like the latter, the way your body was reacting, the pleasure building with each stroke of his finger.

You moaned, clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. He pulled away, his breathing ragged, his eyes filled with desire. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," you whispered, pressing against him, craving his touch, his closeness.

"Very well," he murmured, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, the look on his face making your heart race.

He shifted, sliding his hand down your body, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your undergarments, pulling them slowly down your legs. You blushed, the realization that you were naked in front of him, the vulnerability causing your heart to hammer in your chest.

He placed his hand on your inner thigh, his fingers parting the damp curls, his thumb circling your swollen nub, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you, the feeling unlike anything you'd experienced before.

You gasped, clutching at the blanket, the feelings he was creating within you overwhelming, your body responding in ways you didn't know possible.

He teased you, his touch light and deliberate, his fingers stroking and exploring, learning what gave you pleasure, what made you moan, what made your hips buck. He kissed his way down your body, his tongue flicking against the hard peak of your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, his mouth hot and wet.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, your need for him desperate. He kissed his way lower, his tongue tracing the curve of your belly, the sharp jut of your hip bone, his hands gripping your thighs, parting them, exposing you completely. You gasped, the realization of what he was going to do was shocking, thrilling, shameful, and yet so, so right.

He dipped his head, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his stubble tickling, the sensation making you gasp. He glanced up, his eyes locking with yours, a smirk on his lips. Then he lowered his head, his tongue finding the hidden place that ached for his touch, his fingers stroking, teasing, building the pleasure within you until it was almost unbearable.

Your hips bucked, your breath coming in gasps, his name tumbling from your lips, the word a plea, a prayer. His tongue licking and stroking, tasting and exploring, the sensation pushing you higher, the pressure building until it was too much, until you could no longer hold back, and you cried out, the waves of pleasure crashing over you, your body shuddering.

No, this wasn't sinning, this was heaven, and when you fell, it was his name you cried out.

He moved, his lips meeting yours, his body settling over yours, the hard length of his manhood pressing against your thigh, the feeling strange, yet exciting. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him hungrily, the taste of him sweet and intoxicating. He broke the kiss, cradling your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours.

"Ready?"

"Yes," you whispered, desire coiling within you.

He kissed you again, his tongue tangling with yours, the heat of his body enveloping you. He positioned himself, the tip of his manhood teasing your entrance, the feeling foreign and thrilling. He groaned, the sound muffled against your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips as he pushed forward, the sensation a mixture of pain and pleasure.

You clung to him, burying your face against his shoulder, the fullness, the feeling of him stretching you, the pain slowly ebbing away, replaced by a different kind of ache, a desire to have him deeper, harder. He smiled down at you, his eyes filled with love, the look making your heart swell. He began to move his hips slowly, as he held you close, his arms wrapped around you.

You gasped, the sensation exquisite, every sermon about pleasures of the flesh were erased by the reality of it. The church had gotten it wrong, It wasn't about fleeting pleasures, like indulging in too much honey cake. It was about connection, the joining of two souls, the sharing of love and passion.

He held you like a precious thing, his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. You arched into him, matching his movements as he whispered your name, his voice hoarse and strained, his hands gripping your hips, his movements growing more frantic, his thrusts deeper, harder.

The stars above seemed to burn brighter, the fire flickered, and the forest became alive with the sound of night creatures and the rustle of leaves. The pressure within you built, the sensations becoming overwhelming, the tension almost unbearable.

You cried out, your body trembling as you reached your peak, the waves of pleasure coursing through you. He groaned, his body tensing, his fingers digging into your skin as he followed you, the world seeming to stand still, the night air thick with the scent of smoke, of earth, and the sweetness of pleasure.

The world came rushing back, and he rolled onto his side, pulling you close, his lips brushing against yours. You lay together, your bodies entwined, the sound of your heartbeat the only thing you could hear.

"I have never felt such happiness," you whispered, a smile on your face.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest, the sensation pleasant. "I'm glad I did not disappoint,"

You giggled, shaking your head. "You could never,"

"You are too kind," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You sighed, contentment washing over you. You gazed up at the stars, the vast expanse of the night sky making you feel small, but protected, sheltered in his arms. It was as if the entire universe had been created just for the two of you, as if nothing else mattered but this moment, the feeling of peace and contentment.

"You know," he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. "I think we can stay here for a while,"

"That sounds nice," you replied, nuzzling against his chest, the smell of his skin, the warmth of his body comforting.

He hummed in agreement, his hand stroking your back, the sensation soothing, the night air cool on your bare skin. The fire began to die down, and he rose to tend to it, the flames casting shadows across his body, the sight mesmerizing.

"It is strange," you said, propping yourself up on your elbow, watching him. "I never knew I could feel this way, so happy and peaceful,"

"Life is like that," he said, a thoughtful look on his face. "We often do not know what is waiting for us, but the path we follow leads to places we could never have imagined,"

You stood, grabbing the bottle of wine and walking over to him, your legs were trembling slightly and you tripped, falling into his arms, the red wine spilling over the both of you.

"Oh," you exclaimed, a blush creeping into your cheeks, his bare chest sticky with the sweet wine.

He chuckled, steadying you, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"I see that the mushrooms are having an effect,"

"Is it that obvious?" you asked, blushing, the blush deepening when he laughed.

"I believe the drink is helping as well,"

You looked up at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his hair messy, his skin flushed.

"I suppose so,"

You handed him the bottle, his gaze holding yours as he drank, the wine dribbling down his chin. You stared, mesmerized, the sight igniting a fire within you. You took his hand, pulling him closer, tasting the sweet liquid from his lips, the wine mingling with the taste of him. Then you pulled away as a strange thrill sparked within you, and you began to skip around the fire, laughing, your hair flying wildly, the stars seeming to twinkle brighter.

He laughed, his voice echoing through the night air, the sound making your heart race. He caught you in his arms, lifting you off the ground, twirling you around, the flames dancing around you, the night sky a canopy above, the fireflies sparkling in the darkness. You felt so wild and free, and you wanted to dance with him forever, to stay lost in the moment, the night a dream, the stars a song.

"You make me so happy,"

He gazed at you, his eyes filled with emotion, his expression tender. "As you make me, my love,"

You paused at his words, the weight of them sinking in, the realization that he truly loved you, that he felt the same way about you as you did about him.

"Elijah, I- I," you stammered, the words failing you.

"It's alright," he murmured, his lips grazing yours, his touch soft and gentle.

"I've never felt this way about anyone, I-" you gasped, the feelings too big for your words.

He smiled, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of closeness, of being wrapped in Elijah’s arms. But the reality of what you had just done, what you had been doing for weeks, began to sink in, bringing a wave of dread beneath the warmth.

“I’ve never known a life outside the convent,” you murmured, tracing delicate patterns on his skin, feeling the quiet pull of guilt. The convent’s walls, the endless rules, and the silent prayers suddenly felt a world away, and yet their shadow lingered.

“But now you have,” he whispered, his hand moving softly through your hair.

“What will become of me?” you asked, a tremor of fear slipping into your voice as you looked up at him. You thought of Mother Mathilde, of the church and their harsh lessons on purity and sin. The thought of facing them now, of explaining what you had done, made your heart pound with a quiet panic.

Elijah’s eyes softened, and a slight smile touched his lips. “We’ll go wherever the stars take us,” he promised. “The world is waiting for us.”

You bit your lip, a mixture of fear and excitement blooming inside you. The idea of leaving, of stepping beyond the safety of the convent walls, thrilled you in ways you could barely understand.

“Do you swear it?” you whispered, the question catching in your throat.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his gaze never wavering. “I swear it,” he said, his voice full of conviction.

"I love you," you breathed, the words tumbling from your lips.

He smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "And I love you, more than the stars and the sky,"

You closed your eyes, resting against him, feeling a warmth unlike any other. Yet, as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, a quiet fear lingered. The convent, the rules, the life you had always known... They weren’t gone. They waited for you.

You had defied God, broken every rule. And you would face the consequences.

The question was, when.

Freya entered the courtyard, carrying a cup of blood, and found Rebekah already seated beside Elijah, her hand resting gently on his arm as he sat in silence. Rebekah’s gaze was fixed on her brother, her eyes full of worry, unwilling to leave him alone in his grief. Elijah didn’t seem to notice her presence, his eyes distant and hollow, fixed somewhere beyond the walls around them.

Freya approached, giving her sister a small nod before placing the cup beside Elijah. He didn’t move to take it, but his eyes flickered, betraying a glimmer of longing. His skin was ashen, his hair unkempt, and his clothes were crumpled and torn. It was a painful sight for Freya and Rebekah, both of whom knew him as the ever-composed, dignified brother.

“You should feed,” Freya urged softly. “I’ve added some herbs that might help.”

“I am not hungry,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

Rebekah squeezed his arm gently, glancing up at Freya with a look that conveyed her own helplessness. “She wouldn’t want this for you, Elijah,” she said quietly, her voice full of tenderness and sorrow.

Elijah’s gaze shifted slightly, the grief in his eyes so profound that Rebekah felt it cut through her as sharply as a blade. “Don’t,” he said, his tone hard, as if even hearing your name spoken aloud was more than he could bear.

Freya and Rebekah exchanged a silent understanding, both realizing that Elijah’s pain was too raw, too deep to be soothed. The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of loss hanging thickly in the air.

“What did Klaus and Marcel find?” Elijah asked at last, his voice cracking, though he tried to keep it steady.

“Nothing so far,” Freya answered. “Not a lot of people left to question after-”

“After you dismembered most of the suspect pool,” Kol chimed in from the balcony above, his tone light, a mischievous grin on his face.

Elijah’s gaze sharpened, fixing on Kol with a coldness that might have made anyone else falter. Kol only smirked, strolling down the stairs to join them.

“You’re no help,” Freya hissed, irritated.

Kol grabbed the cup of blood and swirled it lazily, shrugging. “Not in your little murder investigation, no… But I do have something rather interesting to share.”

Elijah’s gaze flickered, the faintest trace of curiosity surfacing. “And what would that be?”

Rebekah looked up at Kol, her wariness evident. “What is this about?” she asked, her tone guarded.

“A spell,” Kol replied, setting the cup down and glancing between them, an almost devilish glint in his eyes. “A very old spell.”

Freya’s eyes narrowed. “Kol…” she warned, sensing where this was leading.

“A way to bring her back,” Kol said, his gaze drifting to Elijah.

Elijah sat up straighter, his expression a mix of disbelief and restrained hope. “Explain,” he demanded, his voice hard.

Kol’s smirk softened, his tone turning serious. “It's a spell that can bind two souls together, to form a connection that transcends death itself. A bond that can be used to pull a soul back into its original body, no matter how long they've been apart, no matter how many miles have stretched between them, or how deeply the grave has claimed them."

Elijah was on his feet, his eyes wild with a mixture of desperate hope and anger. "Why did you not come forward sooner?" he snarled, advancing toward Kol.

"Because I only just found the damn thing," Kol replied, not backing down. "It took months to translate the Latin, longer to decipher the incantation, and then I had to identify the ingredients."

Freya’s eyes narrowed. "Ingredients?" she asked, suspicion clear in her tone.

"Some of them are... difficult to come by," Kol said carefully. "And they require a rather unique skill set."

"Get to the point," Rebekah interjected, her gaze as cold and unyielding as Elijah’s.

Kol’s eyes flickered with a hint of challenge as he explained, "The spell requires a witch descended from a long and powerful bloodline. As well as a blood sacrifice, lots of blood."

"Human?" Freya asked, her expression hard.

Kol’s smile returned, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Oh, witch would suffice, or vampire."

"And this witch from a powerful bloodline? I’m guessing Freya can’t perform the spell," Rebekah said, her gaze sharp.

"You guess correctly, sister dear," Kol replied, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You’ve got a solution, and I’m not part of it?" Freya cut in, her tone incredulous.

"I wouldn’t dream of it, sister; we’ll need you. But this spell calls for more power than any single witch can provide," Kol explained, his gaze shifting between his siblings.

"Who do you have in mind?" Rebekah asked, her tone laced with suspicion. "Davina?"

“Absolutely not. My girl’s not getting involved in this,” Kol said firmly, his gaze hardening.

"Who then?" Rebekah pressed.

Kol’s grin returned. "Miss Bonnie Bennett, remember her? Lovely witch, very powerful, and quite capable of casting the spell."

"The Bennett witch?" Elijah echoed, skepticism in his voice.

"The very same," Kol said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "The problem is, we aren’t exactly on friendly terms. She won’t be eager to help us."

"What other ingredients do you need?" Elijah asked, his eyes boring into Kol.

"That's the tricky part," Kol sighed. "To pull her soul back, we need someone connected to her, someone who cares deeply for her."

"And?" Rebekah urged, sensing there was more.

“We need their heart,” Kol finished, his gaze flicking to Elijah. “The spell requires the heart of the person who loves her most.”

Silence fell as Elijah absorbed Kol’s words, his expression unreadable. His jaw clenched, the weight of the sacrifice sinking in, but he held Kol’s gaze steady. When he spoke, his voice was low and unwavering. "How soon can you get the Bennett witch here?"

"I'll go to Mystic Falls myself and fetch her," Kol replied, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"I'm coming with you," Rebekah said firmly.

"No," Kol shot back, his tone suddenly sharp.

Rebekah’s eyes flashed as she fixed him with an unwavering glare. "Why not?"

"You need to stay here, to take care of him,” Kol replied, gesturing toward Elijah. “We can't afford him going rogue again."

"I'm fine," Elijah snapped, his gaze hard.

"Sure you are," Kol quipped, a wry smile playing on his lips.

“Kol,” Freya cut in, her voice laced with warning.

"I won't be gone long, a few days at most," Kol said, looking between them.

Elijah’s jaw tightened, a flicker of conflict in his eyes. "Very well," he conceded, his tone resigned.

"Splendid," Kol said, his smile returning. "I'll leave immediately. I can make the flight tonight."

"I'm still coming with you," Rebekah insisted, her gaze locked on Kol.

Kol rolled his eyes, then relented. "Fine. Let's go,"

Rebekah nodded, rising to her feet. She placed a hand on Elijah’s shoulder, her gaze softening as she held his eyes a moment longer than necessary. “We’ll get her back, okay? No matter what.”

Elijah’s expression remained impassive, but when his gaze met hers, Rebekah saw a glimmer of hope… a faint belief that maybe, just maybe, you would return to him.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

[yondiii]

Dark Star {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Bound by love that defies centuries, Elijah Mikaelson will do whatever it takes to resurrect his lost wife. Even if it means forsaking everything he believes in. Once the north star guiding his family, his shattered heart now leads him down a darker path, transforming him into a version beyond redemption. A damned soul, drawing his family into an abyss they may never escape.

♡♡ Hello my lovely followers! This will be a six part series inspired by @njeancastro316 post about red door Elijah (Girl, I've been writing this non-stop since you tagged me! thank you for the inspo). I really put my whole heart into this one, {I even made a playlist to capture the vibes} exploring the depths of Elijah's character and his struggle between love and darkness. Enjoy! && expect pain... ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: angst, angst and more angst, grief, heartbreak, intense violence, red door Elijah, emotional turmoil, so much Mikaelson family drama {the whole gang is here && some faves from Mystic Falls will show up later}, No smut in this part, but prepare for plenty of darkness... oh! && croissants...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

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Prologue ~ Europe 13th Century

"This way!" A boy laughed as he darted beneath a low-hanging branch. Behind him, a small girl hurried along, lifting her skirt to keep up, her breath catching in short gasps.

"Slow down! Wait for me!" she called, tripping over roots and brambles in her haste. "I can't run as fast as you!"

The boy glanced back, grinning. "Then hurry, will you."

"We ought to be home by now." She replied, frowning.

"We are almost there," he replied, leaping over a fallen branch before turning to face her, eyes gleaming. "We can get home quicker through the woods."

"I don’t like it," she murmured, clutching her skirt tighter. Shadows crept over the path as the sun sank lower, casting an orange glow through the dense branches. "The hour grows late."

The boy shook his head, catching her hand with a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll be fine. It’s only a short way."

Reluctantly, she nodded, holding onto him. "If anything ill should happen, I’ll tell Mother."

He only laughed, tugging her down the narrow path. "If something ill happens, you may not get the chance!"

Their laughter echoed in the stillness as they raced ahead. The trees grew taller, their branches clawing toward the darkening sky, while thick underbrush crowded the trail, rustling with each step. Yet the children, lost in their game, scarcely noticed, laughing and squealing as they chased one another.

Then, a sound, a subtle, almost a whisper, seeped through the quiet. The girl stopped, clutching the boy’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

“What is it?”

“Shh,” she hissed, pulling him closer, her wide eyes searching the shadows. "Listen."

They stood in silence, the air heavy and still, broken only by their own quickening breaths.

“It’s nothing. Perhaps a deer-”

“No, it’s more than that,” she whispered. Somewhere ahead, faint and distant, came the flicker of firelight. And with it, laughter. Wild and strange.

“What is that?” the boy asked, his voice barely a breath.

“Quiet,” she said, creeping forward, pulling him toward the light.

They peered out from behind a tree, breath catching at the sight before them. A great fire blazed, roaring into the sky as shadows twisted around it. Two figures danced wildly around the flames, naked, their skin smeared with red and ash. Their laughter, sharp and otherworldly, pierced the night air.

The girl’s scream barely escaped her lips before the boy’s hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her back. They stumbled, clutching one another, then turned and fled, racing down the trail as fast as their little legs would carry them, branches clawing at their clothes.

By the time they burst into the village, their faces were pale, their breaths ragged. Villagers gathered around as the children stumbled forward, pointing frantically toward the woods.

“Demons!” the girl gasped, clutching at the skirts of the nearest woman. “They’re out there! In the forest!”

There was a hushed sadness over the compound. The lights seemed to have dimmed, and the atmosphere hung heavy, cold and suffocating. It had been that way since the night Elijah found your lifeless body on the cold pavement. The night that changed everything.

Rebekah didn’t like it here anymore. Her home felt more like a tomb than a residence. It was too quiet, too full of memories and emotions too painful to confront. Her big brother was suffering, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

She found Klaus sitting in the courtyard, staring blankly at a chessboard. The pieces were scattered, mid-game, but his focus seemed to drift in and out. Normally, this contemplative silence from him made her nervous, but today she couldn’t muster the energy to care. The weight of everything was too much.

“Any news?” Rebekah asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Klaus didn’t move, didn’t speak at first. He shifted a chess piece absentmindedly and shrugged.

The sound of Marcel’s footsteps echoed through the stillness of the courtyard. She felt one of his warm hands rest gently on the small of her back, and she leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence.

“I’ve been asking around. Only lead I have is that he’s somewhere in Europe,” Marcel said, his voice sounding hollow.

“Well, where in Europe?” Klaus finally spoke, his gaze never leaving the board.

“Don’t know. Haven’t pinpointed his exact location yet,” Marcel sighed. “But he’s been killing low-level Strix members, leaving bodies in his wake.”

Klaus scoffed softly, moving another piece on the board. “Keep looking,”

“You almost sound like you care,” Rebekah hissed, glaring at him.

“Don’t start with me, little sister,” Klaus warned, his voice low and sharp.

“Elijah has always been there for us,” she snapped, “And when he needs our help, where are you? Sitting here, playing chess with yourself.”

Klaus’s fist slammed down on the chessboard, sending the pieces flying across the table. He stood abruptly, stalking toward her, his eyes blazing. But Rebekah didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. She held his glare with her own, unrelenting.

“What do you want me to do?” Klaus roared, his voice cracking as his anger gave way to the grief simmering beneath. “Tell me, Rebekah. How do I fix this?”

“I want you to find him!” she screamed, tears stinging her eyes. “He’s our brother, Nik!”

Klaus’s shoulders slumped. His rage deflated, leaving him hollow. “I don’t know how to fix this, little sister,” he admitted quietly.

Marcel cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Maybe we should give him some time. Let him mourn her.”

“He’s not mourning, Marcel,” Klaus growled, clenching his jaw. “He’s murdering. He hasn’t even accepted that she’s dead.”

Rebekah and Marcel exchanged worried glances.

“We can’t just let him destroy himself,” Rebekah argued, her voice breaking. “Wherever he is, whoever crosses his path... they’re doomed. He’s out of control.”

“He’s changed,” Marcel muttered, rubbing his temple. “I’ve never seen him like this. So violent, so volatile.”

“That’s why I’m worried, Nik,” Rebekah said, her tone deadly serious. “If he’s not stopped, the Elijah we know will be gone. He will become a monster.”

Klaus looked down at the shattered chess pieces scattered across the table. “We are monsters, Rebekah,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“No, Nik,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

Klaus remained silent for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Suppose someone took Marcellus from you. What would you do?”

“I would raze this earth and dance on the ashes,” she answered without hesitation, the fire of her love and loyalty burning bright in her eyes.

“That’s what he’s doing,” Klaus said darkly.

“Yes,” Rebekah agreed, “but Elijah would come for me. He would find me, and help me, keep me from losing myself. Now he’s the one who needs help.”

“How do we stop him?” Marcel asked, though his voice was laden with doubt.

Klaus shook his head slowly. “We don’t.”

“Nik…” Rebekah started, her voice pleading.

“We contain the damage,” Klaus cut her off, the steely resolve returning to his voice. “I’ll go to Europe. I’ll bring him back.”

Rebekah exhaled, relief flooding through her, and she pulled Klaus into a tight hug. She didn’t say anything, just held him as though her arms alone could keep the family from falling apart. He hugged her back, and for a moment, the cracks in their family seemed to close.

Marcel stood behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

When she finally pulled away, Rebekah gave her brother a sad smile. “Be careful.”

Klaus nodded. “I will.”

His eyes flicked to Marcel, and the two men exchanged a knowing look. They both understood how dangerous this was. That if Elijah couldn’t be saved, they might lose him forever.

Or worse... they might have to put him down.

Two members of the Strix walked side by side, their steps echoing off the marble floors. One glanced around nervously, eyeing the high-tech security measures surrounding them, cameras in every corner, reinforced steel doors, layers of magical barriers.

"Is this really necessary? I can't stand being cooped up here. What's the point?" the taller vampire complained, his voice echoing through the empty corridor.

"Protocol," the other replied, his tone bored. "You know how paranoid Tristan can be. But I’m telling you, no one's getting in here. Not even him."

"I don’t get it. We had nothing to do with her death. Why are we hiding?"

"He doesn’t know that." The second vampire shook his head, his eyes flicking toward a monitor displaying multiple feeds from around the compound. “And he doesn’t seem to care about guilt or innocence anymore.”

They stopped at a reinforced door, pressing their palms to the scanners. As the heavy doors slid open, the two shared a final glance, the reality sinking in that even their supposed impenetrable defenses might not be enough.

They stepped into the dim room, illuminated only by the flickering light of the chandelier hanging above a long oak table. Strix members filled the chairs, their faces tense and uneasy. They had gathered in secret, far from prying eyes. Whispers of fear and uncertainty drifted across the room, but no one dared to speak above a murmur. The air was heavy with dread, and no one felt safe.

At the head of the table, Aya stood, her sharp gaze cutting through the room like a blade. She had always been the picture of composure, a pillar of strength, but now, her patience was thinning, her power waning, cracks in her armor where fear leaked through. Beside her, Tristan de Martel leaned casually in his chair, an amused smile playing on his lips, as if this was all a game to him. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of his fellow Strix members, reveling in their discomfort.

“We all know why we’re here,” Aya began, her voice cold and steady, but there was an underlying tension to it, like a string about to snap. “Our ranks are thinning, and the reason is no secret.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Heads turned, glances were exchanged. They knew. Everyone knew.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” Tristan added, his voice smooth and casual, as if he were discussing the weather. His eyes gleamed with a cruel delight. “The noble brother has gone rogue. It seems the death of his beloved has… unraveled him.”

"That's an interesting way of putting it," one Strix member commented, his voice dripping with disdain. "He ripped apart fifty of my men, left a trail of bodies and witnesses, it took me days to cover it all up,"

"And how many vampires has he killed since then? Hundreds? Thousands?" another voice chimed in, sounding bitter.

"You're just scared," another vampire challenged, his tone mocking.

"Of course, we're scared. Do you know what he's capable of?" the first vampire hissed, baring his teeth.

"Silence," Aya ordered, her tone icy. The room fell quiet, the air crackling with tension. "We cannot defeat him, nor can we sit by and wait for him to tear us apart. He has lost his humanity, and it's clear that we must take action."

"We have already taken action and all it does is piss him off," the Strix member grumbled, "I have no interest in fighting a losing battle."

"You're a coward," Aya snarled, her eyes flashing with anger.

"What would you have us do?" another vampire spoke up, their voice strained, "We're no match for him."

"Perhaps we should consider a bargain," Tristan suggested, a sly smirk creeping across his lips. "Find the killer, deliver them to him, and save ourselves the trouble of being murdered."

The members murmured amongst themselves, some seeming open to the idea, while others still appeared wary.

"I cannot fathom why someone would be so foolish. Surely the person who did this knows the repercussions," a member said, a hint of fear in their voice.

Tristan's smile widened. "They were foolish indeed, and now they are the most hunted man, or woman, in the world,"

Aya's face was impassive, her mind racing. She had no doubt that Elijah would tear down the world to find his killer, and if the Strix didn't deliver them, he would do the same to their ranks. Tristan's indifference infuriated her. While he sat there with a smile, the Strix were suffering the consequences of his poor leadership.

A soft little cough pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see a small girl standing at the other end of the table. She looked no older than twelve, with delicate features and wide, doe-like eyes. She looked lost, and this wasn't a place you could just wander into.

Other members noticed her presence and got to their feet, the scraping of chairs echoing off the walls. Aya narrowed her eyes, taking in the girl's appearance.

"Who are you?" Aya asked, her voice sharp.

The girl was clearly terrified, her hands shaking, and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Aya found it strange. She didn't sense the power of a witch coming off her, she was just a girl, and a very young one at that.

"I-I'm sorry," the girl stammered, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't know why I'm here. I just woke up here and now, I-I'm scared,"

"How did you get in here?" Aya questioned, her voice low and menacing.

"A nice man told me to come here," the girl mumbled, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the tense, hostile atmosphere. "He wanted me to talk to you."

Aya raised an eyebrow. "And why would he want that?"

The girl shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know, please, I just want to go home,"

"What did he look like?" Aya pressed, her voice growing louder.

"He had dark hair, and brown eyes," the girl sniffled, trying to hold back her sobs.

Tristan's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing dangerously. The room was suddenly silent, the tension now unbearable. Aya stared at the girl, her face an unreadable mask, but inside, her mind was racing.

"What did he want you to say?" Aya asked, her voice quiet, dangerous.

The girl’s breath hitched, her words barely audible. "That... he will give all of you a slow death."

The temperature in the room plummeted, and a cold shiver ran down Aya’s spine. She struggled to hide her unease, but the implication was clear: Elijah had infiltrated their sanctuary.

"A-and that... if I can get in..." The girl gulped, her small voice quaking, "He can too."

The room fell into a suffocating silence as the weight of her words settled on the group. Tristan shot up from his chair, his face dark with fury.

“Lockdown procedures. Now.” Tristan barked, his voice commanding and harsh.

"What about the girl?" Aya asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the trembling child. Her instincts told her something wasn’t right.

"Kill her," Tristan spat, his voice cold and merciless. "She’s served her purpose."

The room erupted into chaos. Sirens blared as the compound went into immediate lockdown. The lights flickered, dimming to an eerie glow. The Strix moved quickly, vanishing into the shadows, their bodies blurring as they scattered, heading for safe rooms or exit points.

Aya hesitated for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the girl. She started toward her, but a voice in her head warned her against it. With one last glance, she turned and hurried toward the safe room.

The little girl stood trembling in the darkness, tears streaming down her face. The once-imposing vampires had fled, leaving her all alone in the icy silence.

"It's okay, sweetheart," a voice purred from the shadows, smooth and calming. The girl gasped, her heart racing as she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm yet oddly comforting.

She turned to see a tall man standing behind her, his dark hair framing his sharp features, his kind eyes watching her closely. "Run along now," he said softly, giving her a gentle push toward the door.

The girl nodded quickly, wiping her tears before scampering away, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss.

Elijah watched her go, his kind smile fading as the room returned to darkness. His eyes glinted coldly, the warmth in them vanishing like smoke. Slowly, the veins beneath his eyes darkened, spreading like cracks in the surface of his calm exterior.

He was already inside.

As the sirens echoed, he vanished into the shadows once more, his presence like a gathering storm. And what followed this storm, was pure, unrelenting destruction.

The soft drone of a news broadcast drifted through an abandoned loft, dust floating through the air. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, the room dark and shadowy, save for the light of a flickering TV. The anchor woman's face was somber, her voice solemn.

“Une tragédie a frappé Paris la nuit dernière... un incendie dévastateur a détruit un immeuble historique, laissant peu de traces de ce qui s’y trouvait. Les autorités locales confirment que l’origine du feu demeure inconnue, mais la rapidité à laquelle il s’est propagé soulève des questions.”

Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen in English: "A tragic accident struck Paris last night... a devastating fire destroyed a historic building, leaving few traces of what was inside. Local authorities confirm that the cause of the fire is unknown, but the speed at which it spread raises questions."

The camera cut to images of the smoldering wreckage. Blackened stone, twisted metal, and fire trucks still spraying water over what little remained.

Elijah wasn't paying attention to the TV anymore; he had his head in his hands, hunched over in a chair, his body wracked with sobs. Bodies were strewn about the room, blood spattered on the walls and floors. A macabre painting of violence and rage. The sight of the lifeless forms weighed heavily on him, a chilling reminder of his own actions.

He didn't know how long he had been there, but it felt like an eternity. Each day blended into the next, the hours stretching into a meaningless void. Days would go by where he felt utterly detached, lost in a sea of grief and loss, and then the anger would return, awakening him to a new trail of bodies. There were so many, too many, and yet it wasn't enough.

“Les témoins affirment avoir vu des ombres avant que l’incendie n’éclate, mais aucune preuve tangible n’a été trouvée. Des sources proches de l’enquête évoquent une possible attaque ciblée, bien que les détails restent flous.”

"Witnesses reported seeing shadows before the fire broke out, but no physical evidence has been found. Sources close to the investigation say there may have been a targeted attack, though details remain unclear."

"You used a child? My love, what has become of you?"

Elijah didn't flinch, didn't react as he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, your lips pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your voice was soft, tinged with sadness and disappointment. He hated himself for it.

"She's fine," Elijah said, his voice strained, barely able to meet your gaze.

"You don't know that," you sighed, your hands moving to his chest, trying to soothe him. "And you know this isn't the way,"

"There is no other way," he replied, his voice cracking, desperation lacing his words.

"You used an innocent child, one not much older than Hope," you said, a hint of anger breaking through your sadness.

Elijah stiffened. He knew you were right. It didn't make what he did any better, and he felt his self-loathing increase tenfold.

"They killed you; I did what I had to," Elijah defended, but the words felt hollow, a pitiful excuse.

"This isn't the way," you repeated, your voice pleading, "and you don't know who did it, or why. This is all just a guess, a hunch."

He let out another quiet sob, then grabbed his glass of blood and threw it against the wall, the shards falling like crimson rain. He stared at the stain on the wall, watching the liquid trickle down, and he couldn't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

"You have to stop," you whispered, appearing in front of him, your hand cupping his cheek, trying to pull him away from the dark, destructive spiral he was on.

"I can't," he said, his voice breaking, unable to look at you, this ghost haunting him.

"Please," you begged, your hand moving to his neck, gently stroking his skin, trying to comfort him. "I know this pain. It's agony, it's consuming, but I promise you, it will fade."

He pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close, trying to breathe in your scent, to feel your warmth. But he couldn't. You were an echo, a phantom he couldn't grasp.

"You can't bring me back. You know that," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, sad reminder.

He didn't respond, just held you, his fingers digging into your skin, his eyes closed tightly, fighting back tears. He had spent so many nights like this, crying himself to sleep, waking up to nothing, just an empty bed, a cold room, and a hollow, broken heart.

He opened his eyes and let out a gasp as he realized he was clinging to one of the dead bodies on the floor, the vampire's skin gray and decaying, the body long since gone cold.

Elijah released the body and staggered to his feet, his head swimming with despair and self-loathing. His pain and sorrow gave way to anger and frustration, fueling the urge to hurt, to destroy anything and anyone.

"Par ailleurs, une jeune fille a disparu après ne pas être rentrée chez elle. La jeune fille, qui aurait douze ans, a été vue pour la dernière fois dans la zone de l'incendie,"

"In other news, a young girl has gone missing after failing to return home. The girl, who is reported to be twelve years old, was last seen in the area of the fire..."

Elijah snapped, grabbing the TV and throwing it against the wall, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. His rage burned bright, a hot, white flame. His heart raced, his breathing ragged, his body shaking with fury.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to kill, but more than anything, he wanted you. He wanted to hold you, to feel your warmth, to hear your voice. He couldn't take it anymore; he was falling apart.

Klaus was never a big croissant fan; he preferred something heartier for breakfast. But here, in France, the flaky pastry seemed to taste infinitely better. Maybe it was the morning sunlight filtering through the café windows or the distant sounds of bustling streets.

He took a sip of his espresso, his eyes scanning the crowded café, absorbing the lively atmosphere. Freya sat across from him, her brow furrowed as she read a spell book, her expression thoughtful.

"Anything in there about wrangling wayward siblings?" Klaus teased, a wry grin playing on his lips.

Freya glanced up, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "That's more your area of expertise."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter. "Fair enough."

Freya’s expression softened, a small smile breaking through. "It will be okay. We'll find him."

Klaus nodded, biting into his croissant, the flakes melting in his mouth. The clatter of dishes and murmurs of conversation surrounded them, along with the distant strains of a busker playing a violin.

"Then what? I’ve never known what to say to him," Klaus said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "He’s always the one with the wise words, not me."

"Honesty is all we have," Freya replied, her tone gentle. "We tell him we miss him, that he’s our brother, and we want him home."

"And that we need to have a funeral, or at least a memorial. Hope is very confused about what happened to her aunt," Klaus added, his gaze drifting to the people walking by the window.

"We'll do it together, as a family," Freya reassured, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her touch was gentle, a lifeline in the turmoil. "He needs to know we’re here for him."

"And if he doesn’t want to come back? What then?" Klaus asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it." Freya pointed at the spell book, her expression brightening. "I’m looking into ways to calm his mind. Perhaps if he can control his rage, he can start to heal."

"I don’t wish to subdue him," Klaus said, frowning. "He deserves the right to his pain, to grieve in his own way."

Freya’s eyes widened, surprised by his response. It wouldn’t be the first time Klaus had tried to force Elijah or the rest of their family into doing things his way. Yet, despite his brashness, she knew Klaus was a man of deep, powerful emotions, capable of empathy.

"What?" Klaus asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"You’ve grown," Freya smiled. "It’s good to see."

"Don’t get used to it," Klaus quipped, taking another bite of his croissant and washing it down with a sip of his espresso. "I wish for us to go back to normal, where I’m the problem."

"You’ll never not be a problem, Nik," Freya grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Rude," he scowled.

"But true," she sighed, returning to her book with a smile.

Klaus took another sip of his espresso, his gaze drifting to the TV hanging in the corner. A news broadcast caught his attention, the images of a fire flickering on the screen. He leaned forward, his expression sharpening as he listened intently.

"De nouvelles informations proviennent de l'enquête sur l'incendie du centre-ville de Paris. La police a désormais identifié plus de deux cents corps retrouvés sur les lieux, sans aucune indication pour l'instant du nombre de personnes portées disparues. Il semblerait que les victimes étaient toutes membres de une société privée de conservation d'œuvres d'art, possédant des participations dans plusieurs pays. Alors que les autorités enquêtent toujours sur la cause de l'incendie, il a été suggéré que l'incendie avait été allumé délibérément.”

"There is new information coming in from the investigation into the fire in downtown Paris. Police have now identified more than two hundred bodies recovered from the scene, with no indication yet of how many are still missing. It's believed the victims were all members of a private art curation company, with holdings in several countries. While authorities are still investigating the cause of the blaze, it's being suggested the fire was set deliberately."

Klaus’s stomach dropped, a familiar dread creeping in. The timing was too convenient, and this 'art curation company' sounded like a cover for a secret society. He gestured to the screen, espresso still in hand, splashing a few drops onto the table. "Looks like a place for us to visit, wouldn’t you say?"

Freya looked up, her brow furrowing. "Do you think Elijah has anything to do with it?"

"If this organization is the Strix -sorry, was the Strix- then absolutely," Klaus replied, a grim smile forming on his lips. "Perhaps they gave him the answers he was looking for. Answers we weren’t able to find."

"I can’t imagine it would have been a pleasant reunion," Freya sighed, shaking her head. "I can’t say I blame him."

Klaus’s smile faded. He had tried his best, searching for months through the ashes of Elijah’s rage. He had gone from city to city, country to country, even continent to continent. And now, as he stood on the brink of discovery, he couldn’t help but wonder what condition Elijah would be in when they finally found him.

"Well then, no point in wasting any more time," Klaus said, taking a final sip of his espresso.

Freya nodded, closing her book, quickly downing her coffee before stealing the last bite of Klaus’s croissant, earning a playful glare.

"Oi!" he growled, "I was going to eat that."

"Too slow, brother," she smirked.

Klaus rolled his eyes and stood, tossing a wad of cash on the table without bothering to count. The two of them hurried out, the waiter shaking his head as he picked up the money and Klaus's empty plate.

"Americans," he muttered under his breath.

The site of the fire was a blackened husk, the acrid smell of smoke still heavy in the air. Klaus and Freya walked along the sidewalk, watching the firefighters douse the smoldering remains with water. Distant sirens echoed, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

"Can't believe it's still burning," Klaus mused, a slight frown on his face.

"Must have been quite the inferno," Freya remarked, her expression thoughtful.

"Magic?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I don't sense any," Freya said, shaking her head. "Whoever started it didn't use magic."

Klaus glanced at her, a smirk on his lips. "I thought you didn't think Elijah had anything to do with it?"

Freya shrugged. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't."

Klaus wrinkled his nose, his keen sense of smell picking up the lingering scent of blood beneath all the ash and smoke. Human, vampire, a mix of the two. The fire had raged through the night, burning hot and fast, devouring everything in its path.

"I do sense death, though," Freya murmured, her brow furrowing, her expression darkening. "Lots of it."

"Well, I can't imagine there'll be much left for us to find, considering how thorough my brother is," Klaus muttered, his gaze roving over the ruined buildings, his stomach sinking.

"Why are you so sure it was him?" Freya asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Because I can smell his cologne, no1 passant guardant," Klaus replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Kinda weird that you can smell that, Nik," Freya smirked, giving him a sideways glance.

"I'm a hybrid, love; it's one of my many gifts," Klaus replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Freya shook her head, a wry grin on her lips, suppressing a giggle as she watched her brother sniff the air, his eyes closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

"Could be someone else with the same taste in cologne; you never know," she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

"It’s very difficult to come by; only a handful of stores carry it," Klaus muttered, ignoring her teasing. "And... she bought it for him just before... you know."

"Ah," Freya's expression softened, her amusement replaced by a mix of sadness and understanding.

Klaus opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the destruction once more, the weight of grief settling on his shoulders. He missed you. Your laughter, your wit, the way you could put him in his place. He admired your loyalty, your strength, and how much you loved his brother.

"What are you thinking about?" Freya asked, her voice quiet and cautious.

"Our departed sister-in-law... the cause of all of this," Klaus said, a sad smile on his lips.

"You can't blame her, you know," Freya murmured, her eyes filled with understanding and sympathy. "I miss her too."

"It's hard to be reminded, is all," Klaus replied, a hint of pain in his voice.

Freya gave him a soft, sympathetic smile, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder. "You know... I never learned how they met," she said, trying to steer the conversation toward something less melancholy.

Klaus laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it's quite a tale, and some parts I'm not privy to. But I can tell you that she was a novice in a convent," he began, a sparkle in his eye.

"A nun?!" Freya exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up.

"Indeed, although she hadn't taken her vows," Klaus chuckled, amused by the surprised look on her face.

"So, what happened? How did they end up together?" Freya asked, intrigued.

"For all parties involved, it was quite a dramatic affair," Klaus continued, a wistful smile forming on his lips. "But we have more important things to focus on, don't you think?"

Freya sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're no fun."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter and returned to focusing on the scents around him, trying to find a trail, something that might lead him to his brother. He caught the faintest whiff of blood, the scent leading away from the fire, and deeper into the city.

"This way," he said, striding confidently down a street, away from the site of the fire.

Freya hurried to catch up, her long legs making short work of the distance, her boots clattering on the cobblestone streets.

"How can you be so sure?" Freya asked, falling in step beside him, her voice low and cautious.

"I just am," Klaus said, his tone brooking no argument. "That bloody cologne of his is everywhere. No one else has such atrocious taste in fragrances."

"Nik..." Freya cautioned, her tone warning, her gaze flickering to the passersby, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "We don't know what's waiting for us. We can't just charge in."

"I know; that's why you are going in first, my dear sister," Klaus smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Nik," Freya protested, her expression indignant.

"Don't worry, I'll be right behind you," Klaus grinned, giving her a playful nudge as they rounded a corner.

The two of them came to a stop outside an old building, its stone façade crumbling, the windows boarded up. Klaus gestured for Freya to go in, and with a roll of her eyes, she did.

"This place is creepy," she muttered, her boots echoing on the cracked tile floor.

"There's blood, a lot of it," Klaus said, sniffing the air, his eyes closed, his body tensed. "Upstairs."

They made their way up an old spiral staircase, the steps creaking under their feet. They reached a landing; the hallway was dark and narrow.

"Down there," Klaus said, pointing at a closed door at the end of the hall.

Freya nodded and slowly approached the door, her senses alert, her magic tingling under her skin. It was eerily quiet; the silence weighed heavy in the air, pressing down on her.

She stopped at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. She looked back at Klaus, his expression calm and composed, but she could sense his nervousness, his apprehension.

"Ready?" she whispered.

Klaus gave her a curt nod. Freya took a deep breath and turned the handle, the door opening with a creak.

"Elijah?"

The two of them were met with the sight of a massacre: body parts strewn across the room, blood splattered on the walls.

Freya gasped and took a step back, Klaus's hand gripping her shoulder. His eyes roved over the carnage, landing on a lone figure in the middle of the room, standing motionless.

"Elijah," Klaus breathed.

His brother was wearing an old T-shirt and jeans, tattered and bloodstained, covered in dirt. His hair was matted and wild, his eyes haunted, the light dimmed within them.

Klaus and Freya stepped inside, careful not to slip on the blood, the floor sticky and wet. They approached Elijah slowly, his gaze fixed on the severed arm in his hand, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"Brother?" Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand reaching out.

"You are not real," Elijah murmured, not taking his eyes off the limb, his expression vacant and distant.

"Elijah, we're here," Freya said gently. "It's time to come home."

"I won't be fooled again," Elijah hissed, his grip tightening on the severed arm.

Klaus took a tentative step forward, one arm stretched behind him to protect Freya, the other held out, placating and non-threatening. "We're not illusions, brother," he said softly, reassuringly.

"Freya," Elijah breathed, his head snapping up, his gaze finding hers.

"Yes, Elijah, it's me," she replied, giving him a gentle smile.

He blinked, his eyes flicking from her face to Klaus's, his brow furrowing. "Have you found a way to bring her back?"

Klaus and Freya exchanged glances, their expressions sad and resigned. It wasn't something Freya wanted to do... to tap into such dark magic. She had been searching for you on the other side but found no trace. She believed you had found peace, and to tear you away from that would be a cursed, evil thing, an affront to the balance between life and death.

"Elijah, there's no way, not without consequence," Klaus said, his tone firm, his eyes filled with regret. "We discussed this."

Elijah dropped the severed arm, his hands clenching into fists. "You're wrong. There is a way."

"Elijah," Freya began, but he cut her off.

"Bring her back," he demanded, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I can't," Freya said, her voice quiet and regretful. "I'm sorry, Elijah. She's gone; she's at rest."

"No, no, no," Elijah growled, his hands coming up to grip his hair, tugging at the roots, his chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Brother, she's in a better place," Klaus tried, his tone firm and reassuring. "I think it's time you come home... You need to let her go."

Elijah shook his head, his breathing ragged, his whole body trembling. "No, no, no," he chanted, his eyes darting around the room, looking for something.

"Elijah," Freya murmured, her brow furrowed, her expression concerned. "Please, come with us. She wouldn't want this for you."

"No, no, no!" he growled, his voice echoing off the blood-spattered walls, his face contorted in a mask of rage.

He grabbed a nearby table and threw it against the wall, the sound of splintering wood reverberating through the air.

"Bloody hell," Klaus growled, grabbing Freya and yanking her backward, shielding her with his body.

Elijah lunged at them, his fangs bared, a murderous look in his eyes. He tackled Klaus, sending them both crashing into the wall, the plaster cracking under the impact.

"Nik!" Freya exclaimed, her magic sparking at her fingertips.

"Elijah, you've gone mad," Klaus grunted, shoving him away, sending him careening across the room. "She's dead."

"Niklaus," Elijah growled, his body vibrating with anger, the haunted, hollow look in his eyes replaced by raw, unhinged rage. "Bring. Her. Back."

"We can't, and you know it," Klaus spat, his eyes flashing yellow, his face shifting into the hybrid’s feral features. "She's at peace, Elijah. We need to let her go."

"I won't, I can't," Elijah raged, his body trembling, his eyes filling with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. His voice broke. "How can you ask me to do that?"

Freya’s heart clenched at the sight of her brother unraveling, his usual restraint shattered. "Come home, please," Freya pleaded, her eyes welling with tears, her voice thick with desperation. "We can help you."

Elijah's chest heaved, his wild eyes shifting from Klaus to Freya, barely recognizing them. "Get out," he growled, the words vibrating through the bloodstained room. His gaze locked on Klaus, his voice turning into a vicious snarl. "GET OUT!"

Klaus stared at him for a moment, his expression conflicted. Freya watched him pull a silver dagger out of his pocket, the familiar glint of the cursed weapon that had subjugated their family time and time again. She hadn't even known he had brought one with him, and her heart clenched at the sight. She didn’t want this for either of them. But given Elijah's state, she knew it was necessary.

"I'm sorry, Elijah," Klaus said, his voice solemn. He rushed forward, his movements a blur, and before Elijah could react, he buried the blade in his brother’s chest. The gasp Elijah let out echoed in the empty, ravaged room. The look on his face was heartbreaking, a mixture of shock and pain. Klaus had to steel himself against the emotion threatening to overtake him, reminding himself it was for the best, for all of them.

"Rest now, brother," Klaus murmured, pulling him into a tight embrace, cradling his body as Elijah slumped, his strength leaving him. His big brother, the north star of the family, now lost to grief.

"I thought you didn't want to subdue him," Freya whispered, her voice shaky, her eyes wide with shock as she pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"It was a last resort," Klaus said, his voice thick with emotion, trying and failing to hide the crack in his composure. "I couldn't bear seeing him like this any longer. I didn't think... he would be so... unhinged."

"He's grieving," Freya said softly, her eyes filled with sympathy as she knelt beside them, brushing a hand through Elijah’s matted hair. "He loves her, Nik. Losing her... it's broken him."

"I know," Klaus muttered, his arms tightening around Elijah, holding him close as if he could protect him from the demons he was fighting inside. His voice cracked, and before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek. Quickly, he wiped it away, trying to maintain his strength.

"Time to go home," Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with sorrow. "For all of us."

Freya reached out, gently taking Elijah's limp hand in hers, squeezing it tight as they prepared to leave the nightmare behind. She hoped and prayed that Elijah could feel her love through the numbness, that somewhere, deep within the wreckage of his mind, he knew they would never give up on him.

That the battle to bring you back hadn’t been in vain. It had only just begun.

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

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When y/n does something so cringe that i have to look at the invisible camera for a sec.

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Missing the oversized jacket 🥲💛

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when im being asked a question, but i was busy daydreaming about __ x y/n

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Joao Felix ball today

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Y'all are gonna have to pry Brooklyn 99 from my cold dead hands

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4 hrs no spencer smut or character ai

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this should be on the cm tiktok

this would be such a great season

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😏😏

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HIS EYES 🤤🤤🤤

anyways can’t wait until summer and all the spencer writers are active again

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patiently waiting for summer so everyone’s active again and i have a million stories to read