Kol POV
It's always so bloody easy to rile up Elijah.
The man hasn't removed the stick up his arse for a millennium, and it all started with that face. I never understood the appeal—brooding eyes, a permanent frown, and that holier-than-thou attitude. Oh yes, very enticing.
If self-control were a religion, Elijah would be its only priest left standing, preaching repentance while drowning quietly in his own sins.
Now, Katerina? I do love her. There's something about that unique blend of Petrova fire and loyalty—when she's not running for her life, that is. And hidden deep, beneath all the self-serving manipulation, there's a streak of self-sacrifice for those she considers hers. Not that Elijah has the balls to be one of them.
She's chaos dressed as grace, survival masquerading as charm—and I can't help but admire it. She doesn't just endure the world; she bends it, bleeds it dry, then walks away in stilettos.
That's the problem with him, isn't it? He'd rather suffer in silence than just ask for her forgiveness and take what he wants. Classic Elijah—if it's not a self-inflicted punishment, he's not interested. He's convinced that if he makes a move, Nik will rip her heart out for old times' sake.
He mistakes restraint for virtue, but all I see is a man too afraid of the fire to feel its warmth.
And while I'm all for betting on Nik's worst instincts, he really doesn't need to bother. Sure, massacring her entire family was dramatic—even for us. And hunting her through the first century? Well, that was a bit excessive. But after that? It was for the fun of it. Katerina's a survivor, and there's nothing more amusing than watching someone that clever twist every disaster to her advantage. Nik respects that. Frankly, so do I.
There's artistry in her defiance—a beautiful, reckless sort of desperation that makes even immortals stop to watch.
Elijah, though? He's always been the white knight. The kind of man who wears honor like a second skin and looks down on anyone who doesn't fit his precious ideals. In the old days, at least he was honest about how much powerful women unnerved him—now, he just pretends to be above it all while sneering behind his glass of scotch.
He plays the part of the gentleman, but all that civility is just armor for guilt. And guilt, my dear brother, is the most addictive vice of all.
As for me? Man, woman—it's all the same. At the end of the day, men think with their logic and their dicks, and women think with their hearts—until the real world teaches them better. That's when you see the true gems. The ones who survive, who carve power out of thin air. If I could've convinced Katerina to work with me, I would have. But if she's eluding these two idiots, she'll only think I'm hunting her if I start poking around.
And if there's one thing I know, it's that nothing spices up eternal life like a little chaos.
Nik, for all his tantrums and murder sprees, does keep things entertaining. But lately? He's gotten predictable. Same threats, same paranoia, same tedious obsession with his precious hybrids. It's all very... one-note. Honestly, if he spent half as much time thinking as he did brooding, we might all be in trouble.
He wants to be king, yet he's still a boy chasing approval from ghosts.
But no—he's too busy trying to build a kingdom no one wants while pretending he isn't desperate for family approval. Pathetic, really. Not that I'd ever say that to his face. I do have a survival instinct, after all.
And Elijah? Well, he's no better. All that moral posturing, and yet here we are—again—watching him agonize over a woman he could have if he'd just grow a spine. But no, better to suffer nobly in silence. If I rolled my eyes any harder, they'd fall out of my head.
At least Katerina keeps things interesting. She's one of the few people smart enough to stay ten steps ahead—and just unhinged enough to make it entertaining. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious how far she'll go this time.
But first, there's the matter of Silas. Now, that's a name I haven't thought about in a while. I always thought he was more myth than man—a bedtime story to scare young witches into behaving. Immortality with no strings attached? I'd be impressed if it wasn't so reckless. Magic always has a price. Always. And if this Professor—what's his name? Shane?—is stirring the pot, I want to know how deep he's digging.
There's only one Bennett witch left, which is a shame. No more Expression magic to play with—that was the only reason I bothered accepting her as my apprentice in the first place. Still, you never know. Maybe one of her ancestors will grow a backbone. Or perhaps, after centuries of pouting, dear old Qetsiyah will finally decide to get off her high horse.
Still, I'm curious. It's not every day someone tries to wake an ancient immortal. And if he succeeds? Well, let's just say I'm always up for a little mayhem.
Not that I'm worried. I've seen enough fools chase after power they can't control. It never ends well—for them, anyway. For me? It's free entertainment.
And if Silas does rise? Oh, I do hope he's worth the hype. Otherwise, this will be a colossal waste of my time.
General POVBonnie and Caroline were curled up in what Caroline had oh-so-helpfully dubbed "Bonnie's witch hideout."
It wasn't much—just an old room in Grams' house. It smelled faintly of sage and candle wax, the air humming with traces of old spells. But Bonnie liked it that way. It was quiet, hidden, and most importantly, far from all things Salvatore.
It felt like the only corner of the world that still belonged to her.
Caroline, of course, had taken one look at the clutter and declared war. After a solid hour of obsessive cleaning—because God forbid a single cobweb survive under Caroline Forbes' reign—they'd finally settled on the couch with a stack of movies and a bottle of wine Bonnie had "borrowed" from the Mystic Grill.
Halfway through their second glass, Bonnie set her drink down and sighed. "So... how are you feeling about this whole Elena situation? Should we—I don't know—be doing something? Like, figure out if she's transitioning or not?"
For a second, Caroline didn't respond. Her grip on the wine glass tightened, the stem creaking faintly under pressure. Her usual sunny expression dimmed, lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.
The silence before her words was heavy enough to count as an answer.
When she finally spoke, her voice was cool—too cool. "Honestly? There's no way she isn't picking vampirism. I mean, come on—who knows what kind of kinky blood-soaked nonsense she and Damon were up to before she had you wipe her memories clean? God forbid she deal with reality like a normal person. And let's be real, Bonnie—she's not the girl I thought was my friend. Maybe she never was."
Bonnie blinked, the words hitting harder than she expected. "That's… a little harsh."
Caroline let out a bitter laugh. "Harsh? Please. This is me being generous. You remember how fast she went after Matt after I told her I liked him? And don't even get me started on her whole 'best friends forever' routine with you—she didn't start playing that card until you and I became as close as sisters."
There was hurt beneath the venom, old wounds disguised as sarcasm.
Bonnie's shoulders tensed, but Caroline barreled on, voice rising with every word. "I miss those days, Bon. Back when we'd just hang out—sleepovers at my place, messing around at Grams' house, worrying about prom dresses instead of body counts. But Elena?" She scoffed. "Elena has always been a manipulative, political, green-tea bitch. You know the type—the ones who act all sweet and innocent while pulling every string behind the scenes. And she always, always made sure the power stayed with her."
"You don't really think—"
"Oh, I do." Caroline cut her off, eyes flashing. "I was such an idiot. I spent years trying to prove I could be better than her. I basically run this town—socially, at least. Everyone listens to me. But still, I compared myself to her like it was some competition. And Damon—ugh." She rolled her eyes, but there was no humor in it. "Sleeping with him was supposed to be fun. Stupid, meaningless fun. Instead, it turned into months of horror. And guess who knew about vampires the whole time and didn't think to warn me? I wonder."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Bonnie stared at her friend, torn between sympathy and unease.
This wasn't anger for anger's sake. This was grief, dressed up as defiance.
"And after I turned," Caroline continued, softer but no less sharp, "where was my support system? Oh, that's right—nonexistent. No one in my world stood by me. Not her. Not anyone. So, no, Bonnie—I don't give a damn anymore if Elena wants to spend eternity in a Salvatore sandwich. If she gets off on Damon playing his special brand of psychopathic seduction, that's her problem. And if she wants to shack up with poor, broody little Stefan? Whatever. But for Caroline Forbes?" She leaned back against the couch, raising her glass in a mock toast. "I'm done caring."
Bonnie sighed, shaking her head. "You're still angry."
"And why shouldn't I be?" Caroline snapped. "She played us both, and we let her. I'm not wasting any more tears on Saint Elena Gilbert."
For a moment, Bonnie said nothing. She just studied Caroline's face—the careful armor of lipstick and wit doing nothing to hide the exhaustion underneath. Her friend looked radiant in the dim light, but it was the kind of beauty forged by pain, not joy.
"You don't mean all of that," Bonnie said quietly.
Caroline snorted. "Don't I?"
The pause stretched between them, heavy and familiar.
Bonnie bit her lip, torn between calling her out and letting it slide. Finally, she sighed. "Fine. But if she's transitioning, it's not a joke. We're going to have to deal with whatever mess comes next. And deep down, you know you'll care—whether you want to or not."
Caroline didn't answer. She just stared at the flickering light of the TV screen, her reflection caught between shadows and glass.
For a second, Bonnie thought she saw something flicker in her friend's eyes—not guilt, not regret, but weariness.
Maybe she was just tired of being the one left behind.
The room fell quiet again, the hum of the old house filling the spaces their words left behind. And maybe—just maybe—that silence was all the answer Bonnie needed.
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Hello Everyone,
So first of all, I want to apologize to you guys. I've been suffering from some health issues, and on top of that, I had to complete my obligations in terms of posting attendance and preparing for my finals. Hence, I couldn't even open my drafts due to lack of time.
Because of my health issues, I couldn't even write properly — it was trash. I was suffering from side effects of the medicine, which generally causes lethargy and brain fog.
Now I am back to normal timings. Even though I have finals from next Monday, I will be posting some chapters today and throughout the rest of the week till Saturday, whenever I have some free time.
Thank you guys for following me till now, and please do forgive me if the following chapters are not up to the mark — I will try to rectify any problems afterward.
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