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You were never the chosen one.

You were never the favorite. You were the sister of Damon and Stefan — the glitch in the Salvatore bloodline, the chapter nobody asked to read.

Stefan tried to understand you. Damon didn’t bother.

Until tonight— when you became something neither of them recognized. The ripper switch didn’t flick— it detonated.

Your mind shorted out, world collapsing into blood, heat, instinct.

You didn’t lunge — you manifested in front of Damon, fangs already in his throat before anyone blinked.

You tore into him like you’d been starving for years. There was no thought — just consume.

Damon’s hands shoved at you, shock morphing into something closer to fear.

“Get—her—OFF—”

You didn’t hear words. Just pulse.

Stefan grabbed you from behind, arms around your shoulders, dragging you backward as you snarled and snapped at Damon even while restrained.

You weren’t a person— you were a problem.

Stefan lost grip twice because your strength spiked, unnatural, feral, relentless.

Blood smeared on the floor. Damon stumbled back, clutching his neck.

His eyes locked on you— not angry, not mocking— hurt.

Then Stefan’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Throw her in there before she kills someone.”

He didn’t want to say it but he meant it.

Your head jerked up, vision flickering, and that was the moment they realized:

You weren’t coming back on your own.

The vervain needle hit your neck like napalm. Your scream didn’t sound human — it warped, cracked, died.

You collapsed, twitching, eyes glassy, still trying to crawl toward Damon even while your body shut down.

Stefan stepped back, shaken. Hands trembling.

Damon just stared at you— blood on his throat, jaw tight, expression unreadable.

Then he moved.

Stefan reached for you first, but Damon brushed him aside.

“I’ve got her.”

His voice was sharp, but his hands weren’t.

He lifted you — not thrown, not dragged — carried. Even now, he couldn’t stop himself from being gentle.

Your head against his chest, your fingers curled weakly in his shirt, the monster in you finally quiet.

His breath was uneven, but his grip was steady.

Because no matter how much he resented you, no matter how much he swore he didn’t care—

blood is blood.

And Damon Salvatore never brutalizes family. He just removes the threat.

The cellar door screeched open. Cold stone. Iron chains. Vervain in the air.

He set you on the cot gently, adjusting your arm so it wouldn’t lay twisted, brushing blood from your cheek with his thumb.

Stefan couldn’t watch. He turned away, guilt all over him.

Damon stared at you, jaw clenched, eyes too soft for his words.

“You're going to hate me for this."

His voice cracked on the last word — barely.

Then the lock slammed, leaving you in darkness.

Not the chosen one. Not the favorite.

Just the ripper sister in a cell — too dangerous to trust, too beloved to destroy.