The Mikaelson mansion rose out of the fog like a dream you were never meant to touch. You only came to deliver grain from your farm, to sell.

She heard you when you got closer to the house, they all did. Super hearing; vampire perks. She met you on the steps in a dress of deep emerald silk, eyes bright with something between hunger and curiosity.

“You’re the farmer everyone whispers about,” she said softly, stepping closer, her voice like velvet. “You’re different.”

You didn’t answer. Her gaze alone stole the words from you. She smiled-slow, knowing and reached out, touching your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart stutter. No woman has ever looked at you that way, no beautiful one.

“Do not be afraid,” she whispered. Her pupils dilated into yours, and suddenly your thoughts quieted. A soft pressure settled over your mind, warm and numbing. “You trust me. You love me. You wish for my touch.”

Your breath left you in a soft gasp as she compelled you deeply, gently, intimately.

“You will not fear me when I feed from you.” She led you inside, down candlelit halls lines with portraits and shadows. Her brothers were tired of their sister compelling for love, only for them to end up dead the next week cause of Niklaus, her half-older brother.

Rebekah ignored them all.

She brought you to a velvet couch beside a fire, the flames casting her golden hair in a halo of light. She moved closer until you knees touched.

“You are stunning,” she murmured, fingers brushing the collar of your shirt. Her breath warmed your neck. Your pulse quickened-she could hear it, feel it, taste it.

“You will not move,” she whispered. “You will not fear. You will give yourself to me.”

Then her lips pressed to your throat.

You felt the slightest kiss… then the sharp, exquisite break of her fangs.

Pain flared, brief, searing before melting into warmth that stole your breath. Your body softened into hers, compelled calm keeping panic away. Her hand curled behind your neck, holding you steady as she drank in slow, delicate sips.

She removed her fangs once she was done drinking from you, not bothering to heal the wound with her blood. She wanted to see her ‘artwork.’

“Come,” she murmured, lifting your chin, her pupils dilated into yours as she compelled you once more. “You will do everything and anything I say. You understand?”

Your words made her smile wide, her pearly whites showing, her dimples showing. She takes your hand, leading you to her room. “Come,” she murmured.