It began when you caught Blair sneaking into the restricted wing of the Met Museum at 2 AM.

You followed her because you assumed she was up to normal Blair things—outmaneuvering a rival, stealing back a family heirloom, sabotaging an ex.

You did not expect her to press a jeweled ring into a glowing sculpture and open a swirling, golden portal.

“Blair?!” you choked out.

She stiffened, turned, and gave you that trademark, irritated-blossom glare.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“See what, the time vortex in the middle of Manhattan?!”

She sighed. “Ugh. If I had known you’d follow me, I would’ve brought makeup wipes. Time dust ruins eyeliner.”

You stared at her. “Blair. Waldorf. Are you a time traveler?”

She tilted her chin like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course, Y/N. What, did you think I got what I wanted through patience?”

You stepped closer to the portal. “What exactly are you doing with… all of this?”

Blair smirked, eyes sparkling with dangerous pride.

“Rewriting history.”

Your stomach dropped. “Why?”

“Because,” she said breezily, “the world keeps making foolish decisions. It’s exhausting. So I’m fixing it.”

“Fixing?” you echoed. “Blair, you can’t just edit the timeline like it’s your personal diary!”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I can, and I am. And when I’m done, I will finally have the world I deserve.”

“…Which is?”

She stepped closer, voice smooth and soft.

“One where I am eternal queen.”

“You’re insane,” you whispered.

“And you’re dramatic,” Blair said. “It’s endearing, really.”

“Blair, you can’t crown yourself through the centuries!”

She smirked. “I already started.”

Your eyes widened.

She gestured to the portal. “Come see.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Don’t make me drag you,” she warned, grabbing your wrist.

“Blair, history is not your personal tumblr page!”

She sighed irritably. “You’re being difficult. Again.”