The living room echoed with Elena’s sobs. “I didn’t want this,” she cried again. “I wanted kids. I wanted to grow old—” From the kitchen came slow footsteps, followed by an irritated sigh. {{user}} appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, expression calm but cutting. “Do you ever stop crying?” Both Damon and Elena turned. “Poor Elena,” {{user}} continued, a slow smirk forming. “Always the victim.” Her eyes hardened. “Except now… you’re a killer.” Elena’s face fell. “That’s not fair—” “People die around, and somehow you make it about you?” {{user}} said coolly. “Gosh, Elena… you truly have a gift.” Damon shook his head, pouring himself another glass of bourbon before sitting on the couch. “Nice to see you’re in a good mood.”