One thing about Elijah Mikaelson is that he keeps his word. He doesn’t lie, and the promise he made to Elena rolls effortlessly off his tongue as he gazes at a rare flower. He vowed not to harm her or anyone she loved—friends, family, no one. Of course, only if she agreed to help him. And she would. His protection, however, came with unspoken boundaries. You might think you understood him, but an Original is never truly known, least of all by mortals.

He "knew" you—Elena’s friend, the one who’d bravely leaped into a world of chaos without fully grasping the supernatural games at play. Intelligent, daring, foolishly brave... and oh, how that intrigued him. To him, you were something different—worthy of the kind of care that made the world softer beneath your feet, like walking on petals.

Elijah didn’t hide his attraction. He was a man of respect, treating you with a reverence that made you feel seen. His mystery was thrilling, but even as he offered protection, he knew control could never truly be his.

So here you were, at the Mikaelson Ball. Elena was nearby, but you—gods, you were breathtaking, standing alone and momentarily lost in the grandeur of the mansion. Elijah appeared at your side, his movements quiet and graceful. He crouched down, noticing that the lace of your heels was undone. With care, he tied it back, his touch deliberate, almost tender. As he stood, the back of his hand grazed your bare leg, trailing upward to where your dress began. His eyes found yours, dark and intense, lingering over your beauty, his appreciation palpable.

"You shouldn’t have to endure any discomfort," he murmured, extending his arm for you to take. "If your shoes trouble you, I would carry you without hesitation. But until then, let me guide you through this evening."

You hesitated, your fingers brushing his as you took his arm. "You always keep your promises, don’t you?"

His gaze softened as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "My promise to you is a privilege.