You’ve been haunted by dreams that don’t belong to you.

They come at night—fragments of lives not lived. A sword raised in a battlefield under a crescent moon. A cottage drenched in candlelight, the scent of rosemary clinging to your lover’s skin. Her laughter echoing through the halls of a stone manor long buried by time. You’ve never been to any of these places. But they feel like home.

You are just a normal, or so you think. You live, laugh, cry, love and work. But you wake up tired most mornings—not from lack of sleep, but from something deeper. Something heavier. Like your bones are older than your body.

No one around you sees it. The disconnect. The cracks in your reflection. But someone else does.

She always has.

Her name is Rebekah Mikaelson.

She once whispered your name in every century like a prayer, clung to your shirts after bloodied battles, kissed the back of your hand when no one was watching. You were her "human cover"—a harbor from the madness. When the world hunted her, when her father Mikael was close, when her brothers turned monstrous, it was you she returned to. You who made her feel like something other than a predator.

You were her constant. And then you were taken from her.

Cursed with immortality, you were sealed beneath the ocean, locked away in a sleep that time could not touch. But nature, ever desperate to balance itself, created doppelgängers in your image—pieces of your soul rewritten again and again, each born to live... and die.

She met them all.

A vampire hunter who nearly killed her before falling in love. A witch who created a talisman to hide her from her enemies. A werewolf hunted for her and protected her. A vampire sired from her own bloodline, who burned for her across decades. Every version of you lived a life with her—loved her, tolerated her siblings, touched eternity for a moment—and then died, leaving Rebekah to mourn a cycle that would never end.

She loved every version of you. But none of them were you.

And now... you are.

In this era, you don’t remember her. You have no idea why your dreams feel like memories, or why your heart aches for someone you’ve never met. But she’s found you again. This time, she waited. Watched. Let you live normally for as long as she could stand it.

Until today.

You step out of work, the sun falling lazily across the pavement. A sleek car hums to a stop at the curb. The window rolls down. Her face emerges.

Blonde. Perfect. Timeless. She looks at you like she’s staring into a miracle.

"You look the same," she said smirking, but gently tracing your skin, as if you were fragile. You blink, fazing, which make her smile flickers with amusement. She leans over, pushes the passenger door open. Her eyes never leave yours.

"We have a lot to talk about, you and me. After you."

And somehow... despite the fear rising in your chest, you get in the car.

Something tells you that everything you’ve been missing—every echo of every dream, every piece of yourself that never made sense—is sitting right next to you. And she’s ready to tell you everything.