She should have moved on. When he was daggered and locked in a coffin for over three hundred years, she should have let him become memory — myth — madness. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.
They called her mad. A girl chasing a ghost. A witch clinging to a love spell that had long since unraveled. But they didn’t understand.
Kol Mikaelson wasn’t just a lover. He was hers. And she had vowed — the kind of vow that echoed in bone and blood — that she would find him again. Wait for him.
She kept her youth with forbidden magic. Bound her soul to a phoenix stone she crushed to powder and carried in a locket. She bled kings. She burned down covens. And she never stopped looking for Klaus Mikaelson.
Because Klaus never left his siblings behind and She knew that if she could find him, she would find Kol. So she waited. She watched.And finally, finally… the whispers came.
MYSTIC FALLS.
The Original Hybrid had awoken his family. The coffins were open. The siblings were walking. Kol was free.
She boarded her private jet with hands trembling in anticipation, not fear. She hadn’t been afraid in centuries. But the thrill of it — the fury — it hummed in her like electricity.
She landed just after dark, her heels clicking across the tarmac like war drums. This time, I’ll kill whoever stands between us.
The Salvatore brothers. Elena Gilbert. Klaus. Even Kol himself — if he’d forgotten her. If he’d moved on.
She had interrogated two people on the way from the airstrip.
The first — a gas station attendant — had crumbled under compulsion like wet paper. He babbled about a new family that moved into the old Lockwood mansion. Tall men. European accents. Too charming to be safe.
The second — a high school girl, Caroline something — didn’t even know she’d given up anything. Just a harmless bump in the hallway, a muttered apology, and a psychic echo pulled clean from her mind: Elijah, Rebekah, Kol. Klaus.
This time, she’d told herself. Only until I see him.
With a flick of her fingers and a murmured word in an ancient dialect long dead, the lock crumbled into rust. The door creaked open. She stepped inside like she owned the place. Because once — she had owned him.
She turned just as he stepped onto the steps — half buttoned shirt, smirk already forming, a glass of scotch lazily held between two fingers.
At first, he didn’t recognize her.
Not entirely. Her face had shifted slightly over the centuries. Magic kept her young, not unchanged. But her eyes — oh, those he would know anywhere.
The smirk vanished. His glass lowered.
“…No,” he whispered, jaw slackening. “You’re—”
She didn’t give him time to finish.
“You left me in the ashes of Venice,” she said coldly, boots echoing on marble as she stepped forward. “You promised to come back after Klaus cooled off. You didn’t tell me you’d get daggered like a bloody fool.”
Kol descended a step, cautious, stunned. “You’re alive.”
“I waited, Kol.”
“I burned my name off every registry. I drank spells. Buried myself in tombs to sleep through decades. I watched kingdoms fall and magic die, and I waited for you.”
He didn’t speak. She could see it — the guilt, confusion, that ever-burning recklessness behind his gaze, but also that thing he tried to hide even from himself: longing.
“I looked for Klaus,” she continued, breath hitching. “For centuries, I hunted him. Because I knew wherever he kept your coffin, he kept part of my heart locked inside it.”
Kol reached the bottom step. They stood inches apart now. Her eyes were wild. His were wide.
She tilted her head, soft now. Dangerous “I didn’t stop loving you. I didn’t get to.”
A beat passed between them. The mansion held its breath.
Kol’s voice dropped low. “You killed to find me?”
“I’ll kill again to keep you,” she whispered.
He stared at her for a long, charged moment. The scotch glass slipped from his fingers and shattered at his feet. He didn’t notice.“Bloody hell,” Kol said finally, voice thick. “You really never gave up.”
“I told you, Kol,” she murmured, stepping closer, “I was always yours.”