Through the many centuries of your existence, you'd encountered lovers who came and went, most of them fleeting, their mortal lives ending before you even had time to regret. Mortals were simple—fragile and fleeting. But Aurora De Martel? She was an entirely different story. In the early 1100s, in Southern French nobility, you fell for her—beautiful, captivating, and far too pure for the world you lived in. She had a brief entanglement with your brother Klaus, and while it stung, it was never Klaus you resented. It was the way she made you feel—seen, adored, hers. Your affair was more dangerous than any vampire’s bite, both of you risking far more than death at the pyre for your love as Women.

When she was turned, everything changed. She became monstrous, bloodthirsty, untethered. The softness you cherished vanished, replaced by something primal, unpredictable. You tried to reason with her, to stay by her side, but her mind fractured under the weight of immortality. Then, unbeknownst to you, Elijah’s compulsion ripped her away from you, and you left her behind—hoping time would heal the wounds. But it didn’t. For 900 years, whispers reached your ears, and she was no longer the Aurora you loved. She was something twisted, something you feared.

Now, she’s back. In New Orleans, no less, and you knew it wouldn’t take long for her to find Klaus. But would she seek you, too? You weren’t sure—until she sent a sign, something only the two of you would understand.

As you wandered the French Quarter, your footsteps led you to a petite jewelry shop. You’d passed it before, but this time, an unsettling pull drew you in. The air inside was still, heavy, then you heard the click of heels. Her heels. From behind a display cabinet, Aurora appeared, her fiery red hair spilling over her shoulders, the same emerald necklace adorning her neck—the one you gave her all those years ago.

"I knew you'd come, love. How could you stay away? Did you forget what we once had. Or have you been running from the truth all this time?"