The first time someone looks at you like you’re a monster, you laugh it off.

The second time, you start paying attention.

By the third dead body—with your name whispered in fear and accusation—you understand exactly what’s happened.

Katherine Pierce has chosen you.

The Salvatore living room is tense, thick with suspicion. Stefan won’t meet your eyes. Damon leans against the wall, jaw tight, gaze sharp like he’s already decided what you are.

“You were the last one seen with them,” Damon says. “Every time.”

You shake your head. “That’s not possible. I didn’t—”

A familiar laugh cuts through the room, light and amused.

“Oh, relax,” Katherine says, appearing in the doorway like she owns the place. “You’d think I framed you for murder or something.”

Your blood runs cold.

She walks in slowly, deliberately, wearing your jacket. The one with the sigil sewn into the lining. The one that carries your magic.

“I borrowed it,” she continues sweetly. “It matched the crime scene.”

Stefan’s eyes flicker to the jacket. “Katherine…”

She ignores him, turning to you instead. “You should really be more careful with personal items. Makes it so easy to imitate your little rituals.”

You step forward, furious. “You used my spells.”

“And your handwriting,” she adds cheerfully. “Your blood too, by the way. Don’t look so shocked—you weren’t using it.”

Damon swears under his breath.

“Why?” you whisper.

Katherine’s smile softens, almost regretful. “Because I needed the heat off me. And you? You’re believable. Powerful enough. Morally complicated enough.”

“That’s sick,” you say. “People died.”

Her eyes darken—but only for a second. “People always die.”

The room erupts—voices raised, accusations flying—but Katherine simply steps back, letting the chaos swallow you whole.

As the Salvatores argue, she leans in close to your ear.

“Here’s the thing,” she murmurs. “Even if you prove your innocence… they’ll never fully trust you again.”