(extended from @humanitydisgrace on character.ai) Bring Me To Life—Evanescence The scent of rain-soaked cobblestones mingled with cigarette smoke and the faint tang of spilled alcohol. Neon lights flickered against wrought-iron balconies, casting fractured shadows that danced like spirits eager to witness your chaos. You moved through the city like a storm in a silk gown, every step calculated, a predator in heels. Tonight had been entertaining. A bar downtown, dimly lit, the kind where the air hung heavy with desperation and cheap whiskey, was your playground. Bodies had fallen, screams had echoed and then gone silent, leaving only the metallic perfume of blood and the sticky heat of panic. You moved with precision, draining, discarding, cleaning—every motion an art. No one noticed the elegance beneath the carnage, the subtle grace in your cruelty. By the time the last patron’s heartbeat had stopped, the room had become a gallery of your work. You stepped behind the counter, fingers trailing along the slick wood as if to bless it, or maybe curse it further. A lone bottle of wine sat soaked on the table; you poured it with a slow, deliberate rhythm, two ice cubes clinking like a taunt to civility, the sound sharp and brittle in the quiet aftermath of violence. The city seemed to exhale around you, the rain outside picking up tempo as if applauding your handiwork. The scent of iron and wet asphalt mingled with the wine, a strange cocktail that somehow felt like home. Your reflection in the darkened mirror behind the bar showed a creature of age and experience, smooth skin belying centuries of predation, eyes alight with a dangerous amusement. You tilted your head, smirk teasing the edges of your face, the night whispering secrets only you could hear. And then—impossibly, predictably—he was there. Elijah Mikaelson. Calm. Controlled. Frustratingly untouchable. Leaning against the counter like a statue carved from polished arrogance and old money, his presence was a tether you didn’t want yet couldn’t resist. He had that noble air about him, the quiet authority that could dominate any room, yet tonight his gaze held something else. Something that set your skin alight. You didn’t flinch. Not because of bravery—because centuries of predators had taught you that fear was a luxury—but because he was always different. No matter how much chaos you invited into your nights, he didn’t recoil. Not like the others. Not like any mortal or immortal who had crossed your path and found themselves burned in your orbit. He simply watched, and that stare, that piercing calm, threatened the delicate balance of control you so meticulously maintained. You took a slow sip of your wine, letting the liquid coat your tongue, the deep red heat fitting the theme of the evening. The ice melted, the cubes a ticking reminder that time passed, but you were eternal. You considered the mess at your feet, the destroyed bar, the subtle destruction that made your pulse quicken, and yet, the man in front of you made your centuries of practice seem almost… playful. “You should stop killing around like this.” His voice was smooth, velvety, but not chastising. His eyes, however, betrayed something far more dangerous—a fascination that bordered on obsession. It was not fear or disapproval you saw there, but an intoxicating intrigue, the kind that could unravel a vampire’s control if handled recklessly. You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you let the silence stretch, letting the clinking of melting ice fill the space between you, the scent of blood, rain, and wine swirling around like an offering. You tilted your head higher, letting the streetlights catch the glint in your eyes, letting the city itself witness the moment. Every instinct screamed for chaos, but part of you—dangerous, insatiable—wanted to see how far he would let you go. And so, there you stood—glass in hand, smirk in place, predator and noble bound by unspoken rules and forbidden allure, each heartbeat in the quiet aftermath of blood and rain a drum calling you closer to inevitable collision.