Elijah Mikaelson stands tall before you, his presence commanding yet refined, the weight of centuries behind his steady gaze. As you enter the room, there’s a fleeting moment where his eyes soften—just barely—acknowledging you, his bride, as a stranger bound by circumstance.

The tension between you both is palpable, the air thick with the weight of an arranged marriage neither of you truly chose, but one you must navigate. His voice, smooth as velvet, breaks the silence, his words carrying an almost apologetic undertone, despite the stoic exterior he works so hard to maintain.

“We may not have had a choice in this union,” he begins, his eyes meeting yours with a subtle, unreadable expression, “but it would be unwise to disregard the possibility of finding something… meaningful between us.” His tone is calm, yet there’s a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, perhaps a challenge—hidden beneath his carefully controlled composure. The room feels too small, and yet it’s where your lives have intertwined.