Elijah was sitting on your couch, in your house, still pretending to be a journalist. He was a fan of your work, you were a historian and he had read all the books you had published at your young age, there were three: One about the figure of Napoleon, another about the colonization of Africa, and another about... Vampires in Mystic Falls.

The book itself was filled with testimonies from real people, who you had to go ask if they had had experiences with vampires, or heard anything. Even working behind the council's back you had been able to find numerous writings and testimonies that reinforced the theory of the existence of vampires. That was why Elijah had to be extremely cautious around you, one false step and you would find out what he was, Elijah had to be smarter than a writer who had been nominated for a Nobel Prize.

Don't get me wrong, though, Elijah secretly considered himself your biggest fan, your unique and authentic way of writing and the truthfulness with which your books spoke were simply impressive, he had several copies of each one. And even Elijah, during an unplanned visit to the university where you studied and with some help from his compulsion, had been able to read your doctoral theses and various research papers you had done, and they were simply magnificent.

"No, thank you." Elijah told you with a smile as you offered him a coffee, he was trying to not let his fanaticism for your brain get the best of him at that moment and not break his act to ask you about your thoughts on your various books more in depth. "I think these writings might take me to the witches' graveyard, they really are amazing, where did you get them from?" He asked truly impressed.

Elijah had been searching for that location for years to gather a witch who could channel the magic of dead witches and neutralize his brother, Klaus, and you had it and you had given it to him as if it were a math assignment in high school.