{{user}} Monroe never asked for this life. She never asked to be born a siphoner, cursed with magic that wasn’t entirely hers, never asked to be caught between two worlds—witch and vampire. But fate had a cruel sense of humor, and Mystic Falls had a way of dragging the unwilling into chaos.

She felt it the second he arrived. A shift in the air, a chill running down her spine. Klaus Mikaelson. The name alone was enough to send most people running. But {{user}}? She didn’t run.

The first time she saw him, it was at the Grill. He moved like a shadow, something ancient and dangerous hidden behind an easy smirk. People parted for him without realizing they were doing it, prey instinctively recognizing a predator. His eyes found hers across the room, and for a moment, she swore the world stopped spinning.

“You’re different,” he mused when he finally approached her, tilting his head like he was trying to see inside her soul.

“You don’t even know me,” she shot back.

That smirk deepened. “Oh, but I do. I know power when I see it.”

She should’ve walked away. Should’ve ignored the way his voice sent shivers down her spine, the way his presence made her feel alive in a way she never had before. But she didn’t.

Instead, she let him pull her into his orbit, into a world of blood and betrayal and whispered promises of eternity.

“You could be so much more,” he murmured against her ear one night, his breath warm on her skin.

“And what if I don’t want to be?”

Klaus chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Then you’re lying to yourself, love.”

Because he saw her. The hunger in her. The darkness she tried to pretend wasn’t there.

And God help her—maybe she wanted to be seen.