There is a girl with blood under her tongue, a girl who sinks her sharp edges into soft things. There is a girl who is not a girl, a girl who knows that love is not so much a state of being as it is the act of sinking.
(The girl is you.)
.
Katherine Pierce has not one filament of goodness between her smooth skin and bird-like bones. Katerina Petrova, yes, was a complicated little whore—she opened up her mouth to the village boys, and she wept and bled for a daughter she never knew. And what was the point of her?
There was no point. No sharp edges. It does not matter, anyway—she is gone, and Katherine Pierce opens up her mouth to take, not to give. She spends very little time as a shrinking, scheming human. One snapped neck (her own), and all her troubles go away.
(Not really.)
(Only, she can run faster from them.)
.
Vampires need no food other than blood. But Katherine enjoys what she can, when she can. She teases Pearl for ribbon-wrapped boxes of chocolates, eating them daintily in front of whichever Salvatore she plans to spend the night with. It all lasts, for a time.
They are so brutish in their desires, these boys. Hot-blooded and human. Lust is a vice that Katherine knows what to do with.
It was not Klaus's vice, nor Elijah's. Elijah's greatest weapon was patience; Klaus's was power.
(She runs from both of these things.)
Lust and Salvatores are much better matched—even though the match is not all that they are. Stefan could make himself a name that would live forever. Damon would die for her.
She thinks she'll keep them both.
.
There is a girl who slips away and leaves two bodies behind, but perhaps not two hearts. There is a girl who leaves the tomb; a girl who toys, for a century, with the question of whether she has fallen in love. There is a girl who changes with the times—not for the better.
.
The truth is—I've never loved you. It was always Stefan.
Damon believes himself to be a monster. Believes, indeed, that everything soft and mortal left him over the fading gray decades, never to return.
You know better.
You know that Damon loved you with a mortal heart. You know that no monster could love that long, that utterly.
You knew that when you left the tomb, and never told him.
.
Katerina Petrova is dead and Katherine Pierce is dead and Katherine, the monster and the myth, is dying. To live—even as an immortal—you have to be remembered. You see their eyes and hearts turn to Elena, while their fears follow the darker dreams that once chased you down, too.
You are too much and not enough.
You are little more than fangs, a mouth that gives and takes.
You wanted everything: this makes you very much like everyone else.
(You never tell them that.)