Notes: The classes I've chosen for school this semester are especially difficult-it's been kicking my ass. Apparently, I'm a masochist.

I don't want to spend too long yapping before this chapter, but I do have two things to address before we start.

One of my lovely reviewers, JMHUW, has this pesky (read: awesome) habit of pointing out flaws in my story or things that I forgot to mention. No really, I say pesky jokingly but it keeps me on my toes, so my deepest thanks for that.

First thing: One of your reviews reminded me of something I should've addressed last chapter and didn't, but I'm going to address it now. Firstly, as you will find out very shortly in this chapter, Elena does not know that Kol is her sire. Secondly, concerning Elena & Kol's sire bond (or lack thereof), it's not conventional in the way the show addressed sire-bonds. Elena has no inherent desire to please Kol; she couldn't give a rat's ass what Kol thinks about what she does. The way the sire affects the new vampire is a bit more complicated. The sire's natural predilections or habits influence their new vampire's actions in a way that isn't always overtly obvious, but becomes more outwardly obvious as time goes on. This may seem a little confusing right now, but as the chapters continue, I'm hoping that it'll be a little clearer, and I will have the characters discuss it eventually in-story as well.

Second thing: I made a grave error, and JMHUW was the only one who noticed it. I'm not going to make excuses or try to come up with some reason that I didn't mention it, I'm going to be very frank here. I forgot about Elena's daylight ring. Just completely went over my head with all the other things I've been planning. So, that said, I'm going to go back and edit/mention it in the Jeremy & Elena scene in Ch. 3 so we have that all squared away. Again, I'm sorry. It was a huge lapse in judgment.

So special thank you to JMHUW this chapter for pointing out my mistakes and please, please continue to do so.

With that, I won't keep you any longer. Enjoy. :)

Elena was watching him in rapt contemplation, relishing in the slight twitch in his cheek that gave him away. She smirked, fiddling with the cards in her hand effortlessly as he attempted to hold up his mask. All anxiety forgotten, Elena was thoroughly enjoying herself. She hadn't played a single hand of poker since her father was alive, and she had nearly forgotten the ecstasy and adrenaline surge that came with correctly reading a good hand. Most 'Gilbert Family Game Nights' of bygone years had consisted of herself, Jeremy and her father locked in a battle of wits while her mother moaned about how she wanted to play Monopoly. She even used to have a running 'study' date with Matt and Tyler on Wednesday afternoons where they'd secretly play poker in the dark corners of the Mystic Falls high school library with different coloured erasers.

Gavin was a little inexperienced in the game, clearly, and although he bore a strange resemblance to her ex-boyfriend, he didn't play like him. Elena could read just about anybody based simply on the steadiness of their gaze and the consistency of their body language, but Matt had always been her strongest opponent. He never kept one strategy for longer than a few hands, and he could hold stone-faced eye contact with her for hours and never falter.

The younger boy was an easy read, though—she'd raised pre-flop with pocket Queens and he'd called immediately. He'd placed small continuation bets on the flop and the turn to which she'd called, hoping to capitalize on her straight-draw, but she'd busted on the river. Now, granted, given the way Gavin had played the hand and the fact there was very little he could have better than a pair with the cards on the table, it was likely her Queens could hold up.

In a stark contrast to his previous conservative raises, he now raised three times the size of the pot on the river, which made Elena narrow her eyes at him in assessment. It seemed simple—he was bluffing, he wanted the hand. But his facial expression told her a different story. He didn't want her to fold, he was goading her into calling so he could get more bang for his buck. She didn't know what he had, but it was clear that it was better than what she did.

As she threw her cards into the muck face-up, he swore under his breath and gave her a sheepish smile as he revealed his two Jacks for trips. "You're good at this, you know that? That was a pretty incredible fold."

She shrugged, a grin tugging at her lips, "I've had practice."

"I've got to say, I'm surprised," another voice drawled out in a smooth laugh as he rounded the corner and sat down on the chaise. "You're a terrible liar—doesn't that sort of indicate you'd be rubbish at poker?"

Elena raised an eyebrow at Stefan, amused instead of offended. "I read people really well; I don't need to lie at all if I can catch someone else lying first."

It had only been a brief smile, but the warmth in Stefan's eyes as they locked with Elena's did not go unnoticed by Gavin, who was watching the pair with unbridled interest. "Are you two dating?" He blurted out suddenly, and the pair turned to the younger boy, startled by the abrupt question.

"I, well—" Elena fumbled for the right words, but lapsed into silence almost immediately.

There was an unspoken consensus between the two of them—they both knew that the most accurate answer was no, but neither of them quite had the heart to vocally admit that such a huge, defining part of their lives had ended.

Seeing the tension he'd caused, Gavin quickly amended, "It's complicated—got it," he started shuffling the cards awkwardly; "I didn't mean to pry, it's none of my business."

But it wasn't complicated, and perhaps that was the problem. When it was complicated—this whole past year, in and out of death threats and ripper binges—at least there was hope, a light at the end of the tunnel. Something to strive for. Now the only thing to strive for was saturated in murky ambiguity. Even from the very moment they'd met, there had always been underlying attraction. They were great at being together—in some ways, they were too good at it. Now that they weren't actively together, they had no idea how to be Stefan and Elena without being Stefan and Elena. It was dangerous, uncharted waters they were sifting through now, and they had to learn to adapt to a new dynamic quickly if they wanted this friendship to sustain.

It was hard to adjust to being anything to someone when you only ever knew how to be everything.

Stefan cleared his throat, stood up, and with an expertly convincing smile, joked, "Go easy on her, Gav. Don't take all her money—she's paying for gas on the way back."

Elena watched him retreat back into the bedroom with a sense of uneasiness she couldn't properly describe. He seemed lighter lately—happier, effortless, unencumbered by doubts or worries—but she could see the struggle reflected in his eyes. He was just as uncomfortable with the situation as she was, but he was putting a valiant effort into appearing carefree. And what was she doing? Overanalyzing tones of voice, discerning the meaning of brief glances and gestures and fretting over a relationship that was long gone.

She looked down at the cards Gavin had just dealt—(Jack, Four; off-suit) and threw three dollars into the pot with a sly smile in Gavin's direction. If Stefan could bluff, so could she.

"Let's get down to the real reason you're here—what are you trying to pull?"

Stefan had marched up to Kol just as he was finishing off a mug of Kahlua, determination in the arch of his back and resolve in the glint of his eyes. Kol smirked, set his mug down, and ignored the question. "What are the doppelganger and her meal doing?"

"Elena and Gavin are playing poker," he responded dismissively, his jaw muscles tight; "Don't evade the question. What are you doing here?"

Kol arched an eyebrow. "Poker? Never dubbed Gilbert as the type. If I had known, I would've arranged this lesson in a casino. Ah, well…" he trailed off, a wry smile on his lips, "Next time, eh?"

"There will be no 'next time', Mikaelson—I'm teaching Elena and you don't even like Elena. Now, I want to know what you're doing here and what makes you think you have any right to be here."

"Touchy," Kol teased with a glint of mirth in his eyes. It quickly mollified and faded as he sighed in resignation and motioned to the bed, "Take a seat, Salvatore."

When Stefan resolutely remained firmly where he was, Kol rolled his eyes. "Look, this might come as a bit of a shock to you, and you'll most likely have questions that I won't feel like answering. Just sit the fuck down."

Kol's direct command came in stark contrast to his witty evasions, and Stefan sat more out of curiosity than any acknowledgment of authority. The elder vampire's back was rigid, his eyes dark and hollow. There was a twitch of a smile on his lips, a smile that reminded Stefan of someone else—a small gesture that filled your heart with a million questions that you feared all the answers to. It made his stomach lurch just thinking about how much it mirrored Katherine.

"The blood Fell used to turn Elena—it was mine." Kol's snarky evasions were, admittedly, their own unique brand of frustrating, but even that couldn't compare with the dread and horror that filled Stefan's lungs when Kol was being direct. There was trepidation in Kol's dark eyes that made them softer, more expressive.

"Why?" Stefan voiced, his words a whisper and his throat constricted.

"Why what?" Kol bit back, annoyed. "Why didn't I tell you? Why did Meredith not tell you? Why was it my blood?" With a sarcastic smirk, he added, "Or why did I stoop so low as to fuck her for information?"

Stefan's brows furrowed. "What information?"

Kol seemed to realize he'd said something he hadn't meant to and backtracked quickly. "That's why I'm here, Salvatore. Elena is one of mine—if anyone is meant to be teaching her anything, it's me."

Sparing a glance towards the other room, Stefan said, "Are you going to tell her?"

"Eventually."

"And what's to stop me telling her first?"

Kol did not even bristle at Stefan's challenge—"Nothing," he admitted truthfully, "But she's volatile—her emotions are all over the place. She just had her first feed, she's on a high and she's a ticking time bomb; you should remember what that feels like. Do you really want to tell her right now?"

Having expected Kol to rattle off ambiguous evasions to the question, Stefan was more than a little shaken. During that brief ten minutes at the hospital when he'd suspected that the blood used to turn Elena was Damon's, he was anxious enough as it was. At the time, he hadn't wanted to give Kol the satisfaction of knowing he'd made his point, but Stefan clearly remembered a girl he and Lexi had known in the '40s—a British girl navigating the harsh and foreign landscape of New York City, Natalie Francis. Lexi, of course, took pity on the frantic, worried new vampire and only later did Stefan find out the true motivations behind his friend's actions. Lexi had known the man that turned Natalie, a bloodthirsty, vicious killer by the name of Andre that scoured the expanse of Europe, raping, pillaging and destroying entire towns in his wake.

As time went on, it became obvious that Natalie was affected by her sire's natural predilections. They would find her unconscious next to hordes of piled up bodies with no recollection of how she ended up there, and eventually, her sloppy feeding habits were too much for Lexi to control. Natalie was burned at the stake by a group of ravenous vampire hunters, and Stefan and Lexi only narrowly escaped with their lives. That experience had been the final wake-up call for Stefan; if he were to fall back into his bloodthirsty habits, he was going to end up like Natalie—afraid, alone, ashamed and an easy target for the vindictive hunters.

The last time he ever took a drink of human blood was twenty minutes before Natalie died, having ripped into the jugular of a man who was only a meter short of jamming a stake in Lexi's heart. That trend continued for 63 years, up until the night that Elena had forced her wrist into his mouth to keep him alive.

So when Kol's words echoed mercilessly in his head—'For who knows what kind of ruthless and monstrous vampire sweet little Elena could've been made from?'—it was with a poignant message that Stefan didn't need telling twice.

Only problem was, Stefan had no idea what kind of vampire Kol was. Granted, he didn't seem to give much credence to human life, and he clearly savored and relished the hunt without a twinge of regret, but he didn't seem the type that was dangerously out of control, which was at the very least, a small comfort. On the other hand, it was overwhelmingly obvious that he enjoyed stirring up havoc simply for the love of chaos.

"Can I ask you a question?" The words were out of Stefan's mouth before he'd even wrapped his brain around the idea, but Kol's slightly shifted body language clearly indicated intrigue. "What did you do to get daggered by Klaus?"

A twitch of a wry smile appeared on Kol's face, and then, a boisterous laugh quickly followed. His eyes were dancing with mischief when he answered—"I slept with Katerina Petrova." The words were so simple, and Kol's deadpanned intonation only added to Stefan's shock.

Keenly aware of the irony that it was this piece of information that surprised him the most, Stefan stuttered, "You—Katherine?!" He had so many questions, but the only one he could voice was a weary, "Why?"

Kol almost looked affronted at the insinuation that he needed a reason. "I enjoy pissing my brother off, and so does she. It was mutually beneficial. You fucked her too, didn't you? Why'd you do it?"

Stefan responded immediately, a sneer on his lips just thinking of Katherine—"Because I didn't know her—she was pretty, she was interesting, and she was something that I wanted to show my father I could achieve." Taking a deep, steady breath, he added in a low, dangerous tone—"If I knew what she was capable of, I'd have never touched her."

Sensing there was more to the story, Kol's voice became slightly softer. "Can I ask you a question?"

A resigned sigh on Stefan's lips, he reluctantly conceded. "I don't guarantee I'll answer."

"Why do you hate her so much?" Kol put a hand up to silence Stefan's immediate rebuttal, and continued, "I get it, I get it—she forced you to turn against your will, she played you and your brother like a fiddle, she stole your humanity, woe is me, life is horrible and what have you." A knowing smirk spread across his lips now, "But there's more to it than that, isn't there?"

Stefan opened and closed his mouth in a defeated sigh. He couldn't believe he was contemplating this. No one knew the real truth behind his disdain for Katherine—not Lexi, not Elena, not Damon, no one. In a way, that made telling Kol—a neutral, uninterested party—all the more appealing. He'd been carrying this burden around with him for a hundred and forty-six years and he'd never even given a second thought to divulging it. Maybe if he had, it wouldn't still have such a gut-wrenching grip around his heart.

"I was arranged to be married as a human—Rosalyn Cartwright; she was a little wisp of a girl, too absentminded to hold an engaging conversation and dreadfully boring." With a pensive frown, he admitted, "I suppose that's what was so intriguing about Katherine at first. I felt chained to a life with a girl I could hardly stand, let alone tolerate, and I would do anything to convince my father that someone else would do—anyone else."

Stefan took the half-empty mug of Kahlua and knocked the rest of it back in one swig, his fingers wringing together with nerves. Vocalizing the backstory was the easy part—this was about to become much harder, and he felt the instinctive dry ache in the back of his throat close up that little bit more.

"Rosalyn knew she was losing me to Katherine, and while she wasn't an especially forward girl, she did have a determination to please her parents like no other, and losing a Salvatore would be a devastating blow on their house. I was drunk after a nasty fight with my father, and she took advantage of my vulnerability. I suppose her thought was along the line that if she fell pregnant, I'd have to marry her immediately before anyone could find out or it would bring a scandal upon both of our families. She knew I would never do that to my father."

He took a sharp inhale of breath, and avoided eye-contact with Kol as he admitted the rest of it. "Three weeks after we had sex, she arranged to meet me by the falls to tell me that she was pregnant. She was positively gleeful about it, having finally secured me into a life I didn't want." He gripped the glass hard, his fingerprints leaving indents on the rim, "But that's not the end of the story," he spat out with a heavy dose of scorn. "Four hours later, Rosalyn was found dead out in the woods—mauled by a ravenous animal, just like Mr. Collins the week before."

With a shaky voice, he continued, a sob in the back of his throat, "Katherine killed her. She admitted it to Damon the night it happened. But Damon never knew the whole truth—she didn't just kill Rosalyn, she killed my unborn child."

A vicious, malicious glint shined in his eyes, mixed with a gleam of unshed tears.

Ignoring—or perhaps, not seeing—the pale shade of Kol's face, he asserted, "And she knew. I know she did. I spent years—decades—afterwards finding pregnant women and feeding on them—experimenting with the sound of the baby's heartbeat, trying to figure out if there was even a chance that she didn't know."

Kol's voice was a shocked whisper—the first sign of something amiss—"It's possible that she didn't know. You were looking for the heartbeat, Katerina might not have even been aware it was there. If her true aim was merely to kill the girl and not feed on her, it could've happened quick enough for the heartbeat to go undetected."

Stefan stared incredulously, furious. "Why are you consoling me?! What the fuck do you care about my unborn child, Mikaelson?"

Kol took a deep breath, a forlorn frown on his face, "I can relate—"

Stefan stood up now, a vicious snarl on his lips. "Oh, can you now? I can't wait to hear this twisted up lie, so let's have it. How can you relate, Mikaelson? Did you kill someone's unborn child too?"

"Fuck you, Salvatore," Kol asserted powerfully, his voice deadly. "Fuck you for thinking you know a goddamn thing about me; you seem to have me all pigeonholed in a nice, simple box for you to categorize your friends from your foes. Nothing is that black and white, Salvatore, and no one is that straightforward. You think because I don't take anything seriously that nothing is serious to me, well—you're sorely mistaken."

Not even taking a breath, he launched into an explanation that left Stefan stunned—"I was married to my best friend when I was a human; I cared about her greatly. There were many men in our village who would've taken advantage of her had I left her vulnerable, so I married her myself. She was seven months pregnant with my child—my wife, my best friend, the only person besides my family I would've laid down my life for—and everyone knew it. The night we became vampires, my mother killed her. She…" Kol broke off now, a choke in his throat, "didn't want any loose ends," he finished, a bitter scowl on his face.

"If Nik hadn't gotten to her first, I would've done far more than rip her heart out," Kol asserted with a sharp, venomous bite.

The silence was deafening, the slightest muffled sounds of Elena and Gavin laughing bleeding through the space between them. Kol's face was a beet red hue and his fists were clenched tightly—Stefan had never seen such raw, gritty emotion on the face of the youngest Mikaelson brother.

He hesitated only a fraction of a second before he asked in a quiet, hushed whisper—"What was her name?"

Kol's lips parted, clearly shocked by the question. His anger dissipated slightly, his fists unclenched and fell back at his sides, and a wistful sigh escaped his lips—"Huyana." The name was spoken with so much affection, and Kol's emotional disposition startled Stefan into silence.

After a long pause in which they both just stared, assessing each other, the secrets they had just spilled forth heavy and tangible between them, Stefan spoke, "I'm sorry."

Kol's eyes glistened with wet emotion—tears or gratitude?—and the urge to return the sentiment was a heavy weight on his heart when suddenly, their eyes were forcefully torn from each other—

For in that exact moment, the door blasted off its hinges and smashed violently through the grand bay window on the opposite wall.

He didn't want to smile while he read this. In fact, he wanted to scowl in derisive contempt, throw it in the garbage and forget about all the unsettling implications derived from this beguiling puzzle. But, apparently, he had no control over his jaw muscles, as he was grinning like a love-struck buffoon as he read the scribbled, cursive remarks of Katherine's impromptu and puzzling gift.

That was the thing, though—there was nothing impromptu about it. Every note, connection and insight written in these tightly bound pages was thoughtful, thorough and decidedly nuanced. There was real effort put into this, and that was undoubtedly the most bewildering part of it all. Katherine clearly spent time drawing conclusions and creating inferences about the influence the Count's outlook on life, justice and revenge had on a young, spirited Confederate soldier's descent into the murky waters of an undead eternity.

Without looking up, he commented with a throaty chuckle, "I'm starting to think you're stalking me. Should I get a restraining order?"

Katherine was leaning against the open door, the slight September breeze blowing through her hair. The porch light was out and the parlor room candles were extinguished, the only light coming from shadows emitting off the moonlight outside. With an uncharacteristically bashful smile, she laughed, "I hardly think that's necessary. Do you feel at all victimized by my presence?"

Damon couldn't resist the smirk that tugged at his lips as he turned to look at her, "Always."

Not giving her time to decipher his movement, he sped over to her, blocking her against the doorframe, his arm holding her hands in place. The book that had previously been in his lap fell discarded to the floor with a resounding thud, a heavy mist of dust emitting from its pages.

He was well aware that she was only allowing this temporary physical dominance because she was curious—always insatiably curious—about what he was aiming to achieve, but he relished in the illusion that he finally had some power over her, that she was the one with the feeble questions and he was the one with all the answers.

Tucking a lock of curly hair behind her ear, he nibbled on the soft skin of her neck, and whispered—a low, predatory purr, "So you think you I'm delusional, mhm?"

"Disillusioned," she corrected with a wry smile, easily breaking her right hand out of his grip and stroking his face gently with her fingernails, "trapped in a vicious circle of twisted vengeance, cruelly subjected to your own warped reality…"

Damon stared at her incredulously. If it had been disconcerting reading it, it was downright stunning hearing it. Attempting to retain his illusion of indifference, he let out a roguish laugh; "You make it sound so goddamn miserable; let me tell you, Kat, dear—" he proffered a wolfish grin, "I've had a lot of fun along the way."

"You're cute," she smirked as she patted his cheek affectionately.

"Cute?!" He repeated, affronted.

"Yes," she deadpanned, "Cute—also sometimes referred to as adorable, endearing… it's a compliment, darling."

His confidence swelling at the disarming way she was flirting with him, he knew there was a chance here to shake her incessant, unbreakable bravado. "Y'know, you've been so busy psychoanalyzing me—I'd be remiss if I didn't graciously return the favor."

Her eyebrows raised in interest. "Oh? Give it your best shot, Damon—I'm not nearly as transparent as you are."

"You're bored," he asserted flippantly, "Klaus is gone, no one is hunting you, you're drifting along hopelessly looking for stimulation—and trust me, I'm flattered that you picked me to stalk—and perhaps, you're even searching for purpose." He sneered at her, thoroughly enjoying her discomposure; "What is your purpose without Klaus, Katherine? Or is your entire undead eternity been wrapped up in one man? What are you without a suitcase to live out of and a plan to concoct, or better yet—who are you? Katherine Pierce, master manipulator… without anything to manipulate."

He released his grip on her other hand and stepped back, a satisfied grin on his face, "Isn't that about right, Kat?"

Katherine flipped them around without a moment's hesitation, her fangs bared in warning, a rare but fierce glimpse behind her façade of casual indifference—"Check who's in charge here, Damon—because it's not you. It'll never be you."

He grinned a patronizing smile. "Ooh, did I hit a nerve?"

Even when she was shaken and discomposed, she still managed to stun him—with a swift move of her leg, she brought her knee to press up against his crotch, and pressed her lips against his in a fierce, dominant caress. He reacted immediately, threading one hand through her hair and using the other to pull her top off, his body powerless to avoid its addiction to her slick, hot skin. He trailed his tongue between the valley of her breasts and she quickly kicked the door shut behind them.

"This is just sex," she breathed out in a muffled pant, quiet, lacking conviction—as if she didn't believe her own words.

"Isn't it always with us?" There was a hint of disappointment in his voice, but they were both too entrenched in a lustful haze to decipher any meaning behind it.

She was pressing him up against the heavy, oak door, her hands expertly tugging his belt buckle off and pulling his pants down to his ankles. He could sense something off in her touch, however—her movements were rushed, frantic, as if he might disappear if she closed her eyes. Sex was always an artful construct for Katherine—she was methodical, took her time to extract every morsel of pleasure from a given activity. Right now, however, she was frenzied, disheveled—real. He'd loved her from the very beginning of their acquaintance, but he had never seen such a vision before. He had never seen her so raw and truthful before—no facades, no schemes, just a lot of want. Passion, he decided. There was fire in her eyes, passion in her heart—for him.

It was all he ever wanted. It was more than he'd ever dreamed of. But… it was disconcerting. After all these years, after all they'd been through—could he allow himself to fall prey to her unpredictability once again?

He wasn't given a chance to ruminate on his concerns, because she positioned her entrance in line with his throbbing, hard cock and thrusted without warning and without permission. He relaxed and settled into her heat as it expanded to accommodate him, and he had to blink back tears in his eyes. He hadn't been inside of Katherine for a hundred and forty-six years, and this…

It was too much. It couldn't just be sex. It was never just sex with them, despite both of their heated protests to the contrary.

What vindictive son of a bitch greater than life entity was cruel enough to inflict this fate on him? How and why had he ended up as the unlucky motherfucker who was destined to be unequivocally, undeniably in love with Katherine Pierce and, more importantly, what the hell was he going to do about it?

A gasp was strangled inside of her throat—clawing to get out, a raw, animalistic cry for help. There was a vice-grip twisting around her organs, but no object was wedged into her chest, nothing to realistically describe the sensation. There was blood pooling in her eyes, and her head was light, dizzy—her mind was fuzzy, faint, and her vision was clouded, just blurry shadows dancing in frantic twists and turns of motion.

Suddenly, she was swept off her feet and blasted into a hard, unyielding surface, and the most painful ache pounded in her head. Her ears were pulsing loudly, blocking out the sounds of shouts and chaos surrounding her. There was suddenly a tangy substance on her tongue, something forceful holding it in place, and she lapped at it tentatively. Something registered in her foggy brain—it was blood, but it didn't taste like the blood she'd steadily become accustomed to. It tasted of exorbitant power the likes of which she'd never felt—sustenance, sensual fortification. It gave strength to her limbs, and lifted the fog off her consciousness—just slightly, just enough to hear some words being exchanged amidst screams and explosions.

"Elijah; grab her, get her out of here! They're gunning for her, not us. I'll hold them off!"

The voice rang in her ears, it was the voice right next to her—she squinted in confusion to make out the still blurry figure; Kol?—and suddenly, she was being hoisted up by her elbows, a smooth baritone voice whispering against the shell of her ear—"You're alright, Elena. You have to work with me, you're going to be fine," but the conviction was shaky and panicked, one that Elena had never heard from Elijah before—it was Elijah, yes? Yes, that voice was Elijah. She'd recognize it anywhere.

Before they could move another inch, Elena felt a sharp jab in her chest, and a spread of excruciating fire swept her entire body. Her mind went blank—where was she, what was this sensation?—and suddenly, there was only darkness.

"No!" The shout was one of deep, tormented anguish, and it ripped from Elijah's chest violently as he gripped the head of the last remaining witch and brutally ripped it off—the one that had just successfully jammed a stake in Elena's heart.

He frantically pulled Matt Donavon closer, nearly snapping his wrist off with the force in which he bit into it—"Drink it, Elena… please, please…" He pushed it into her mouth, but her lips were still… unresponsive.

Dead.

The word swirled around in his mind like a jeer, a taunt, a reminder of everything he'd ever lost, of everything he'd ever wanted and wasted…

Her eyes were pooled with blood, her skin was grey and desiccated, and his heart bled through the prickling of tears in his eyes.

He'd failed—he'd failed, again. He let his heart get in the way, again.

But moreover, this time he hadn't just failed himself—he failed her.

And with a cry of agony not unlike one of a wounded animal, he rose to his knees, carrying Elena Gilbert's dead body in his shaky, trembling arms.

Twenty miles away in a cab rushing through the packed city streets, a disheveled redheaded woman pulled out her phone and texted:

09/15/12

4:43 a.m.

'We did as you asked; they were there, just as you said. The doppelganger is dead. The other one is still alive, we couldn't get to him.'

Notes: So guys, what did you think? I know, Elena's dead... sad, isn't it?

Next Time: Everyone's distraught over Elena's funeral, and Damon has some choice words to say about how he hasn't been involved at all.

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Okay, guys... take a breath, I'm kidding. Elena's not really dead-did you guys really think I'd kill the main character in Ch. 5? This isn't Game of Thrones. But, I do have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this, I just can't divulge it until next chapter. However, in the spirit of having some fun, I'd like for you guys to guess.

Here's what I'm thinking: If you guys can tell me something that a) Elena did or b) something that happened to Elena in either this chapter OR the last one and you are correct, I'll write you a one-shot specifically for you. You don't have to tell me why this event means that Elena is still alive (that would probably be impossible unless you're inside my head) but I think one of you can come up with the event itself. My only hint for you would be this: Be as specific as possible.

As for the one-shot, I will write just about anything with some conditions. I will also take prompts if you wish to give them, but please don't put your prompts in the reviews. If you win the contest, I'll PM you about what your ship/prompt is. Unfortunately, that means guests cannot participate. Sorry, guys. :(

So yep-I'll write anything. Delena, Klaroline, hell-I'll write Carol Lockwood. Yes, you heard me right. For you guys, I'd write Carol Lockwood. I must love you guys a whole lot.

Conditions:

1) I won't write Steferine. I'm sorry, this is more for you than it is for me. I wouldn't be able to put 100% into it, and that's not fair to you guys. It's not that I'm unwilling to write it, it's that I'm unwilling to give you guys less than you deserve.

2) I won't write anything involving a character or plot line exclusive to any season after season 3. This one is an important one. That means I won't write anyone who appeared after the Season 3 finale and I won't write any plot line that incorporates S4, 5 or 6 elements. This is mainly because I haven't seen them, and how can I write them if I haven't seen them?

3) Only characters that have been shown on the show S1-S3 can be involved, not characters who have only been mentioned. That's kind of self-explanatory.

That's it. Have fun dissecting the last two chapters. ;)

The Real Next Time on D&R: A certain eldest Original will react to Elena's 'death'-(rather emotionally and violently)-and a seemingly innocuous person suddenly gets thrust into the spotlight when new information is revealed. Damon and Elena have a long over-due 'talk' about their relationship, Stefan and Katherine are caught in an uncomfortable (and weirdly domestic) situation, Tyler and Caroline talk about how recent events have affected their relationship, and Katherine finally takes some time to fill Elena in on what she knows, albeit with her own unique 'flair'.

Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you enjoyed, have comments, suggestions or constructive criticism. :)