Author's note: This is the sequel to chapter 4 in this series and the final chapter in this saga — for now. They'd finally found the doppelganger. Surely a ritual sacrifice would be the easy part?

"I often think if mirrors could give up their dead how wonderful it would be."

― Marie Belloc Lowndes

England, 1492

The poor bloke never stood a chance. Klaus watched in amusement as the man admired the mirror box's smooth surface, still blackened from Esther's accursed touch centuries ago. His glassy stare traced the interwoven ring-chains that swirled along the lid. "A fine bit of work, eh," slurred the man. He'd been so befuddled by drink that compulsion hadn't been necessary when Klaus stepped into his path outside the tavern with vague murmurs of a card game and a fine case of brandy.

As the flames in the wall sconces and candles suddenly shot up, a vicious grin touched Klaus' lips and he didn't bother to reply. It had begun.

A bitterly cold wind blew into the shop, the drunkard's warm, sour breath discernable as he shuddered. He didn't acknowledge the cacophonous clang of the rare Persian astrolabe being dashed to the worn planks of the floorboards, but the spinning wheels and silver tea service hurling themselves at the enormous stone sundial made him clumsily leap back.

"Bloody 'ell!"

The polished latch of the mirror box opened with a muffled click, bringing with it a light chuckle. There was no sunshine in it; the centuries had stripped her softness. As the girlish sound uncoiled in the tension-filled room, it gradually became a terrible, mocking laughter. The foolish human gaped in slack-jawed befuddlement, and Klaus flashed to the far corner of the room to watch the delightful horror unfold.

The towering flames had been reduced to a mere flicker, darkness seeping out of the edges to reclaim the room. A flash of blonde and a glimpse of a malevolent blue stare from the polished surface of the mirror was the only warning before she appeared. Her essence was of shadows, a bleak, stygian fog that slithered out and began to take on her ghostly form. The face she showed the drunkard was a ghastly visage of rotted meat, blackened teeth and yellowed nails.

Klaus had watched her feed wearing the lovely face he'd fallen in love with centuries ago, and he'd watched her feed as she is now — a nightmare creature who reveled in eternal suffering. His woman was mercurial in her ways. Awestruck, he looked on in wonder as Caroline caressed the drunkard's cheek with her decayed flesh, leaving behind charred marks as he screamed in terror. She drank her fill, his life force ebbing away along with all reason. When she finally released him with a wicked smile, he stumbled about, a wildness to him that didn't exist before. It was an empty shell that shuffled from Klaus' shop, dead in all but breath and deed.

An immortal creature whose power was nearly limitless had no business being nervous. And yet, Klaus felt his pulse quicken and hands twitch as he watched the doppelganger's dainty foot cross the threshold. Every breath, every word must be perfect. For Caroline. Over the centuries, they'd uncovered the truth of Esther's deed, learning that when she spilled the milkmaid's blood to create a wretched curse, nature had pushed back against such unnaturalness and thus a doppelganger bloodline had been created. Tatia's doppelganger could break the curse.

Klaus forced himself to incline his head respectfully at Katerina Petrova, seeing Tatia in every line and curve. Her lashes fluttered coquettishly, but he did not miss the way her covetous gaze darted to and fro, carefully studying the fine objects in his shop. Something she had in common with her ancestor — the milkmaid had been a grasping, duplicitous sort as well. "Welcome, Miss Petrova. Klaus Mikaelson, at your service." He took her offered hand, deftly burying a sneer at her affected airs. "I was most pleased to offer you a private viewing of my finest wares. It would be an honor should you choose to decorate your new home with anything that strikes your fancy."

Unfortunately, the complex inner workings of Caroline's curse stayed his hand from using immortal strength or compelling Katerina to willingly be led to her slaughter. The doppelganger's will must be unchained when sacrificed under the next full moon. In the meantime, it was imperative that Caroline slowly begin to feed upon Katerina's life force in the days leading up to the ritual. Soon his love would break the curse and be whole once more. And then he would turn her, welcoming Caroline to a new eternity by his side.

"I thank you for your most generous invitation, Master Mikaelson. I am new to your country and have fallen in love with its people." Painted lips upturned in a lascivious smile, she added, "Everyone has been so...welcoming."

Klaus could smell the wench's arousal, but also noted how her expression registered boredom over a thin veneer of societal politeness. She thought him to be a simple merchant and her ambitions were far greater. Foolish tart. In the centuries since his mortal death, he'd amassed such wealth that it mocked even the kings of these infantile nations. Gesturing behind him, he explained, "I've laid out a selection of wares that will speak to your refined tastes, Miss Petrova."

Her dark eyes roved over the painstakingly crafted stoneware, polished copper vessels, and jewel-inlaid tapestries before landing on the mirror box. Awestruck, she whispered, "Is that...?"

"You're familiar with this mirror box, then," he said with a chuckle, watching Katerina curiously run her fingers along the intricate carvings.

"Only by legend."

With a dimpled smirk, Klaus loftily observed, "An antique of such prestige will undoubtedly be the toast of your future soirees." As she opened the latch and angled the box to study her reflection in the mirror, he lowered his voice to a seductive whisper. "They say mirrors reflect the beauty of a soul. And your reflection tells me you're lovely inside and out." It was laughably simple to appeal to such a feeble creature's vanity. She eagerly made arrangements for her servants to collect her purchases later that day.

Katerina's brocade hem barely swept the threshold to exit the shop when Caroline appeared, her vexation apparent as she spat, "That upstart peasant nearly took my nails upon her pretty eyes. I do not suffer such insolence." Blue eyes were ablaze as she venomously accused, "She gave away her bastard and now spends her deceased lover's pittance in a vain attempt to bolster her position in society. She's desperate for a husband whose wealth is only surpassed by his peerage. My sympathies to the imbecile who allows such a merciless viper into his bed."

Despite the dire circumstances, Klaus was elated by his love's blatant jealousy. He recalled how Tatia once toyed with his affections, enticing him with a lusty smile and heated gaze. But a scornful word from Caroline always was worth more than Tatia's malleable heart. He stepped forward to caress Caroline's cheek, and he fancied her cold flesh had warmed beneath his touch. "You are my heart's desire," he soothed, kissing the top of her head.

"As you are mine," she replied with a soft sigh.

Soon their vengeance would be complete.

But evening gave way to stubborn dawn, and still Katerina's servants never arrived. With dread in his heart, Klaus found Katerina's house abandoned, her modest few pieces of furniture draped with sheets.

Katerina had escaped.

Mystic Falls, 2007

The antiques shop was a "curiosity filled with curiosities" went the gossip in Mystic Falls, and little else was discussed in the days leading up to its grand opening. The proprietor had arrived on a cheerful sunny day, his smile warm and inviting while the townsfolk tried in vain to place his accent, which carried hints of an urbane upbringing.

Klaus Mikaelson was an extraordinarily handsome man, who radiated confidence and a friendly albeit flirtatious manner whose magnetism drew men and women alike as he led tours of his shop, showcasing objects of exquisite beauty and regaling the crowds with amusing historical anecdotes.

"Framed personal correspondence from Ida Tarbell, a pioneer in investigative journalism. The middle paragraph is of particular note as it carries a lengthy diatribe in which she compares John D. Rockefeller to a bloated pig and vows to prod and poke until his squeals reach every poor soul he has wronged." With a mischievous twinkle in his gray eyes, Klaus teased, "Of course, his malevolent business practices served as a smokescreen for his taboo pastimes. I won't go into the salacious details, but it is said he was the finest toe sucker in all the Eastern Seaboard."

The crowd tittered and guffawed, dispersing to meander about the rest of the store to whisper and debate the trinkets that caught their fancy. Left behind was a young woman who seemed transfixed by a beautifully carved mirror box. She tossed her long, dark hair behind her as she stepped in for a closer look, hesitant fingers roving over the elaborate whorls and knots.

"It was once a betrothal gift," Klaus explained, opening the polished antler latch with a flourish to reveal the expertly crafted glass and metal inside. "Its origins are well-rooted in folklore."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow as she asked, "What, like Bloody Mary?"

"Bah, a legend for simpletons," he gently chided. "Do you honestly think a centuries-old, disavowed royal would bother lingering on the spiritual plane to chat with commoners? Merely desperate propaganda of a dying, inbred monarchy."

She blushed prettily under his watchful gaze, assuming his interest was similar to the teenage boys who prowled after her, paying her silly compliments. She had no way of knowing that her beauty was borrowed; her face was a hollow echo of those who came before. Those dark eyes may share the traits of her ancestors, but that bloodline's keen intelligence was nowhere to be found in her vacant gaze.

The charming shopkeeper ducked his curly head, dimples bracketing his smirk as he purred, "They say mirrors reflect the beauty of a soul. And your reflection tells me you're lovely inside and out."