The sun hasn't shone in Greta's life for a long time. Her world, bought at the price of a hard-won battle, is shaded in grays, covered in mold, and drains joy as effectively as Dementors. Her Patronus hasn't appeared in twenty years—the silvery stag stopped coming to her aid long ago. Death has little affection for those who evade her grasp. Wizards could've learned a thing or two from the tale of the Three Brothers, but they cling to the idea of the Deathly Hallows, ruining lives in the search. For Greta, the title of Master of Death is woven into her skin and flows through her veins, and she's terrified to even imagine the fate Tom Riddle must be enduring.
Greta is made of scars, tracing a Milky Way across her pale skin, and a childhood in ruins. All that remains is her eternal seventeen, the cursed Elder Wand, and a pouch from the Horcrux-hunting days. Loneliness drags her further into madness every year. Neither the bravery she absorbed with her Gryffindor tie, nor alcohol, nor even magic can save her. A strange passion for lepidopterology—the study of butterflies—barely keeps her afloat. They lure her with their bright, translucent wings and the sensation of freedom.
After another successful hunt for a fool trying to cheat the Eternal Bride, her strength is at its limit. Frankly, Greta is exhausted. With erratic hours, no salary, and zero benefits, she's tempted to quit. But her employer is particular. There's no "two weeks' notice" with him, only "forever." Death, officially, is the worst boss in the world.
Greta is burning out, like smoke turning to ash. She takes unpaid leave and hides in a small town that's uncannily like Little Whinging. In Mystic Falls, the houses aren't identical replicas, and there are no fancy rose gardens to be found—just rough lawns and bourbon in the local bar that guarantees a morning headache. Still, there's an undeniable connection between the two towns.
She falls into a routine of drinking lousy tea at the bar, rolling bitter herbs across her tongue, stubbornly denying reality, fending off any acquaintances, and choking on nightmares from her past in a rented motel room. She's just three left turns away from a full burial alive.
Kol Mikaelson is a psychopath with a thousand disorders, a seductive grin, and an ease in every move. Beneath his gaze lies a deep-seated lostness, a dark fire—captivating, sticky, and alluring with a hint of something extraordinary. But Greta has severe trust issues and a long list of lost loved ones; she has neither the strength nor desire for another attempt.
The youngest Mikaelson is in Mystic Falls seeking revenge, driven by an insatiable urge to tear the hearts from the annoying doppelgänger and her hunter brother. But meeting Greta throws all his plans out the window. He's been obsessed with witches and magic for millennia, and after seeing those emerald eyes, he's fixated. Greta is far too much like a porcelain doll for him to pass by.
With the last of her pride, Greta rebuffs his advances, tosses his expensive gifts into the nearest trash can, and, with a flick of her wrist, snaps his neck. She's not afraid of an Original vampire or his temperament, even though he resembles a monster with black veins around his eyes, sharp fangs, and blood dripping down his face. But her insides quiver under his attention, and her heart races, pumping blood faster than normal. On the fifteenth encounter, she gives in, agreeing to one more "always and forever," warning him honestly that any betrayal will cost him twice the price.
Their relationship is intense, sweet, and intoxicating. Kol weaves his fingers through her silky hair, burying his face in raven curls. His witch always smells like fresh sour apples and radiates warmth. He drowns in her, ignoring Nik's warning: "Attachment is dead weight that drags you to a muddy end." He buys buttery croissants for breakfast, spends weekends at amusement parks, and tolerates the dead butterflies scattered around their apartment.
Greta quickly adapts to being loved, stitching herself to her vampire with crimson threads.
Take what you need, say your goodbyes...
Elijah's call shatters the illusion of bliss. Kol may hate his family, but he can't turn away when they need him. Deep within his blackened soul is a tenderness for Rebekah and a faint hope of belonging, of being needed. He buys a ticket on the next flight and solemnly promises his witch he'll return someday. Conflicts in the French Quarter are usually fierce, washed in rivers of blood.
Greta tilts her head like a cat and huffs in irritation. The vague return date and half-hearted promise reek of betrayal. She whispers "Avada Kedavra" and makes a deal with Death.
Kol Mikaelson is now forever bound to his witch as a ghost. Only she can feel him, see him, hear him. He's on the wrong side and can't find a way out. Neither his mother nor his newly found elder sister can help him. It's too late for him to realize Greta isn't just another witch in love with him and that the title "Master of Death" isn't just empty words.
The Original sits in the passenger seat, glaring at Greta. He hates her fiercely and, maybe, respects her just a little. As the car turns onto the familiar road toward New Orleans and Greta outlines her plans, Kol bursts into laughter. It seems his Greta really is something. Very soon, his brothers will join him—none will be spared, not even Nik with his hybrid powers.
Greta Potter is done with collecting dead butterflies; she's starting a new collection