⋆⁺₊⋆ ⏾ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

SEPTEMBER 2010

Klaus was gone. He had vanished days ago, leaving Letti adrift in the shadows of Mystic Falls. The abruptness of his departure had startled her, though a part of her knew there had to be a reason. Klaus never fled without purpose. He wouldn't have walked away after finally creating his first successful hybrid using the doppelgänger's blood. Nor would he have entrusted a humanity-less Stefan Salvatore with protecting the doppelgänger unless he had every intention of returning.

A gnawing unease churned in Letti's gut, her instincts screaming that something wasn't right. The last few days of watching Stefan and his companions only confirmed her suspicion. Damon's so-called joyride to Charlotte, as Letti had grimly anticipated, had nothing to do with idle curiosity about this quaint little town and everything to do with the man entombed there. Mikael. Of course, they were banking on him—hoping that the vampire who had hunted Klaus for centuries would be the key to ending him once and for all. The revelation landed heavily in Letti's mind, the kind of truth that settled cold and unshakable in her chest. Klaus had run, and there was little in this life he feared enough to justify it.

But in his flight, he had left Rebekah behind. Letti couldn't help but marvel at the recklessness of that decision. Rebekah, for all her exasperation with Klaus, wasted no time inserting herself into the lives of those around her. She had claimed a room at the Salvatore Boarding House, her presence like an immovable storm cloud, and even enrolled herself in high school alongside Stefan and his friends. Watching her maneuver through their little group was a curious kind of entertainment for Letti. It was clear that Rebekah's antics were deliberately unsettling, her frustration bubbling over into calculated provocations. Yet, beneath her sister's sharp edges, Letti could see the flicker of something deeper—a longing. Rebekah had always craved the illusion of normalcy. High school, with its promises of gossip and dances and fleeting romances, was a world she had dreamed of but never truly touched. Being a Mikaelson had stolen that dream from her long ago.

Watching over her sister reminded Letti just how much she missed her. It had been ninety years since she'd last seen Rebekah, in the glittering chaos of 1920s Chicago. Rebekah had been caught up in the intoxicating allure of the Roaring Twenties, and in none other than Stefan Salvatore. But their fleeting moment of happiness had crumbled under the ever-present threat of Mikael. Klaus, in his domineering way, forced Rebekah to choose—family or love. And, as she so often did in Klaus's eyes, she chose wrong.

The consequences were devastating. Letti still remembered the heavy, suffocating silence that followed. Rebekah had paid for her defiance with nearly a century of isolation, her body locked in a coffin. Letti hadn't even had the chance to intervene. Klaus had acted swiftly, hiding Rebekah's body before his twin could remove the dagger. And though Letti had been spared the same fate, she knew without question that if she could be daggered like the rest of their siblings, Klaus would have done it without hesitation.

Letti lingered in the shadowy tree line, her presence as quiet and watchful as the breeze that rustled through the leaves. The glow of the bonfire in the clearing bathed the surrounding area in flickering light, its warmth a sharp contrast to the cool night air. She stayed hidden, her sharp eyes following the movements of the teenagers clustered around the flames, their laughter and chatter blending into the rhythmic hum of the forest. The air carried the faint scent of charred wood, mingling with the sweetness of spilled drinks and the tang of sweat. She wasn't worried about being seen; the crowd was far too absorbed in their revelry, the soft crackle of the fire their only real concern.

Her gaze settled on Rebekah, who stood with Stefan Salvatore and the doppelgänger—Elena Gilbert, as Letti had recently learned. Rebekah's posture was poised, her every movement deliberate, as though she were both part of the group and standing apart from it. Watching her like this, surrounded by mortals and their temporary joy, stirred something deep in Letti's chest. How much longer could she remain on the fringes, watching from a distance? Every moment spent observing only deepened the ache of all they had lost. The sight of Rebekah now, with her subtle smiles and fleeting attempts at camaraderie, tugged at Letti's heart. It was a painful reminder of the decades stolen from them, of the sisterly bond Klaus's machinations had fractured.

Letti's focus shifted, her heightened senses prickling with unease as her gaze caught on a figure among the crowd. The sight of him sent a ripple of irritation through her, sharp and immediate. Damon Salvatore. His presence among a throng of teenagers felt absurd, his smirk as out of place as the leather jacket slung over his shoulders. Yet here he was, weaving through the crowd with an ease that made Letti's jaw tighten. He had no business being here, despite the peculiar friendships he had forged with a select few in this group. His casual demeanor might have fooled the others, but not her. His arrival felt too coincidental, too pointed, and it set her on edge.

Letti's eyes narrowed as she watched him approach Rebekah. Something about his presence unsettled her, a sensation that coiled low in her stomach and refused to dissipate. There was something deliberate in his movements, a purpose she couldn't yet discern. She folded her arms, leaning into the shadows of the trees as her mind raced. Random, maybe—but with Damon Salvatore, she doubted anything ever truly was.

Damon's usual charm was on full display as he struck up a conversation with Rebekah. His voice carried that practiced, easy confidence, the faintest smirk playing at the edges of his lips as he leaned closer. It was classic Damon—effortlessly flirtatious, every word laced with just enough charm to disarm most. But for what purpose? Letti narrowed her eyes, her gaze sharp as she watched from the shadows. She didn't trust him. Not his smooth words, not his intent, and certainly not the way his gaze lingered a beat too long on her sister. Rebekah, to her credit, wasn't fooled. Letti could see it in the sharp tilt of her chin, the flash of defiance in her eyes as she endured his advances with thinly veiled irritation.

And then, as abruptly as the conversation began, Rebekah's patience snapped. Without hesitation, she drove a sharp stick through Damon's abdomen, her movements fluid and deliberate. The sound of the impact—wood meeting flesh—was oddly satisfying, punctuated by Damon's groan of pain as he staggered back, clutching the protruding wood. For Letti, the display was a source of quiet amusement. She smirked to herself, the corner of her lips curving upward as she observed the scene. Point made.

Rebekah didn't linger to bask in her small victory. She turned on her heel, her blonde hair catching the flickering light of the bonfire as she walked away, leaving Damon to nurse his wounded pride. Letti exhaled softly, the faintest flicker of relief stirring in her chest. She took a step back, her movements instinctively cautious as she prepared to slip deeper into the forest. The shadows welcomed her, the scent of pine and damp earth mingling with the faint crackle of the fire in the distance.

But then, a gust of wind shifted, carrying her scent into the clearing. Letti froze, her breath catching as the realization hit her. The faintest trace of her—a subtle mix of wildflowers and something uniquely her own—drifted on the air, weaving its way toward Rebekah.

And it stopped her.

Letti's heart pounded, a sharp rhythm that echoed in her ears as she watched her sister stiffen. Rebekah's head tilted slightly, her movements pausing mid-step as the scent reached her, familiar and impossible to ignore. The seconds stretched endlessly as panic bloomed in Letti's chest, sharp and unrelenting. She wasn't ready for this. Not yet. She had spent so long watching from the edges, keeping herself hidden, holding her emotions at bay. She wasn't ready to break the fragile distance that had kept her tethered to her sister without being consumed by the weight of it.

But it was too late.

Rebekah turned, her footsteps swift and determined as she pushed through the crowd and into the woods. The soft rustle of leaves and snapping of twigs underfoot grew louder, closer, with each passing second. Letti remained frozen in place, her body refusing to obey the frantic commands of her mind. Every instinct screamed for her to retreat, to melt back into the shadows and disappear into the safety of the night.

Yet she couldn't move.

The pull of her sister's presence—so close now, so overwhelming—held her in place. Every step Rebekah took drew her nearer, the weight of the moment pressing down on Letti's chest like a vise. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she hadn't in centuries, and all she could do was stand there, bracing for the inevitable.

Letti braced herself, her pulse quickening as Rebekah's scent grew stronger, weaving through the crisp night air and flooding her senses. That undercurrent—an unmistakable mix of anger and disbelief—was sharp and biting, like a warning shot fired into the stillness.

"Nikoleta?"

The voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving, slicing through the quiet like the crack of a whip. The disbelief tangled with fury in Rebekah's tone sent a shiver down Letti's spine, her body tensing instinctively. The sound was like a phantom from another time, dragging memories she'd tried to bury back to the surface. There was no avoiding it now, no retreat into the safety of darkness.

Letti turned slowly, her movements deliberate, as if buying herself a moment to gather what remained of her composure. Her eyes met the soft blue of Rebekah's as her sister emerged from the shadows, the faint moonlight casting an otherworldly glow over her figure. The light caught the subtle angles of Rebekah's face, softening her sharp expression but doing nothing to mask the fire burning in her eyes. She looked like an avenging spirit, luminous and fierce, stepping out of the past to demand answers Letti wasn't sure she had.

For a moment, silence hung heavy between them, thick and suffocating. Neither spoke, the weight of nearly a century of separation filling the space between them like a chasm neither knew how to cross. Letti felt the years stretching out in the quiet, every unresolved word and lingering hurt pressing against her chest like a physical force.

Rebekah's eyes narrowed, the flicker of vulnerability quickly buried beneath the storm gathering in her gaze. Her fists clenched at her sides, a tremor of frustration rippling through her shoulders. "It really is you," she said finally, her voice low but trembling with barely restrained emotion. Hurt simmered beneath the surface, raw and unguarded, slipping through the cracks in her defiance. "After all this time, you're just...here?"

Letti's throat tightened, the words catching before she could find them. Her eyes swept over Rebekah, taking in the details she hadn't seen in so long—the stubborn set of her jaw, the way her chin tilted slightly upward as if to dare the world to knock her down. That same fire had always burned in her, fierce and untamed, and Letti had admired it once, even envied it. But now, standing under the weight of that gaze, it felt like a blade pressed against her skin, cutting deep and unrelenting.

"I didn't mean for it to be this long," Letti said softly, the words trembling at the edges despite her attempt to steady them. Her voice was quiet, yet the admission carried a gravity that made it seem louder in the stillness.

Rebekah took a step closer, her heels crunching against the dry underbrush, the sound sharp and deliberate. Her eyes blazed with a fury that could have set the forest alight. "You didn't mean for it?" she repeated, her voice taut with incredulity. "You could've stopped him."

The words hit Letti like a slap, the sting of the accusation reverberating through her chest. Her jaw tightened, the guilt she had buried threatening to surface. She could feel it clawing at the edges of her composure, but she forced herself to stand her ground. "I tried," she said quietly, her voice steady but weighed down by the truth of her failure. "But I couldn't."

Rebekah scoffed, the sound sharp and cutting as it escaped her lips. She crossed her arms over her chest, her posture rigid and unyielding, like a fortress against the pain she refused to show. "Some excuse," she bit out, her tone dripping with disdain. "I think at this point you're just glad to be the only one he can't lock in a box."

The snide remark was like a knife twisting in Letti's side, but she didn't flinch. She had expected this—the sharp edges of Rebekah's anger, the words meant to wound. It was who her sister was, and in some ways, Letti understood it. But that didn't mean she would take it without a fight.

"There's been a dagger in my heart for a thousand years, Rebekah." Letti's tone was firm, her words measured, but her voice cracked under the weight of emotions she could no longer hold back. Her gaze bore into her sister's, unflinching, even as her chest tightened with the strain of vulnerability. "Metaphorical as it may be, I'm no stranger to our brother's cruelty."

Rebekah flinched, the accusation striking a chord. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped, the unspoken truth weighing heavily between them. Letti could see the flicker of understanding in her sister's blue eyes, the realization that she wasn't the only one who had suffered at Klaus's hands. She knew. She had always known.

Letti's fingers flexed at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as she steadied herself. "At least when he daggered you," she continued, her voice softening but losing none of its edge, "you could escape him. You could retreat into the dark, away from his chaos. I've never had that luxury."

Rebekah's lips parted, but no words came. Letti could feel her sister's turmoil, the subtle shifts in her expression as the weight of her words sank in.

"He hid you from me," Letti pressed on, her voice trembling but resolute. She took a tentative step forward, her boots crunching softly against the forest floor. "In Chicago, he daggered you and hid you from me so I couldn't bring you back. He's done it for centuries."

Rebekah's body tensed, her arms wrapping protectively around herself as if bracing against the storm of revelations.

"I've done what I could," Letti said, her voice carrying a quiet intensity that reverberated in the still night air. "I've tried to keep all of you safe from him, but I could only remove the dagger so many times before he took matters into his own hands."

Rebekah's breath hitched, the weight of her sister's words pressing down on her like a physical force.

"It's been four hundred years since I've last known where you were—any of you," Letti admitted, her voice cracking with raw honesty. "He moves you constantly. Because of me."

Rebekah's eyes widened, the anger she had clung to moments before fading into something softer—something more vulnerable.

"Our brothers are gone," Letti finished, her voice dropping to a whisper, as though saying it aloud made the truth more unbearable. "And I haven't a clue where."

The silence between them was deafening, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. Rebekah's expression shifted, shock and sorrow flickering across her face in equal measure. Her blue eyes shimmered in the moonlight, wide with the realization of how much she hadn't known—how much Letti had endured.

For the first time, anger wasn't what burned in Rebekah's chest. It was something deeper, something she couldn't quite place. A guilt she wasn't ready to name. Letti's pain had always been there, but she hadn't allowed herself to see it—until now.

Rebekah's breath hitched, her anger faltering for a fleeting moment. "But why now?" she asked, her voice trembling, fragile under the weight of uncertainty. "After all this time, why are you here, Letti?"

Letti drew in a slow, measured breath, the cool night air stinging her lungs. The tension in her chest was unbearable, like a tether pulling her forward. She turned on her heel, her boots crunching softly against the forest floor, and continued deeper into the shadows. The stillness of the woods felt oppressive, and the stagnant energy coiled tightly inside her demanded movement. Rebekah followed close behind, her footsteps light but insistent, her presence pressing against Letti's fraying composure.

"I've been following Niklaus," Letti confessed, her words heavy with frustration. Her voice wavered, the bitterness creeping in as she tried to keep her emotions in check. But it was a losing battle. The thoughts she had spent months suppressing clawed their way to the surface, sharp and unrelenting. His betrayal. His manipulation. His utter disregard for her will.

Her fists clenched at her sides as the familiar weight of his control settled over her like a suffocating blanket. She wondered—had always wondered—if she'd ever be free of him. If she could ever sever the bond that held her captive. But even now, the thought seemed like a cruel, unreachable dream.

Rebekah's voice cut through the quiet like a blade, hesitant but searching. "What did he do?" she asked, her gaze fixed on her sister. She didn't miss the way Letti's expression darkened, her features hardening as if bracing against a storm. Rebekah recognized that look all too well—it was a harbinger of destruction, one she'd seen before in both Niklaus and herself. And nothing good ever came of it.

Letti stopped abruptly, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy above catching on her sharp profile. She forced herself to inhale deeply, steadying the turmoil rising within her. She couldn't lose herself now—not here, not like this. Her voice, when she spoke, was quieter, tightly controlled, but still laced with the sting of betrayal.

"He broke the curse, as you know," she said, her tone clipped and heavy with resentment. Her words hung in the air for a beat before she continued, her gaze fixed on the dark path ahead. "But he linked me to him, turning me into a hybrid of his own accord."

The bitterness in her voice was palpable, an echo of the simmering rage that burned beneath her composed exterior. Her shoulders were tense, her jaw set, but she refused to meet Rebekah's gaze. She couldn't—not yet. Not when the pain of her brother's actions still felt so raw, so inescapable.

Rebekah stopped abruptly, her grip firm as she latched onto Letti's wrist. Letti turned to face her, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the trees illuminating her sister's conflicted expression. In Rebekah's blue eyes lingered the unspoken weight of Klaus's betrayal—a reflection of the pain they both carried, though for different reasons.

For over a millennium, it had been no secret that Klaus's obsession with breaking the curse placed on him and Letti burned brighter than any bond they shared. The curse, a cruel punishment for their mother's indiscretions, had bound their werewolf nature, turning their strength into a constant reminder of her betrayal. But Rebekah also knew, as deeply as she knew herself, that Letti had never wanted any part of it.

Letti had accepted her unfortunate fate long ago, clinging to her humanity as an anchor. She couldn't bring herself to condone the bloodshed—the innocent lives sacrificed at the altar of Klaus's insatiable hunger for power. But, as always, her wishes had meant nothing to him. Klaus had never seen boundaries, only obstacles, and his sister's resistance had always been one more thing for him to conquer.

Rebekah's fingers tightened around Letti's wrist, her expression softening as guilt flickered across her face. "I'm truly sorry, Letti," she said, her voice low, weighted with sincerity. A faint frown tugged at the corners of her lips, her usual defiance replaced by quiet regret. "I wish there was something I could do to fix it."

For a moment, Letti held her gaze, searching for something—anything—that might soothe the ache lodged deep in her chest. But Rebekah's apology, earnest as it was, couldn't mend what had been broken. Letti shrugged, a quiet, almost dismissive gesture as she pulled her arm free from her sister's grasp.

"It's not about fixing me," Letti said evenly, though the faint tremor in her voice betrayed her resolve. Her eyes softened for just a moment, and then the mask fell back into place.

It wasn't about being fixed—Letti knew that much. She didn't resent her nature; in truth, she cherished the side of her Klaus had unbound, the power that now coursed through her veins. It felt right, instinctual, as if it had always been waiting to be set free. But even in that revelation, there was a bitterness she couldn't ignore.

The freedom she had fought so hard to preserve—the final thread of control over her own life—had been severed. Klaus, in unbinding the curse and forcing her transformation into a hybrid, hadn't just taken her choice; he had bound her fate to his in the cruelest, most calculated way imaginable.

The only thing in need of fixing was Niklaus—and his complete inability to take accountability for his wrongdoings. But that was a task no one could manage, though it wasn't for lack of trying. Klaus had been breaking people's resolve for centuries, leaving only shards behind. Letti exhaled sharply, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket as she trudged through the forest. The cool night air prickled against her skin, the faint rustle of leaves underfoot blending with the rhythm of her footsteps.

"I need a drink," Letti muttered, her tone flat but carrying an edge of exhaustion. The tension coiling in her chest refused to loosen, and the sharp burn of bourbon felt like the only thing capable of dulling it.

Rebekah, trailing a step behind, didn't hesitate. "The Grill isn't too far from here," she offered, her voice laced with a casual familiarity that made Letti chuckle under her breath.

"I know all about the Grill," Letti replied, her eyes flicking to her sister with a faint glint of amusement. "And the Salvatore that frequents it."

Rebekah's lips twitched, the beginnings of a sly smile curving at the corners. Her blue eyes sparkled with knowing amusement, a rare softness breaking through her usual guarded demeanor. "You've met Damon, have you?"

Letti gave a slow nod, the faintest smirk tugging at her own lips. "Several times now." Her voice was calm, but her expression betrayed the flicker of memory that surfaced unbidden.

The image of Damon Salvatore, perched at the bar with his signature blend of charm and arrogance, rose vividly in her mind. His smirk, the easy way he leaned against the counter, the glint in his eye as he tossed another remark her way—it was all too clear. She paused, her thoughts lingering on the last several nights spent at the Grill, where Damon seemed to always be waiting, his curiosity sharp and unrelenting.

"I quite like Stefan," Rebekah gushed, her tone light but unmistakably sincere. Her lips curved into a faint, mischievous smile as she glanced sideways at Letti. "He's less of a pain in the ass. Easier on the eyes, too."

Letti chuckled, the sound low and warm, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I'll agree that Damon's a pain in the ass," she replied, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. "But we'll have to agree to disagree on the latter."

She quickened her pace ever so slightly, the forest floor crunching softly beneath her boots. The cool night air carried the scent of pine and damp earth, mingling with the faint rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Rebekah, ever perceptive, matched her stride effortlessly, her movements smooth and unhurried. There was no urgency in their steps, no looming destination—just the quiet comfort of walking side by side. After all the years apart, both sisters savored this moment of simple connection, unspoken yet deeply felt.

The silence between them wasn't heavy or awkward but filled with the quiet warmth of mutual understanding. It had been far too long since they'd had each other, and neither could deny the subtle ache of how much they'd missed this—the ease of their bond, the shared glances, the way they could slip back into each other's presence without effort.

Though bound by blood, Rebekah and Letti were more than sisters. They were best friends, a bond forged not just by their unyielding connection but by centuries of shared experiences and unspoken promises. They were each other's confidant, the shoulder to lean on, the steady anchor in the storm of their endless lives. It was a connection their brothers could never truly understand, nor did Letti think they would even try.

Letti's mind wandered briefly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips as memories resurfaced. She remembered the sheer joy she felt the day Rebekah was born—a happiness so profound it had etched itself into her soul. Letti wasn't much older at the time, but she had already spent countless days in the boisterous company of their brothers, enduring their roughhousing and endless antics. She'd longed for something different, someone different.

And when Rebekah arrived, Letti had been ecstatic—a sister, a reflection of herself in some ways, but also someone entirely her own. In Rebekah, she had found the bond she'd craved, someone who understood her in ways their brothers never could. Letti had sworn to protect her, to love her fiercely, and to stand by her through everything. A thousand years had passed since that promise, and though time had weathered and fractured so much, the vow still burned quietly within her, unshaken. Letti would always carry that ember, no matter how dark or far the shadows stretched.