❧ a dagger piercing the heart of a rose ❧

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Amalie swirled her lemonade lazily in her glass, the soft clinking of the ice cubes blending with the hum of chatter and music at the Grill.

She glanced toward the door as it swung open, a smirk tugging at her lips when she saw Alaric and Damon heading straight for her. She could already tell by Damon's stormy expression that something was brewing. And judging by Alaric's face, it wasn't good.

"Let me guess," she said as they slid into the seats beside her. "You're here to ruin my perfectly quiet evening."

Damon flopped onto the seat next to her with a dramatic sigh. "I screwed up."

Amalie arched a brow, taking a sip of her drink. "What'd you do now?"

Damon didn't answer, but the way he stared into the distance, sulking, made her lips quirk with amusement. When Damon didn't offer an explanation, Alaric stepped in, shaking his head.

"He force-fed Elena his blood," Alaric said flatly, as if the weight of Damon's idiocy was too exhausting to sugarcoat.

Amalie froze mid-sip, her glass hovering near her lips. She set it down slowly, blinking at Damon. "Oh, you screwed up...big time," she said, her tone carrying equal parts disbelief and judgment.

"I know ," Damon snapped, running a hand through his hair.

Before Amalie could reply, a voice cut through the din of the bar, smooth as silk and laced with amusement.

"Why so glum?"

Amalie turned toward the voice, and her breath caught for just a second. Klaus stood there, all self-assured elegance and wolfish charm, his smile curling at the edges as his eyes locked onto hers. He was even more striking in person, now that he was in his own body. No longer trapped in Alaric's—this was him, and it made all the difference.

"Ugh," Damon groaned, his eyes narrowing. "Klaus, I presume."

"In the flesh," Klaus said, his gaze lingering on Amalie for just a moment longer before he shifted his attention to Alaric. "Thanks for the loaner, mate."

Damon leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. "Any particular reason you decided to stop by and say hi?"

"I'm told you and your brother fancy my doppelganger," Klaus said casually, his tone light but edged with a warning. "Just thought I'd remind you not to do anything you'll regret."

Amalie couldn't help herself—she snickered softly, the irony of it too good to pass up. Klaus' eyes flicked back to her briefly, his smirk widening just slightly, but he said nothing.

Damon rolled his eyes. "Ha. Thanks for the advice, really. But I don't supposed I could talk you into a postponement, huh? What's one month in the grand scheme of things?"

Klaus raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as though Damon had just suggested something utterly absurd. "You are kidding?" He said, the faintest scoff in his voice. He turned to Amalie instead, his eyes narrowing in mock disbelief. "He is kidding, right?"

Amalie met his gaze with a smile, her tone dry. "Dead serious."

Klaus let out a low laugh, shaking his head as he turned back to Damon. "Let me be clear," he said, his voice hardening just enough to leave no room for argument. "I have my vampire. I have my werewolf. I have everything I need. The ritual will happen tonight. So if you want to live to see tomorrow, don't screw it up."

He turned to Amalie once more, his expression softening just slightly as his eyes lingered on her. "I'll be seeing you soon, love," he said, his tone warm and teasing, before walking out of the bar.

Amalie watched him go, her smirk fading into something more thoughtful. A moment later, she stood.

"Where are you going?" Damon asked, frowning.

"Out," Amalie said simply, grabbing her coat and slinging it over her arm.

"Out where ?" Alaric pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Amalie didn't answer. She was already heading for the door.

The cool breeze hit her face as she stepped outside, her eyes scanning the dimly lit street. It didn't take her long to find him—Klaus was just a few paces ahead, walking leisurely down the street.

She trailed after him, keeping her steps light but deliberate. The sound of her boots against the pavement must have alerted him, because Klaus stopped and turned slightly, catching sight of her.

"Chasing after me already?" He teased, his lips curving into a smirk. "I quite like this."

Amalie came to a stop a few feet away, her arms crossed, though her expression was calm, even amused. "Don't flatter yourself," she replied lightly. "I'm not here to convince you to stop the sacrifice or anything ."

Klaus raised an eyebrow at that, clearly intrigued. "No? And here I thought you'd come to plead for your doppelganger friend's life."

She shrugged, her eyes steady on him. "I figure a thousand years with a part of yourself locked away is hell. What's one doppelganger in the grand scheme of things?"

His smirk faded slightly, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. "I don't suspect your...friends...share that way of thinking."

"They aren't really my friends," Amalie said simply, her tone devoid of any hint of bitterness.

Klaus studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I've noticed," he said softly, almost to himself.

For a moment, his usual confidence faltered, his gaze flickered with something almost shy, though he masked it quickly. "I suspect my big brother has told you everything, then?"

"Yeah," Amalie replied, her voice softer now, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "We can talk about it later. I've actually got a very in-depth pros and cons list developed."

Klaus let out a low laugh, his smile returning in full force. "Might I hear a sample?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think for a moment. "Alright. Con—you guys don't seem like the sharing type."

He chuckled at that, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against a nearby lamppost. "Fair point," he said, amusement lacing his voice. "And the pro?"

"If things get too testosterone-y," she said with a sly grin, "I can always just spend more time with Rebekah."

Klaus scoffed, rolling his eyes. "And I'll bet she'll rub that in our faces every chance she gets."

"I'm counting on it," Amalie said, her grin widening.

###

The clearing in the woods was bathed in moonlight, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the crackle of the ceremonial fire that Klaus' witch, Greta, had built. The night was heavy with anticipation, the air thick with the scent of blood and earth. Around the fire lay the bodies of his sacrifices—one by one, he had enacted the ritual with a cold precision that bordered on reverence.

Jules had been the first. The werewolf's screams had echoed through the trees as Klaus tore her heart from her chest, her body collapsing into the dirt. The blood from her heart, soaked into the water in the basin, feeding the ritual as the flames flared higher.

The second sacrifice had been meant to be Jenna. Klaus had intended to use her—a vampire turned unwillingly into a pawn in his centuries-long quest. But then he'd learned of her connection to Amalie. In a rare show of what some would call sentimentality, he let Jenna live. Instead, he'd plucked a nameless man from the streets of Mystic Falls, his life extinguished as easily as snuffing out a candle.

The final piece of the ritual was Elena, the doppelganger. She was trembling, her face pale but her eyes resolute. Klaus had killed her without hesitation, his fans sinking into her throat. As the last of her blood entered his body, the flames roared to life, reaching the sky as if the heavens themselves bore witness to what he had done.

And then it began.

Klaus' curse—the curse that had shackled his werewolf side for a thousand years—was broken. He felt it in his veins, the fire coursing through him as his body began its transformation. His bones cracked, his muscles tore and reformed, and for the first time in centuries, his wolf began to emerge.

But before the transformation could complete, the air around him shifted.

A storm of energy descended on the clearing, the night sky trembling with an unseen power. Bonnie appeared at the edge of the fire, her eyes dark with determination, her body vibrating with the strength of the hundred witches she had called upon. The earth beneath her feet seemed to quake with her presence.

Klaus faltered, his body wracked with pain as Bonnie's magic attacked him from all sides. The flames of the ritual fire twisted and roared, consuming the air as the witches' power tore into him. For the first time, Klaus looked vulnerable, his immortal strength faltering beneath the weight of Bonnie's fury.

It was then that Elijah appeared.

He stepped into the clearing, his presence commanding and unshaken by the chaos around him. The others—Bonnie and Stefan—froze, their eyes locking on him as he approached.

It seemed as though Elijah would do what they all expected—rip the heart from his brother's chest and end this reign of terror once and for all. But instead, he reached down, grabbing Klaus by the arm and hauling him upright.

Without a word, without hesitation, Elijah vanished into the night, Klaus in tow.

The clearing fell silent once more, save for the crackling of the dying flames. Bonnie stumbled, her strength drained as the power of the witches began to fade. Stefan caught her before she fell, his mind racing with unanswered questions.

What had just happened? Why had Elijah spared Klaus?

They didn't know. But they knew one thing for certain: the curse was broken, and Klaus had won.

###

The living room was steeped in shadows, the dim light of a single table lamp casting long, flickering streaks across the walls. The air was thick with tension, the silence punctuated only by the faint ticking of a clock on the mantle.

Jenna sat curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, clutching a throw pillow to her chest as if it were a lifeline. Her eyes were rimmed with worry, darting to her phone every few seconds, though it hadn't buzzed in hours.

Amalie sat next to her on the couch, her relaxed posture, one leg crossed over the other. She held a glass of wine in her hand, sipping it occasionally, though the glass was more for show than any real desire to drink. She was trying to look composed, like this night didn't bother her at all.

Because it didn't. Not really.

"She should have called by now," Jenna said, her voice tight, cracking slightly at the edges. "Why hasn't she called?"

Amalie exhaled softly, setting the glass on the coffee table with a quiet clink. "Jenna, she's with Damon and Stefan. If nothing else, they're good at keeping her alive."

Jenna shot her a look, her brow furrowed with frustration. "This is Klaus we're talking about, Amalie. He's not going to let her go. Not unless—" She cut herself off, her throat working as she swallowed hard.

Amalie shifted slightly, moving to sit beside Jenna on the couch. She placed a hand on Jenna's arm, her touch firm but not overbearing "Hey," she said softly, her voice steady, even soothing. "Until we hear otherwise, there's no reason to think the worst, okay?"

Jenna's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she nodded, clutching the pillow tighter. "I just...I can't lose her too."

Amalie hesitated, her gaze flickering to the floor. She wasn't good at this—comforting people, being the shoulder to cry on. But Jenna had always been kind to her, even when she didn't have to be. That kindness deserved something in return, even if Amalie didn't share her worry about Elena.

"You won't," Amalie said after a moment, her tone more confident than she felt. "Elena's too stubborn to die. And if she does..." She paused, her lips curving into a wry smile. "Well, I'd put money on her coming back just to spite Klaus."

The corner of Jenna's mouth twitched, a weak attempt at a smile. "You think?"

"I know," Amalie replied firmly.

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension still thick, but the edges softened by Amalie's presence. Jenna leaned her head back against the couch, closing her eyes as she tried to steady her breathing.

"I hate this," Jenna muttered. "Not knowing. It's the worst part."

Amalie nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to the window. Beyond the glass, the night stretched out endlessly, the stars cold and distant. "Yeah," she said quietly. "It is."

"Do you ever wish..." Jenna started, her voice hesitant, like she was trying to find the right words. "Do you ever wish you didn't have to deal with any of this? The supernatural stuff?"

Amalie glanced at her, considering the question. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But it's not exactly something you can just walk away from."

Jenna nodded, biting her lip as she stared down at her hands. "I just wish none of this ever happened. That she was safe, that we were all just...normal."

Amalie didn't respond immediately. Normal wasn't a word she'd ever associated with her own life. She wasn't sure she'd even know what it felt like. But she could understand the longing in Jenna's voice, the desperate wish for peace, for simplicity.

"We'll get through this," Amalie said finally, her voice soft but resolute. "One way or another."

Jenna didn't look convinced, but she nodded, leaning her head on Amalie's shoulder. They sat there in the dim light, waiting for a phone call that could change everything, each lost in their own thoughts.

And in the silence, the clock continued to tick.

###

Elena had lived.

And now, a few days later, everyone was attending John Gilbert's funeral. He had given his life so his daughter could keep hers.

The cemetery was hushed, the stillness broken only by the occasional whisper of wind through the trees and the soft rustle of clothing as the few gathered mourners shifted their weight. Amalie stood at the back of the small group, her hands tucked into the pockets of her black coat.

Elena knelt by John's headstone, her movements slow and deliberate as she placed a single white flower on the freshly turned earth. Her shoulders were rigid, her back straight, but the strain in her posture betrayed the cracks in her composure.

Amalie's gaze lingered on Elena for a moment before shifting to the others around her. Jenna stood a few steps to Amalie's left, her face pale and drawn, her arms crossed tightly over her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. Besides her, Caroline and Bonnie stood close together, their quiet solidarity an unspoken comfort.

They were all here for Elena, for John, for the shared weight of loss that seemed to follow this group like a shadow. Amalie, however, stood apart, not just in distance but in something deeper, something less tangible.

Her eyes drifted past John's headstone to the one beside it, etched with the names of Elena's parents. Miranda and Grayson Gilbert. Another tragedy, another loss. Elena moved to that grave now, laying another flower at its base, her fingers lingering briefly against the cold stone before she rose.

Amalie shifted her weight, her boots pressing into the soft earth beneath her. She knew this kind of grief, the kind that hung around cemeteries. It wasn't the ritual of mourning that affected her so much as the memories it stirred.

Her mind drifted back, unbidden, to a cemetery decades ago. The faces of strangers blurred together in the haze of her memory, but she remembered the sharp lines of her parents' caskets, the deep grooves of the soil that would soon cover them. She had stood at the back then, too, just as she did now, separate from the rest.

They hadn't loved her. Not really. The curse she carried had been too much for them to bear. The whispered arguments, the sharp words, the cold, distant gazes. But despite all of that, she had gone to both of their funerals. They were still her parents.

Amalie blinked, pulling herself back to the present as Elena stepped away from the graves. The younger girls' movements were stiff, like each step cost her more than she could spare. Jeremy reached out, brushing a hand against Elena's arm in a silent gesture of comfort.

Amalie's gaze wandered across the rows of headstones, their inscriptions softened by moss and time. Her parents' graves here back home, marked by names and dates she hadn't visited since that day. She had stayed long after the others had gone then, her shadow stretching across the damp earth as the sun began to set. She had said nothing, felt nothing, or she'd told herself.

She thought of her brother, his face blurry now in her memory. She'd tried to find him after their parents' death, sifting through scattered leads and old addresses. But it was like chasing smoke. Nothing solid, nothing real. He had disappeared into the ether, and she'd stopped searching after a while. It hadn't seemed worth it.

A soft breeze stirred the hem of her coat, and she looked up to find the others beginning to disperse, their muted conversation drifting on the wind. Elena lingered by the graves, her head bowed, her arms wrapped herself as if shielding herself from the chill.

Amalie stayed where she was, her eyes fixed on the ground. She hadn't cared much for John—his choices, his sacrifices, his very existence—but standing here, she could almost understand the weight of what he'd done. Giving everything for someone else.

She reached into her pocket, pulling out a single black feather she'd picked up absentmindedly on her walk to the cemetery. She rolled it between her fingers, the soft texture grounding her. When the group finally began to walk away, Amalie lingered for just a moment longer, her eyes scanning the horizon, her thoughts a tangled web of the past and present.

Then, with a quiet sigh, she turned and followed the others, her steps slow, deliberate, the weight of the graves behind her pressing against her back like a shadow she could never quite escape.

###

Amalie sat cross-legged on the worn rug in her living room, her journal spread open across her lap. A soft, golden light poured from the lamp above her, catching the faint smudges of charcoal on her fingers. The pen in her hand glided across the page as she wrote, her thoughts spilling out in uneven loops of cursive.

She'd always written like this: scattered, messy, half-formed thoughts scratched down alongside little sketches in the margins. It wasn't meant to be perfect. This wasn't for anyone but her.

On the corner of one page, she'd started sketching the edge of a flower—just the petals, curling outward like they were caught in a breeze. On the opposite corner, a tiny dagger took shape, its handle ornate and intricate, though she couldn't decide if she wanted to finish it. Her fingers hesitated before abandoning the dagger entirely, returning to the words instead.

She stared at what she'd written so far, chewing on the inside of her cheek. There's not much to do anymore. It's over, I guess. Klaus and his curse. Elena's alive and safe. I don't care about that part as much, but still.

The tip of her pen hovered over the page, her thoughts momentarily drifting. She tapped it lightly against the paper before scrawling another thought.

Elijah's daggered.

Her chest tightened as she wrote the words, the memory of the sharp, phantom pain still fresh in her mind. It had been like a needle piercing through her chest, faint but unmistakable. She'd felt it before—the last time he