New Orleans, 1922
The speakeasy throbbed with life. Saxophones wailed, cigarette smoke curled to the vaulted ceiling, and the Original family ruled the shadows like old gods wearing silk and fangs.
Aleksandr sat in the private mezzanine above the dance floor, a glass of crimson in his hand. Below, Rebekah twirled with the latest boy who'd stolen her heart — a jazz pianist named Emil.
Elijah leaned against the railing beside Aleksandr, his suit immaculate even amid the sweat and the gin. "She's happy," he said softly.
Aleksandr didn't look at him. "She thinks she is."
Elijah's jaw clenched. "You don't have to do it. Let her love him."
Aleksandr sipped his drink, the runes in his irises flickering. "You know how this ends, Elijah. Humans die. Rebekah grieves. I spare her the cycle."
Elijah stared at him. "You call that mercy?"
Aleksandr's voice was soft — the whisper of a snake in the garden. "I call it love."
Rebekah sat on the stone bench, Emil's laughter still warm in her ears. The jazz inside pulsed through the walls like a heartbeat. She pressed her cheek to the cold marble, trying to imagine a life where she could stay here, dancing forever.
Kol's voice drifted from the shadows. "Sweet little sister. Falling for another mortal? Tsk."
She glared up at him. "What do you want, Kol?"
Kol knelt beside her, the grin on his lips sharp as glass. "A warning, perhaps. You know he'll take this from you, like he always does."
Rebekah's chest ached. "Then help me stop him."
Kol's eyes flickered, runes shifting beneath his pupils — not Stigma runes, but ancient, wild sigils from the witches he'd bribed and bled over the centuries. "He thinks he's the only serpent in this family. But I've learned a few new tricks."
Rebekah's fingers tightened around his sleeve. "Where will you go?"
Kol leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. "Somewhere the Alpha Stigma can't see me. Somewhere he'll never expect."
She shivered. "Be careful."
Kol laughed — a sound like glass shattering in the night. "Careful is for mortals."
Klaus slammed a bottle against the bar, glass and whiskey splattering across the floor. "You're all weak!" he snarled. "Dancing in the shadows while the world bends to our will!"
Aleksandr appeared behind him like a ghost, one hand clamping on his shoulder.
"Klaus."
Klaus spun, eyes golden, teeth bared. "Let me have this town, brother! Let me drown these witches and wolves in their own blood."
Aleksandr's eyes glowed — runes swirling like molten metal. "And make us targets for the Council in Mystic Falls? For the humans who already whisper about monsters in the dark?"
Klaus sneered. "You're afraid."
Aleksandr's grip tightened — and for the briefest moment, Klaus felt the Stigma press into the part of him that was still human, still weak. Pain lanced through his mind, and his wolf whimpered in the cage of his soul.
Aleksandr's voice was a hiss against Klaus's ear. "I am never afraid."
He released Klaus, who stumbled back, hatred blazing in his eyes. "One day, brother," Klaus rasped, clutching his head. "You won't be able to hold us all in your coils."
Aleksandr didn't flinch. "Then I will find new serpents to coil around."
The next night
Rebekah found Emil's body in the alley behind the club — throat torn out, eyes wide in terror. She fell to her knees in the bloodstained snowmelt, her cries echoing off the brick walls.
Aleksandr watched from the rooftops above, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. Elijah appeared beside him, rage radiating off him like a storm.
"You did this," Elijah hissed.
Aleksandr didn't look away from Rebekah. "He was a weakness. Now she is safe."
Elijah's hand shot out, gripping Aleksandr's lapel. "You're becoming worse than Father."
Aleksandr's eyes turned to him, irises blazing with Stigma fire. "Don't ever compare me to Mikael."
Elijah held his gaze — but his fingers dropped, as if touching a burning coal. "You're losing them. Kol's gone. Klaus plots. Rebekah will never forgive you for this."
Aleksandr's smile was a thin cut of moonlight. "Let them hate me. It is better they hate me than bury themselves beside mortals who will always die."
To my dearest, tyrannical big brother,
By the time you read this, I'll be gone. Not dead — not yet — but gone beyond your Stigma's watchful eyes. Did you think you were the only Mikaelson who could make witches dance to your tune?
You coil around this family like a noose. But the serpent devours its own tail eventually, doesn't it? I intend to make sure you taste your own venom one day.
Tell Elijah I love him. Tell Bekah I'm sorry. Tell Klaus… nothing. He's always been Father's bastard, not ours.
Yours in blood,
Kol
Aleksandr read the letter by candlelight in the hidden catacombs beneath the French Quarter. His loyal acolytes — the original circle of the Ættar — waited in silence, watching their master's reaction.
He said nothing. He only lifted the flame to the parchment, watching it curl into ash between his fingers.
One of the acolytes — Seraphine's granddaughter now — stepped forward nervously. "Master… the Council is watching Mystic Falls again. The next Petrova is close."
Aleksandr's eyes flared with runes bright enough to cast shadows across the stone walls. "Let them watch. The next loop begins."
Rebekah packed her suitcase with trembling hands. Elijah stood in the doorway, helpless.
"Where will you go?" he asked.
"Anywhere," she said, voice raw. "Somewhere he can't find me."
Elijah touched her shoulder — but she shrugged him off. "He thinks this is love, Elijah. But it's a cage. And I can't breathe in it anymore."
Outside, Aleksandr watched the door close behind her. He made no move to stop her — because he already knew:
Wherever she ran, the serpent's coils would wait.
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