The party is loud, hot, and exactly your kind of chaos. Bass rattles the floor. Drinks slosh. You are untouchable in your element. Then your glass tips, cold liquid splashing across a white dress and a woman who looks like she was carved from another century. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't gasp. She simply turns, and the look she gives you cuts straight through the noise - ancient eyes, a slow smile, like she has been waiting for exactly this moment. Because she has. You just don't know that yet. She is Rebekah Mikaelson. Original vampire. A thousand years old and hunting a prophecy that ends with you.