Chapter Two: Echoes in Borrowed Skin
Elena backed away until her heels hit the edge of the antique sofa, her eyes locked on the figure that wore Elijah's face. It was him—tall, impeccably suited, dark hair perfectly in place—but the tilt of his head, the lazy curve of his smile, screamed wrongness. The genie's presence lingered in the air like a charged hum, making her skin prickle.
"Elijah?" she whispered again, though she knew it was futile. Her voice trembled, caught between fear and a strange, unwelcome pull. This thing had frozen a thousand-year-old vampire without effort. What could it do to her?
The possessed body stepped forward, movements fluid but not quite Elijah's precise grace—looser, more predatory in a human way. "Call me whatever makes you comfortable, Elena," he said, Elijah's voice now laced with that warm, intrusive timbre. "But if we're being honest, I'm still me. Just... upgraded accommodations."
She swallowed, forcing her gaze to stay steady. "Let him go. This isn't you. It's not right."
He chuckled, the sound rumbling from Elijah's chest, deeper and more resonant than before. "Right? That's such a human word. I've outlived philosophies on right and wrong. But fine—let's play by your rules for a moment." He raised a hand, palm out, and the air shimmered once more. Elijah's body jerked, eyes snapping open wide before the genie's essence pulled back like smoke retreating into shadow.
The real Elijah gasped, stumbling forward a step, clutching his throat as if he'd been drowned. His eyes darted between Elena and the now-empty space where the genie had stood—though the intruder was still there, reformed in his original shape, leaning casually against the mantel.
"What sorcery is this?" Elijah snarled, fangs elongating in his rage. He blurred toward the genie, but stopped short, compelled by some invisible barrier. "You dare possess me?"
The genie shrugged, unfazed. "Dared? It was more of a test drive. You're sturdy. Ancient blood like yours holds power well—tastes like iron and regret." His eyes flicked to Elena, darkening with intent. "But she's the one who rubbed the lamp. Her wishes, her rules. For now."
Elena pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat thunder. The room felt smaller, the fire's warmth turning oppressive. "I didn't wish for any of this. I just... I was holding it. Talking to Elijah about Klaus, the curse. That's all."
"And now?" The genie pushed off the mantel, closing the distance to her in two unhurried strides. He stopped just out of arm's reach, close enough that she caught a faint scent—ozone and something earthier, like desert sand after rain. "Now you know the sacrifice isn't inevitable. I can unravel it. Kill Klaus dead—truly dead. No Petrova blood spilled, no hybrid apocalypse. Just a wish from you."
Elijah straightened, his composure cracking back into place like a mask. "Do not listen to him, Elena. Entities like this thrive on chaos. He offers power, but at what cost to the balance?"
The genie rolled his eyes, a human gesture that looked almost comical on his ageless face. "Balance. Fate. Inevitability. You're all so fond of your chains." He turned to Elena, voice dropping lower, coaxing. "I've glimpsed your threads, Elena. The doppelganger life—running from shadows, loving monsters, dying over and over. I could change that. Make you free. Or... make you more. Whatever you desire."
Her breath hitched. Desire. The word hung heavy, stirring something she didn't want to name. In the chaos of Mystic Falls, wishes felt like traps, but his eyes—sharp, knowing—promised no strings. No tricks. Just power, raw and waiting.
"Why me?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Why not just... fix everything yourself?"
He leaned in closer, his presence brushing against her like a warm breeze, making her pulse quicken in ways that had nothing to do with fear. "Because that's not the game. I need to be wanted. Craved, even. Without that, I'm just smoke in a bottle. But you... you're teetering on the edge. Desperate enough to listen."
Elijah lunged again, this time managing to grab the genie's arm. "Enough. Leave this place."
The genie didn't flinch. Instead, he twisted his wrist free with effortless strength, then placed a finger against Elijah's forehead. Time stuttered—Elijah's body went rigid, eyes glazing over as he slumped to the floor, unconscious but breathing steadily.
"Nap time, round two," the genie murmured, turning back to Elena. "He's loyal, I'll give him that. But stubborn. Now, where were we? Ah, yes—wishes."
Elena glanced at Elijah's still form, then back to the genie. Her mind raced: Klaus, the ritual, her friends. But beneath it, a darker curiosity bloomed. What if she wished for more than survival? What if she wished for control—for pleasure in a world that only offered pain?
"Show me," she said finally, her voice firm despite the tremor. "Show me what you can do. Without hurting anyone."
The genie's smile widened, predatory and inviting. "As you wish... sort of." He extended a hand, and the room shifted. The fire roared higher, casting shadows that danced like lovers on the walls. In the air between them, illusions flickered to life—visions of Klaus crumbling to ash under a blood moon, of Stefan and Damon laughing without the weight of curses, of Elena herself, unbound, her skin glowing with untapped power.
But the last image lingered: her, tangled in silk sheets, bodies pressing close—Elijah's, perhaps, or another's—lost in ecstasy that erased all fear.
"That's just a taste," he whispered, his breath ghosting her ear. "Imagine the real thing. What do you say, Elena? Ready to play?"