Bound in the Shadows / TVD N.M

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Liora

The table was set to absolute perfection, every detail aligned with the Mikaelsons' flair for the grandiose. Crystal glasses and gleaming silverware captured the flickering light of the chandelier, casting a soft, golden glow over the meticulously arranged dishes and the rich red roses that adorned the table's center. Each element was designed to command awe, to remind everyone present of Elijah's skill in orchestrating an atmosphere where elegance and dread mingled in equal parts.

A heavy tension filled the room. Elijah had ensured that each place setting was flawless: delicate bone china, intricately folded napkins, and a progression of courses filling the air with aromas of tender meats and simmered sauces. The refined ambiance felt like a thin facade, holding back the storm of tempers that lay beneath it. Even the compelled servants moved with an unnaturally silent obedience as they served, their blank faces reflecting the undercurrent of barely controlled animosity simmering in the air.

Nik sat beside me, one hand casually resting on my thigh, his fingers brushing against my skin in a slow, controlled rhythm. Though he appeared at ease, I could feel the tension radiating from him. The touch was as much to reassure me as it was to steady himself. Across from us, Stefan shifted uncomfortably beside Rebekah, his forced calm betrayed by the way his jaw tightened with each passing moment. Rebekah, in contrast, draped herself elegantly in her chair, casting a knowing glance in my direction, her lips curving into a subtle, amused smile as if she relished the spectacle about to unfold.

At the head of the table, Elijah and Damon sat like commanders before battle, sizing each other up. Elijah, ever the diplomat, maintained his calm demeanor, his gaze level, his hands resting lightly on the table. Damon leaned back, his smirk daring someone—anyone—to make the first move. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, a small, grating sound that punctuated the otherwise silent tension.

"Isn't this quaint?" Damon drawled, eyes flicking around the opulent spread before landing on Niklaus. "Dinner with the devil and his merry band of immortals. Almost feels... familial."

Elijah lifted his glass, his movements controlled and formal. "Indeed, Damon. Civility is, after all, the cornerstone of any productive discussion."

Beside me, Nik's fingers tightened on my thigh, a subtle but unmistakable sign of his simmering fury. He responded with an unsettling calm. "Enjoy this, Damon, while you can still hold a fork."

Damon only smirked, undeterred. "Is that a threat, or are you afraid I might ask for the silverware as a parting gift?"

The servants returned, placing delicate bowls of soup before each of us. Damon, feigning exaggerated politeness, picked up his spoon with an exaggerated flourish. As he took a sip, the smug gleam in his eyes remained fixed on Niklaus, the effect as deliberate as a dagger held just shy of striking.

"Alright, enough with the pleasantries." Damon set his spoon down with a decisive clink, his gaze sweeping over the room. "You called me here because you want something. But if you're expecting me to just hand it over... let's just say you're in for a very disappointing evening."

Rebekah scoffed softly, her tone thick with sarcasm. "Oh, Damon, must you always be so dramatic? Maybe if you behaved, we could actually enjoy this dinner."

Stefan stifled a laugh but quickly suppressed it under Damon's dark glare. "And maybe if you all weren't camped out in Mystic Falls, the town would have a little more peace," Damon shot back, leaning back in his chair with a careless shrug. "I have a simple solution. Pack up this family circus and get the hell out. Maybe even leave the country."