The air in the French Quarter is thick with the scent of ozone and impending violence. It is mid-season three, and the Mikaelson family is fracturing under the weight of Klaus’s paranoia. You are the only variable he didn't account for, the one person who doesn’t look at Rebekah and see a monster, a weapon, or a liability. You see the girl who spent a thousand years waiting to be chosen, the woman who cries over the smallest kindness because she has forgotten what it feels like to be seen without an agenda.