DOPPELGÄNGER.

The morning light pressed against your window, slipping through the curtains in soft, golden streaks. The silence of your bedroom was thick, only disturbed by the rhythmic ticking of the clock on your wall. It was that fleeting, in-between moment before your alarm would go off—before reality would sink its claws into your mind, pulling you into another day.

You let out a slow breath, already awake before the harsh beep could startle you. It was always like this. Your body had memorized the routine of your life so well that it no longer needed reminders.

Reaching over, you turned the alarm off before it could sound, then sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The room around you was neatly kept—organized, but not overly decorated. A reflection of yourself. You were never the type to clutter things up with unnecessary distractions.

You padded toward the bathroom, flicking on the light. The mirror greeted you with a familiar sight: your face, slightly sleep-ridden but still effortlessly pretty. Not in a way that made people turn heads in the hallway, but in a way that made them glance, hesitate, and then move on, as if they couldn’t quite place why they noticed you at all.

That was your entire existence, wasn’t it? A presence that lingered but never stuck.

You weren’t invisible, but you might as well have been.

After washing your face and brushing your teeth, you turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the air before stepping in. The hot water ran down your back, soothing and repetitive, a moment of quiet before the day truly began.

Fifteen minutes later, you were dressed—jeans, a simple top, and your jacket. You weren’t the type to put effort into being noticed. Not like the girls at school who had perfected the art of attention. Elena Gilbert, Bonnie Bennett, Caroline Forbes—they moved through the halls with certainty, the kind of presence that made the world shift around them.

You were not like them.

You were just there.

Grabbing your bag, you left your room and headed downstairs. The house was quiet, as it usually was in the mornings. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, taking small sips as you leaned against the counter, staring at the smooth surface of the table.

A normal morning. A normal day.

Or so you thought.

—————: ̗̀➛

The school was alive with the usual buzz of morning conversations. Lockers slammed, laughter echoed, and footsteps moved in an endless rhythm down the hall. You maneuvered through the crowd with ease, unnoticed, just another face blending into the scenery.

You caught glimpses of the usual players.

Caroline was near her locker, her voice animated as she spoke to Bonnie about something undoubtedly dramatic. Elena stood nearby, listening but distant, her attention elsewhere—probably on whatever complicated mess her life had turned into.

You kept walking.

—“Hey, watch it,” someone muttered when you brushed past them.

You barely spared them a glance.

Making your way to class, you settled into your usual seat near the window, pulling out your notebook. The teacher droned on about something you already knew, but you kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the trees sway in the wind.

Something felt off today.

It wasn’t anything obvious. Just a subtle shift in the air, an unease that crawled up your spine for no apparent reason.

Then you felt it.

The weight of a gaze.

Turning your head slightly, your eyes landed on someone across the room—Stefan Salvatore.

You didn’t know him personally, only through whispered conversations in the hall and how he was with Elena. He was quiet, intense, the kind of guy people watched but didn’t approach. And right now, he was staring at you.

Not in the casual way people sometimes glanced at you before looking away.

This was different.

His brow was slightly furrowed, his expression unreadable. As if he was trying to solve a puzzle.

You swallowed but didn’t break eye contact. A challenge, or maybe just curiosity. Either way, after a moment, he looked away, his jaw tightening.

Weird.

The uneasy feeling didn’t leave you for the rest of the period.

…

You barely noticed when the first class ended. The soft murmurs of students packing up their books blended into the background as you stared at your notes, half-filled with scribbles that you hardly remembered writing.

The day dragged on in a haze of routine—history, math, then English. Each subject passed like clockwork, just another tick in the endless cycle of an unnoticed existence.

At lunch, you took your usual spot at the far end of the cafeteria, by the window. You never sat with anyone. You weren’t unwelcome, exactly, but you weren’t expected either. It was easier this way—no forced conversations, no questions.

From your seat, you could see them. Elena, Bonnie, Caroline. The golden circle of Mystic Falls High. Their laughter mixed with the buzz of voices around them, the easy kind of friendship that felt untouchable.

You weren’t jealous. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Instead, you pulled out your notebook, pretending to focus on the page. But then you felt it again—that strange, weighted stare.

Lifting your eyes, you caught sight of Stefan Salvatore. Again.

Across the room, at the opposite side of the cafeteria, he was watching you. But the moment your gazes met, he looked away, turning back to the conversation at his table as if nothing had happened.

Your stomach twisted.

What the hell was that about?

You shook it off and forced yourself to focus on your food, but the unease lingered long after the lunch bell rang.

—————: ̗̀➛

The feeling didn’t fade as the day went on.

Stefan didn’t just look at you twice—he looked at you multiple times. In the hallway between classes. From across the parking lot. Even during the quiet lull before the final bell rang.

At one point, as you pulled your books from your locker, you heard a voice behind you.

—“You must be new.”

You turned sharply.

Stefan stood there, leaning against the row of lockers with an effortless ease, but his eyes—his eyes—were scanning you, searching for something unseen.

—“I’ve been here for almost 4 years,” you said flatly.

Stefan’s brows furrowed just slightly, as if your answer didn’t match what he expected. As if you weren’t supposed to exist.

For some reason, that thought sent a shiver down your spine.

—“Huh,” he murmured, but there was something calculated in his expression before he pushed off the lockers and walked away.

You exhaled, gripping your books a little tighter.

That was weird.

Really weird.

—————: ̗̀➛

The house was silent except for the sound of Stefan flipping through pages.

The moment he got home, he went straight to work. He had spent decades researching doppelgängers, but this time, it felt different.

There was no record of you. No birth records tied to the Petrova line, no family history that led back to the known cycle of doppelgängers.

But your face—your face—felt like something he had seen before. Something buried deep in history.

He moved between bookshelves, pulling out old journals, scanning their pages by the dim glow of his desk lamp. Katherine. Elena. The same bloodline, the same repeating fate.

But you didn’t fit.

Perhaps you were a vampire?

It was the most logical explanation. Some vampires retained striking human features even centuries after turning. But your presence in the daylight, the steady sound of your heartbeat when he focused—no, you weren’t undead.

So you weren’t a vampire. You weren’t in any known lineage. Yet something in his gut told him that you weren’t just another person.

Hours passed, and frustration gnawed at him.

Until he found a page in an ancient, dust-covered book that made his breath hitch.

It wasn’t part of the well-documented Petrova history. It was something older.

A passage.

—"When the cycle is disrupted, when fate bends in ways unseen, a shadow will emerge—a doppelgänger born outside the pattern, neither meant to exist nor meant to be lost."

His grip on the book tightened.

This was new.

This was you.

Stefan barely heard Klaus enter the room until the hybrid’s amused voice broke the silence.

—“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, mate.”

Stefan didn’t answer immediately. He was still staring at the prophecy, trying to make sense of it.

Klaus strolled closer, peering over Stefan’s shoulder at the book. The smirk on his face faded the moment he read the passage.

For a moment, the room was thick with silence.

Then, in a low voice, Klaus murmured, “That’s impossible.”

Stefan turned to face him. “Then explain who this is.”

Stefan had a small photo of yours taken out of the yearbook, flashing it in Klaus’s eyes. Klaus’s gaze darkened at the photo, his fingers dragging across the edge of it and then the book. He didn’t answer right away, which meant he was thinking. Processing. Calculating.

—“Doppelgängers have always existed to maintain balance,” Klaus said slowly, as if speaking his thoughts aloud. “To tip the scales. Elena’s existence was necessary to create my hybrids. Katerina’s existence was necessary to run from me.” His gaze lifted, sharp and assessing. “But what happens when one is created outside of that balance?”

Stefan exhaled. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Klaus stared at the book for another moment before a slow, sharp grin crept onto his face.

—“Well, well,” he murmured. “Seems we have a mystery on our hands.”

But Stefan wasn’t sure it was just a mystery.

It felt like a warning.

And he had a feeling Klaus wasn’t the only one interested in finding out why you existed at all.

And he knew what Klaus wanted you for.

You were in danger.