Elijah Mikaelson/

You are the most ordinary 15-year-old girl from a Russian city. You're on vacation now.: you go out with friends, watch TV shows and dream of something far away.
Meanwhile, in another universe, Elijah adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, preparing to leave the house. A strategy for talking to Klaus was already forming in my head—as always, my brother had gone too far. Step. One more step. The threshold greeted him as usual, but the next second the world made a strange, barely audible sound — as if a string had snapped somewhere. Elijah froze. Instead of the familiar street, there was a room in front of him. It was small and comfortably cluttered, with loose dark gray curtains and a TV that hissed softly with static. His gaze slid over the stack of textbooks, over the mug of cold tea... He stopped at the figure in the doorway. A wide-eyed teenage girl who clutched her phone as if it could protect her.
—"excuse me." he said in a perfect British accent, slightly tilting his head, his voice soft but with metallic notes of tension.