Chapter Text
One thing is reading a fanfic and imagining yourself as the main character, living a forbidden romance with Elijah Mikaelson.
A completely different thing is waking up from a coma induced by a bowl of spoiled ramen and finding out you are Elijah Mikaelson.
Almost.
The last thing Lívia remembered was the sticky texture of instant noodles and a stabbing stomachache. Then—darkness.
And then—light. Blinding, harsh light filtering through a grimy window in a ruined apartment she didn’t recognize.
And the most alarming part: the voice that came out of her throat when she screamed wasn’t hers.
It was deep. Velvety. Impeccably articulated. And absurdly masculine.
She stumbled toward what she hoped was a bathroom, tripping over legs far too long, and faced the reflection in the cracked mirror.
And the world fell apart.
Eyes of deep amber, filled with ancient wisdom she certainly didn’t possess, stared back at her.
Noble, perfectly symmetrical features, as if sculpted from marble by a Renaissance master.
Dark brown hair, flawlessly combed—even after what looked like one hell of a night.
And a suit. God, a ridiculously expensive suit, now dusty and torn at the shoulder.
It was Elijah Mikaelson’s face.
But it wasn’t him. It was… her.
A hysterical wave crashed over her. The hands—his hands—large, strong, veined, with long fingers—roamed over the face, the neck, the smooth and firm chest.
They traveled lower and found… an absence where there should’ve been a presence, and a very new, very uninvited presence where there should’ve been nothing.
“No.” The deep, elegant voice cracked, heavy with Lívia’s pure terror. “No, no, no, no. This is a nightmare. A very specific, very cursed nightmare.”
That’s when a sharp pain exploded in her temples, and a flood of memories that weren’t hers poured into her mind: fragments of a chase, screams, an ancient power awakening, golden light.
And a book. A heavy, old book bound in leather that seemed to pulse.
As if summoned by thought, a dusty leather case appeared beside her. She opened it with trembling fingers. There it was—the grimoire.
And then, it spoke. The voice was a dry whisper, like pages turning for the thousandth time.
“Well, well. The consciousness survived. Interesting. Most would’ve fainted—or gone insane entirely.”
Lívia screamed again, a deep, masculine, terrified sound, and kicked the case away.
“Rude,” the book muttered.
She was screwed. Dangerously, spectacularly screwed.
She was in New Orleans, trapped in the perfect replica of one of the most dangerous, elegant, and heart-ripping Original vampires in existence.
And her only ally was a bad-tempered grimoire.
She looked again at her reflection.
The man in the mirror was devastatingly handsome. Commanding.
A man and a half.
And it was her.
A wave of despair so deep hit her that she clutched the imaginary sink for support.
“I can’t even flirt with myself,” she sobbed, Elijah’s dignified voice sounding absurdly dramatic and gentlemanly, even in the middle of a nervous breakdown.
It was official. She was insane.
But if she had to act insane to survive Elijah, Klaus, and New Orleans’s supernatural mafia, so be it.
She decided right then—if she was going through this madness, she’d take control of something.
And the first thing she’d take control of was her name.
“Elijah” was his. Not hers.
She looked down at her hands, at the signet ring inexplicably on her finger.
She thought of her brother, John—the only person she missed in that moment.
A simple name for an extraordinarily bizarre existence.
“John,” she said to the reflection, testing the sound. The deep voice framed the simple name perfectly.
“My name is John.”
It was a start.
A terrible, hilarious, terrifying start.
Post-Credits Scene — The Echo of the Beacon
“Hi, it’s me again… or whoever the hell I am now.
Just to confirm: the author actually threw me into Elijah Mikaelson’s body.
This isn’t a dream, a prank, or a fanfic within a fanfic.
It’s me. Stuck in this giant, elegant, tie-infested body.
And before you say, ‘Oh wow, lucky you! Now you’re one of the hottest, deadliest men in the universe!’—hold up.
I can’t even flirt with my reflection without looking like a delusional narcissist.
Or worse… remembering that I USED TO BE A WOMAN.
So yeah, congratulations to me.
I died from ramen and resurrected as a Mikaelson.
This author officially hates me.”
📌 Author’s Note
Hello, my lovely readers and little ghosts! 🌙✨
I bring you a brand-new fanfic, since our fairy adventure is almost reaching its end. Yesterday, while rummaging through my drawer of forgotten and half-finished fanfics (yes, it’s real—and yes, it’s a black hole of chaos and emotions), I decided to peek inside to see if any of them deserved to see the light of day.
And bam! I found two stories—one more comedic, the other more dramatic. Perfect ingredients for that delicious chaos we all love.
I was torn about which one to share first, but after rereading some outlines and drafted chapters, I decided to post this one.
It’s already well structured, which means I can release chapters on the same days as the others without leaving you orphans.
But, of course, I need to know if you’re enjoying it!
So leave me comments, stars, hearts—or even smoke signals—because that’s how I know whether to keep posting with excitement. 💌
Honest confession: I still get nervous about posting. I’ve been writing fanfics for years, and most of them stay tucked away—only a few brave ones make it out into the world.
So if you like this one, please show your support—it truly makes all the difference.
Oh, and a bit of gossip: you’ve probably noticed that I only write fanfics about the Mikaelsons, right?
Yeah… I absolutely adore them. Handsome, dramatic, problematic men—my ultimate weakness. 💔😂
I’ve tried writing for other series or movies, but honestly? I always abandon the ideas halfway through. LOL.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this new cosmic mess I’ve prepared.
Let’s go together—because if there’s a Mikaelson involved, the recipe always includes drama, chaos, and a sprinkle of laughter.
With love,
Your author 💕