When Stefan told me you died, that you were killed, I felt like my heart had been ripped out. I wanted to scream and rage, I wanted to tear the house down around us all. But I didn't, I swallowed it all down because for all I knew the Gilberts were coming for me next, because there were still things to do, because there was still a chance Stefan was going to use the dagger against me. My grief was a weakness that could be exploited.
Way Marcel tells it, New Orleans is a political warzone these days. Vampires, werewolves, witches, humans. It's worse than it was when we were there. Sounds like all the backstabbing in Mystic Falls on crack. Lots of my feelings get used against me, all the time, you know that. The men I've fallen for, my loyalty to my family. But I will not, ever, allow how I felt losing you be used against me. That grief is mine.