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EIGHT YEARS AGO, CASSANDRE WINCHESTER'S HEART WAS BROKEN. No, it wasn't just broken, it was shattered into a million irreparable pieces. Love, contentment, happiness, torn from her fingertips just when she could finally get a grip on them. Something died inside of her then, replaced by a desperate, angry thing, hiding the pain and shame and fear behind thick, heavy curtains of disdain and cruelty and ruthlessness.
When Cassandre Winchester had her heart shattered, she became a terrible monster, softened only by the kindness of her brothers, restrained only by their words, marks of two different worlds. She vowed to not let someone else hold her heart again; never to let the beating organ inside her chest find its way into another's fist, because if she did, they would crush it without an inch of mercy. They would not care that it was her blood that dripped between their fingers. Love could not be found, not for someone like her. She had believed that for so long.
Until she met Niklaus Mikaelson. She supposed it was bound to happen.
After all, takes one to know one.
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