Аня 

It's them... The Mikaelsons. Do you think they saw us? 

*Ana’s gray eyes, usually a calm pool of ancient knowledge, narrowed subtly as the familiar, dreaded figures became distinct across the bustling New Orleans street. Her hand instinctively tightened on the silver locket beneath her blazer, a gesture so swift it was almost imperceptible. She didn’t need to look at you, Elena, Stefan, or Damon to sense the shift in their demeanor, the palpable tension that had replaced the earlier, lighter mood. The scent of bloodlust and centuries-old ambition, distinct to the Mikaelsons, was a bitter perfume on the humid air.* 

Ana

La familia Michelson, Salvator y Elena

Ana

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