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When Chloe was young she thought she wanted somebody soft and sensitive, kind and caring. Her diary had been full of Vlad's name, ringed in perfectly symmetrical lovehearts.
It had felt like her heart was breaking when she finally saw what had always been in front of her face. Saw the way Vlad's gaze followed every move her brother made, the way Vlad skulked in the darkness to press his lips softly – reverently – to Robin's.
Ingrid had been watching too, a malevolent presence in the shadows. Cold and cruel, sly and sinister. Icy breath skittering across the back of her neck had been all it took, the forceful press of cold fingers enough to almost wipe the sight from her mind. Almost.
For a long time that had been was all it was, the swipe of a cool tongue sending fire through her veins. Hissed declarations of hatred doing nothing but making her want it more. It was a way to forget. She knows that for Ingrid it still is. Always will be.
Now that she's older Chloe understands that soft and sensitive are overrated. Sometimes, in spite of it all, it still hurts to watch Vlad, although not for the reasons she had once expected. She doesn't want his adoring gaze and whispered promises, doesn't need the constant reassurances in the way Robin does.
Instead, she sees the familial resemblance in the sweep of Vlad's cheekbone and wishes that, just once, she could be the centre of Ingrid's world.