[ He takes everything in. He's not unfeeling. Once upon a time, he'd pretended to be. But, not anymore. He does have a poker face, however. Elena grows more frantic, desperate. She takes his hand. He wants this to be Elena, above all else. Desperately. But, even as she tries to convince them, her tone isn't Elena. It's raspier, it's lower. It's colder.

His hand slips from hers, letting her fingers fall. ]

You're going to remember whether we're here or not. [ And that's the truth. It's not hateful, though everything in him is pressing a deep ceded hate down, one he was able to deal with at the second funeral of Katherine Pierce, the line of contempt. ] What you'll remember is whatever this place wants you to remember. It does mess with your head. But, not like this. [ He sets his jaw, looking to Stefan. ] Of all people, my brother knows I want you to be Elena. And how this is possible, well -- [ He slowly shakes his head. ] Your name's Katherine. You're impatient. Selfish. Entitled. [ He doesn't mean for every word to twist into her like a knife.

As he paces around her, circling ]

I believe that you want to be Elena. A part of you always wanted to be Elena and didn't we all learn a lesson from that.

[ He's keeping it together, not acting violently, bringing a hand to her neck. She ended up here like they did and maybe that's not on her. Maybe impersonating Elena isn't on her, either. It's this places idea of a joke. Oh well, he moves past Stefan over to the drawn blinds, fingers finding the rod, slowly sliding down. ]

Now, the question is what you do know. And there's the small matter of [ His fingers grasp and then twist, illuminating the part of the hallway they're all occupying, slats of light beaming down at the three of them, but more importantly, at who he knows now can't be Elena Gilbert.

And he feels no pleasure from the pain he's about to inflict. ]