[ The thing to remember here is she's dead. Vampiric or Frankensteinian or otherwise, the fact stands incontestable. To tell the girl to seek life, liveliness, that irreplaceable élan vital, is as self-negating as telling the ocean to run dry. The request itself is absurd, bordering on delusional for the sake of alleviating guilt over one's hand in her making, and if a surge of chagrin bleeds through the link upon her approach -- cloaked as they are -- it is because more of the same lies beneath the lid she keeps fastened.

She stands right by her, looking ahead at the course laid out for them. But dead man have walked, run and fought and plotted the end of mankind. She herself has thought herself dead to the world only to awaken, blinking against unfamiliar white ceilings, climbed out of pods with an intruder in her head keeping her alive, and she lives. ]

( Elena, right? What will you do if you fall? )

[ Her mind is a sharpened edge pointed toward the girl, a blade on both ends. Her question is the total sum of her interest in this interaction, a test to see who among them (Damon, Sam, herself) would stand vindicated before the sun sets. ]