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text. audio. video. mirror.
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Or herself, [ klaus expands, leaning forward, an elbow on his knee, ] leaving here only to come home. [ it occurs to him that is a cruel option as well: that cami could leave and die; die again. she could experience the terror and trauma firsthand.
and then she would learn the rest of this nightmare.
klaus wants another drink, even as influenced as he is, but he does not move to fill his tumbler, only lifts his eyes to his sister.
it occurs to him also that this is cami's home now and she knows it, he knows it anew with terrible, anguished finality; she will never have another. and he knows—to be a part of it here will only cause her pain. ] I told her the rest. About Aurora. About what she'd become.
and then she would learn the rest of this nightmare.
klaus wants another drink, even as influenced as he is, but he does not move to fill his tumbler, only lifts his eyes to his sister.
it occurs to him also that this is cami's home now and she knows it, he knows it anew with terrible, anguished finality; she will never have another. and he knows—to be a part of it here will only cause her pain. ] I told her the rest. About Aurora. About what she'd become.
[Her face softened at that, because there was a moment where she had also contemplated delivering that blow herself. But that was too much at once, and Cami had only asked for the "after."
A cowardly technicality, but a technicality she exploited nonetheless.]
At least there are a few less secrets between all of us.
[though that's a cold comfort when it's likely Cami didn't take Klaus' news any better than she took Freya's.]
A cowardly technicality, but a technicality she exploited nonetheless.]
At least there are a few less secrets between all of us.
[though that's a cold comfort when it's likely Cami didn't take Klaus' news any better than she took Freya's.]
[ a colder comfort he wouldn't hesitate to accept, so he doesn't hesitate to accept this one. what else is there for him to do, but to concentrate on what could be affecting; what could be changed? their precarious state is shared, just as their troubles are:
he doesn't want to think about cami anymore. (nothing will change that he will.)
klaus tips the bottle against the lip of the glass, pours a splash and offers it to her. ] Not quite Elijah's cocktail, but... [ an offer; the flickering humor in that offer not faded for how drawn it is ] if you prefer.
he doesn't want to think about cami anymore. (nothing will change that he will.)
klaus tips the bottle against the lip of the glass, pours a splash and offers it to her. ] Not quite Elijah's cocktail, but... [ an offer; the flickering humor in that offer not faded for how drawn it is ] if you prefer.
[She smirks a bit in return, before reaching for the glass with a small nod.]
I think it will do the trick.
I think it will do the trick.
[ he takes a moment to cleanly open his wrist with his fangs, letting drops of his blood fall into the glass until the wound closes over. he hands it to freya and lets her drink.
nothing will change that he will think of camille. nothing will change that freya will. they have both lost her and more, in their own ways. but more than just heartache has occurred this night. he could not save camille. he cannot be by her side, not anymore. but he will do here what he couldn't at home. klaus has always benefited from action over mute resignation, even in thought. freya is cut from the same cloth, and he needs her in this.
he glances around the room. unsurprisingly, they are all fastidious about covering their mirrors. but mirrors can still hear.
he reaches for a notepad and a pen at her bedside table, flips to a blank page, and writes, ] I know how to do defeat my mirror. [ he shows it to her wordlessly. ]
nothing will change that he will think of camille. nothing will change that freya will. they have both lost her and more, in their own ways. but more than just heartache has occurred this night. he could not save camille. he cannot be by her side, not anymore. but he will do here what he couldn't at home. klaus has always benefited from action over mute resignation, even in thought. freya is cut from the same cloth, and he needs her in this.
he glances around the room. unsurprisingly, they are all fastidious about covering their mirrors. but mirrors can still hear.
he reaches for a notepad and a pen at her bedside table, flips to a blank page, and writes, ] I know how to do defeat my mirror. [ he shows it to her wordlessly. ]
[She knocks back the glass, only managing to make a slight face at the metallic taste of blood mixed in under the burn of the alcohol, but by the time she finishes, her brother's message is in front of her, and her eyebrows rise slightly. She then reaches for the pen, and scrawls her response underneath his.]
What do you need from me?
What do you need from me?
[ bringing the pad back into his lap, he pauses at the question. he considers what he truly needs, what he's always needed. what she's granted him, time and again. they are cut from this same cloth, ruthless and practical, and where he might distrust others for the same, just as he did her in the beginning, he trusts her for it now all the more.
he would place not only his life, but camille's in her hands. all those he holds dear. ]
Your trust.
[ he shows it to her, eyes rounded and lips pursed, but does not hand the pen and pad over, not yet. with a breath, he writes, ] I'm going to give Damon Salvatore a piece of white oak. I've acquired the knight.
From Camille. [ he swallows before adding that fact, knowing she will have questions about how he attained it. ]
No one would see this coming. [ not even him.
he needs to believe that. he needs it to work. ]
he would place not only his life, but camille's in her hands. all those he holds dear. ]
Your trust.
[ he shows it to her, eyes rounded and lips pursed, but does not hand the pen and pad over, not yet. with a breath, he writes, ] I'm going to give Damon Salvatore a piece of white oak. I've acquired the knight.
From Camille. [ he swallows before adding that fact, knowing she will have questions about how he attained it. ]
No one would see this coming. [ not even him.
he needs to believe that. he needs it to work. ]
[If she has them she doesn't ask them. Given their history with Damon Salvatore, he must have chosen this for a reason. And given her experiences with Damon the night before, she'd hope that he wouldn't let her confide in him and then betray her family so soon after. Especially since he knows what she can do.]
Are you sure you can trust him?
[She'll only ask once, but she wants to be sure he's sure.]
Are you sure you can trust him?
[She'll only ask once, but she wants to be sure he's sure.]
I'm sure we can trust we want the same things. [ that's the truth. as necessary as their alliance with the denizens of mystic falls has been, it's been a tentative truse, held in place only by the swaying balance of his power and elena's will.
this, however. this is different. this is a true risk and one he does not make lightly. ] I need you to ensure he upholds his end of the bargain, if I cannot. [ if the worst happens. there are so many 'worsts' that could. ]
this, however. this is different. this is a true risk and one he does not make lightly. ] I need you to ensure he upholds his end of the bargain, if I cannot. [ if the worst happens. there are so many 'worsts' that could. ]
[Freya glances up, studying her brother for a moment in silence, because while he doesn't know how she spent her evening previously, he does know she won't hesitate to protect her family, no matter the cost.
She's certainly proven that well enough.
At least she knows that Damon has a clearer picture of what kind of power he will be crossing if he doesn't use the white oak for it's intended purpose.]
I will.
[Whatever that may entail.]
She's certainly proven that well enough.
At least she knows that Damon has a clearer picture of what kind of power he will be crossing if he doesn't use the white oak for it's intended purpose.]
I will.
[Whatever that may entail.]
( elena doesn't knock.
she'll remind herself after the fact that she should from now on, for various reasons. one in particular.
she doesn't knock, simply steps inside caroline's room with a familiarity that comes after years of growing up together. it doesn't take long to realize that a.) caroline isn't in the room, and b.) she is not alone in spite of this. it's almost instinct, the way elena's back straightens and her lips part. it would be dishonest to say freya's mirror hadn't brought back brutal memories involving the mikaelson family. it would be dishonest to say that deep down, elena does not still fear him.
it's another tether, petrova and mikaelson, except this time around, they were both unwilling prey to a much larger force. isn't that in itself terrifying? once upon a time, elena believed there was no greater force than the one behind his fangs and his intent. wonderland tends to change things. )
I was looking for— ( well. it's obvious who she was looking for. )
she'll remind herself after the fact that she should from now on, for various reasons. one in particular.
she doesn't knock, simply steps inside caroline's room with a familiarity that comes after years of growing up together. it doesn't take long to realize that a.) caroline isn't in the room, and b.) she is not alone in spite of this. it's almost instinct, the way elena's back straightens and her lips part. it would be dishonest to say freya's mirror hadn't brought back brutal memories involving the mikaelson family. it would be dishonest to say that deep down, elena does not still fear him.
it's another tether, petrova and mikaelson, except this time around, they were both unwilling prey to a much larger force. isn't that in itself terrifying? once upon a time, elena believed there was no greater force than the one behind his fangs and his intent. wonderland tends to change things. )
I was looking for— ( well. it's obvious who she was looking for. )
[ it would be a lie to say he didn't hear the telltale signs of someone coming, though if this was their destination, he had expected them to knock.
klaus is lounging as if he belongs for all the world where he is: settled on caroline's settee, surrounded by and ensconced in her presence, from her copy of little men in his lap (it was a gift) to the teal pillow nestled against his side.
his face falls. perhaps it was only a matter of time, encountering elena gilbert and particularly in the backdrop of her best friend's abode, but he was not expecting it now. his lips part as her recalls the memory of her drained and pale against the sheets of freya's bed, a corpse that has not quite left their rooms.
(he thinks of the deep maroon beneath the carpet. he thinks of how he left it there.)
just as quickly as his expression slacks, he recovers. ] She's here, [ he replies, glancing back to his book as if he has not a care in the world.
maybe he adds this next bit to be purposefully provocative: ] Showering.
klaus is lounging as if he belongs for all the world where he is: settled on caroline's settee, surrounded by and ensconced in her presence, from her copy of little men in his lap (it was a gift) to the teal pillow nestled against his side.
his face falls. perhaps it was only a matter of time, encountering elena gilbert and particularly in the backdrop of her best friend's abode, but he was not expecting it now. his lips part as her recalls the memory of her drained and pale against the sheets of freya's bed, a corpse that has not quite left their rooms.
(he thinks of the deep maroon beneath the carpet. he thinks of how he left it there.)
just as quickly as his expression slacks, he recovers. ] She's here, [ he replies, glancing back to his book as if he has not a care in the world.
maybe he adds this next bit to be purposefully provocative: ] Showering.
( it's a testament to her state of mind that elena hardly bristles at what must be a deliberate, if not harmless, provocation. if something starts to crawl up her back like understanding, then she can resolutely ignore it. she looks in the direction of the hallway that leads to caroline's bathroom, lost for a second in her searching. she can't remember ever feeling like she was intruding, like she didn't belong here. she's not sure she likes that feeling. but maybe that's a consequence, too.
maybe she deserves that, too.
her tongue feels too thick in her throat, finding that holding klaus' gaze is difficult. so she stares off into the hallway, but really all she registers is what she's been seeing for days. blood on walls, paw prints on the ground, and always, always that goddamn lullaby. )
So she's okay?
( it occurs to her just then that klaus would know better, and she's not sure how to feel about that, either. )
maybe she deserves that, too.
her tongue feels too thick in her throat, finding that holding klaus' gaze is difficult. so she stares off into the hallway, but really all she registers is what she's been seeing for days. blood on walls, paw prints on the ground, and always, always that goddamn lullaby. )
So she's okay?
( it occurs to her just then that klaus would know better, and she's not sure how to feel about that, either. )
[ he pretends for a moment that he is not looking at her, that he assuredly does not care, but his eyes are drawn back: by curiosity, by concern he feels rooted and inconveniently so deep inside him. (he's yet to try to dig it out.) she's not all right. (are any of them?) his unforgiving and piercing gaze catches hers a moment before she looks away to look blindly after caroline.
(he knows what she feels. he can figure it out: uncertainty, awkwardness, longing. guilt.)
klaus presses his lips together at her question. ] She's all right. [ the words echo the conversation they had not long ago. she'll be all right. (he's not sure if that'll ever be true, but close enough is always something he's learned to live with.)
he reaches forward in quick, decisive movements to set up an extra teacup for her, knowing and refusing to know he's doing it to make her feel more comfortable. for caroline, he tells himself. it's not a lie. he pours her a cup; it's strong and bitter. he likes his with a heaping of sugar, but he leaves hers to do with what she likes.
silently, he gestures for her to sit. ]
(he knows what she feels. he can figure it out: uncertainty, awkwardness, longing. guilt.)
klaus presses his lips together at her question. ] She's all right. [ the words echo the conversation they had not long ago. she'll be all right. (he's not sure if that'll ever be true, but close enough is always something he's learned to live with.)
he reaches forward in quick, decisive movements to set up an extra teacup for her, knowing and refusing to know he's doing it to make her feel more comfortable. for caroline, he tells himself. it's not a lie. he pours her a cup; it's strong and bitter. he likes his with a heaping of sugar, but he leaves hers to do with what she likes.
silently, he gestures for her to sit. ]
( elena isn't the kind of person to fidget. she carries herself with confidence, though not vanity or arrogance, but she feels comfortable in her skin. lately she fidgets. the urge to bite on her thumbnail is there, but she forces herself to keep her hands at her sides.
she finally sweeps her gaze upward, until it lands on him. she's all too aware of the raw power that courses through this man's veins. how easily he could snap her, and anyone he chooses, like a twig. and yet his hand was forced along with hers. it may be easier to say to herself that she does not care, but she does. she cares about all of this. it's possibly why there's only a moment of hesitation. just a moment, before she lowers herself down to sit.
just a bit of honey to her tea, and then she sits. )
... And Freya? ( purple hyacinths have been left at her door, and she didn't need ask. she knew who they were from. )
she finally sweeps her gaze upward, until it lands on him. she's all too aware of the raw power that courses through this man's veins. how easily he could snap her, and anyone he chooses, like a twig. and yet his hand was forced along with hers. it may be easier to say to herself that she does not care, but she does. she cares about all of this. it's possibly why there's only a moment of hesitation. just a moment, before she lowers herself down to sit.
just a bit of honey to her tea, and then she sits. )
... And Freya? ( purple hyacinths have been left at her door, and she didn't need ask. she knew who they were from. )
[ he's lived for a thousand years in a body he could not change, imbued with magics he did not ask for. her discomfort in her own skin is nothing new, nothing insurmountable. it may make its mark on her as it has done before; as he's done to her, but it will become a part of her. (as it's done for him.) he notes the uncertainty in how she shifts. he notes her hesitation before she accepts the offer, and the company. (it's not until she sits that he realizes he'd not mind hers. in quiet nights in an emerald and silver dungeon months ago, this would be a comfort to him.
now it is a quiet reckoning. they are more alike than they were before; they are more of the same and terribly different.)
klaus adds another dash of sugar to his tea. the intent of her question doesn't escape him either; he hears its careful notes, its concern. she doesn't need to ask this either, but she does. perhaps she believes it an olive branch because she cares to ask and know the answer. perhaps she's too traumatized to ask freya herself, but it's not he that needs to hear her concern. he sighs, heavy and audible. wordless, he looks up at her, his gaze steady, his look full of volumes. (he thinks of freya's buried remorse, the guilt hanging on her shoulders, and the exhaustive energy she's already expended.)
she's desperate to make it right. ]
now it is a quiet reckoning. they are more alike than they were before; they are more of the same and terribly different.)
klaus adds another dash of sugar to his tea. the intent of her question doesn't escape him either; he hears its careful notes, its concern. she doesn't need to ask this either, but she does. perhaps she believes it an olive branch because she cares to ask and know the answer. perhaps she's too traumatized to ask freya herself, but it's not he that needs to hear her concern. he sighs, heavy and audible. wordless, he looks up at her, his gaze steady, his look full of volumes. (he thinks of freya's buried remorse, the guilt hanging on her shoulders, and the exhaustive energy she's already expended.)
she's desperate to make it right. ]
Edited 2017-05-23 15:10 (UTC)
( his eyes say it all. more than words ever could.
it's what she thought, but she couldn't not ask. some might find the question redundant, the damage done speaking for itself. but the devil is in the details. some people react to trauma and guilt differently. perhaps it shouldn't surprise her that freya is only motivated to work harder. but it also wouldn't surprise her to find out freya has also isolated herself, the way elena has isolated herself a bit, too. even from caroline. because caroline will look at her with anguish for all the things she didn't do, the choice she did not make.
the choice she couldn't have made, for what would have stopped a thousand-year-old witch, bottomless in her power?
this is nothing he'll speak of, she knows. much like she will not acknowledge it. if she gave it any thought, she'd think it brings them comfort to pretend it isn't there, swimming somewhere in the depths, out of the surface's reach: a terrible and dark understanding. so she sits, and they drink tea, the silence an odd comfort of its own. it's almost a relief she doesn't need to say anything, much like she wouldn't expect him to say anything, either.
but if anything is true in their world, it's that silence never lasts. there is always the next storm. )
it's what she thought, but she couldn't not ask. some might find the question redundant, the damage done speaking for itself. but the devil is in the details. some people react to trauma and guilt differently. perhaps it shouldn't surprise her that freya is only motivated to work harder. but it also wouldn't surprise her to find out freya has also isolated herself, the way elena has isolated herself a bit, too. even from caroline. because caroline will look at her with anguish for all the things she didn't do, the choice she did not make.
the choice she couldn't have made, for what would have stopped a thousand-year-old witch, bottomless in her power?
this is nothing he'll speak of, she knows. much like she will not acknowledge it. if she gave it any thought, she'd think it brings them comfort to pretend it isn't there, swimming somewhere in the depths, out of the surface's reach: a terrible and dark understanding. so she sits, and they drink tea, the silence an odd comfort of its own. it's almost a relief she doesn't need to say anything, much like she wouldn't expect him to say anything, either.
but if anything is true in their world, it's that silence never lasts. there is always the next storm. )
[This silence will be even shorter than expected. All of the mirrors have been busy at work, and each one seems to come out of the word work as each day passes. First Freya's, then Caroline's own, and now...
...well, she's had her own stalker for awhile, but today's is the worst message yet.
Whatever she'd used to cover the mirror has fallen off by the time she gets out of the shower. She doesn't notice the words that have been left for her until she gets out from behind the curtain, one towel wrapped around her body and another in her hand as she uses it to get most of the moisture out of her hair. She catches them out of the corner of her eye, reads them once, then reads them again.
She knew that her mirror had been on this side, but that meant she would have had to go mirrorside. The problem was, she didn't remember being there, hadn't put it all together.
Suddenly it was crystal clear, and she feels like her heart just dropped out of her chest.
She wants nothing more than to shatter the mirror, but she knows he's watching, must still be behind there waiting for her reaction. He's sure getting one, a mixture of revulsion and horror on her face, the sting of tears pricking the back of her eyes, but given the ramifications of what she's just realized, letting go of her towel to strike back at the glass became the last thing she wanted to do.
Elena and Klaus would both hear the sound of her backing up until her back hit the door, followed by her hand scrambling for the knob so that she can wrench it open. It hits the wall with a smack, the message elegantly scrawled and now exposed for them both to see the reason for her sudden commotion.
'O, a kiss. Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge'...
Thank you.
She screams one single word before she's slamming the door shut.]
Asshole!
[She's just going to be trying to keep ahold of her anger, because the alternative is something so much worse.]
...well, she's had her own stalker for awhile, but today's is the worst message yet.
Whatever she'd used to cover the mirror has fallen off by the time she gets out of the shower. She doesn't notice the words that have been left for her until she gets out from behind the curtain, one towel wrapped around her body and another in her hand as she uses it to get most of the moisture out of her hair. She catches them out of the corner of her eye, reads them once, then reads them again.
She knew that her mirror had been on this side, but that meant she would have had to go mirrorside. The problem was, she didn't remember being there, hadn't put it all together.
Suddenly it was crystal clear, and she feels like her heart just dropped out of her chest.
She wants nothing more than to shatter the mirror, but she knows he's watching, must still be behind there waiting for her reaction. He's sure getting one, a mixture of revulsion and horror on her face, the sting of tears pricking the back of her eyes, but given the ramifications of what she's just realized, letting go of her towel to strike back at the glass became the last thing she wanted to do.
Elena and Klaus would both hear the sound of her backing up until her back hit the door, followed by her hand scrambling for the knob so that she can wrench it open. It hits the wall with a smack, the message elegantly scrawled and now exposed for them both to see the reason for her sudden commotion.
'O, a kiss. Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge'...
Thank you.
She screams one single word before she's slamming the door shut.]
Asshole!
[She's just going to be trying to keep ahold of her anger, because the alternative is something so much worse.]
[ he can hear the soft thud. he can hear the rush of her heartbeat, the rattling of the knob.
he's been listening better of late; purposely, instinctively. not only for her but for all else. for himself and those he loves. a part of him for the rage deep but not quelled inside of him, looking for a mark.
he hears these things and lifts his head. he stills and is up before she opens the door, by her side before she speaks. he sees the black, curling, chillingly familiar letters on the mirror before the door slams shut and shakes in its frame; he feels ice branching out through his veins, infecting his heart.
there is a gripping riot of terror and anger in his gut. his hand has long curled around her arm, the grip tightening to a vice. his eyes widen as he looks from her to the door and then he's striding through it, the abused frame hitting the wall yet again.
it shudders and stops on its hinges. he reads the message once. he reads it again. it hardly takes a genius, but he considers that's what his mirror wanted—the horror of realization. (he was not acting alone. they—caroline's counterpart and his own—were not acting alone.) the certainty of his timing. (after the dangers have passed. now, when he can see the results of his violation.) the fury compounds in his curling fists, stoppers his throat.
he could break the mirror. he's shattered countless.
it would not ease nor encompass the murderous rage possessing him now.
a terrible calm overtakes him. he knows this is what his reflection wants, what he's received until this point: power, reaction. klaus steps forward, eyes unmoving from his own. he reaches for the fallen sheet.
he covers the mirror.
elena had followed him on his heels. he turns towards her now, eyes downcast, the wheels of his mind turning. he considers the odds this is not the only assault. he considers he will not leave the woman they both love. after a quiet moment, he lifts his eyes to her. he entrusts her. he asks her. ] Check the other mirrors.
he's been listening better of late; purposely, instinctively. not only for her but for all else. for himself and those he loves. a part of him for the rage deep but not quelled inside of him, looking for a mark.
he hears these things and lifts his head. he stills and is up before she opens the door, by her side before she speaks. he sees the black, curling, chillingly familiar letters on the mirror before the door slams shut and shakes in its frame; he feels ice branching out through his veins, infecting his heart.
there is a gripping riot of terror and anger in his gut. his hand has long curled around her arm, the grip tightening to a vice. his eyes widen as he looks from her to the door and then he's striding through it, the abused frame hitting the wall yet again.
it shudders and stops on its hinges. he reads the message once. he reads it again. it hardly takes a genius, but he considers that's what his mirror wanted—the horror of realization. (he was not acting alone. they—caroline's counterpart and his own—were not acting alone.) the certainty of his timing. (after the dangers have passed. now, when he can see the results of his violation.) the fury compounds in his curling fists, stoppers his throat.
he could break the mirror. he's shattered countless.
it would not ease nor encompass the murderous rage possessing him now.
a terrible calm overtakes him. he knows this is what his reflection wants, what he's received until this point: power, reaction. klaus steps forward, eyes unmoving from his own. he reaches for the fallen sheet.
he covers the mirror.
elena had followed him on his heels. he turns towards her now, eyes downcast, the wheels of his mind turning. he considers the odds this is not the only assault. he considers he will not leave the woman they both love. after a quiet moment, he lifts his eyes to her. he entrusts her. he asks her. ] Check the other mirrors.
( klaus is taller than her.
a whole five inches, for those at home wondering.
elena doesn't see at first what has assailed them both. she doesn't see until klaus steps forward to cover the mirror, and then the words are each another gash on her throat. she takes in the sight of her lovely friend, vulnerable and covered in a towel. she processes the words that are scrawled on the mirror with the most vile of intentions. and then—and then nothing. this, here, is why elena could be comforted so little, despite those remaining closest to her doing their best to try. damon, billy, peter.
they've tried their best, if not with their love, then with fries, or other silly and welcome distractions. but she knew. she knew it was not the end, but only a beginning.
there is so little left, right now. she can't cry anymore. she can't even fear. when her eyes meet klaus', it's there again: that dulled and terrible understanding. it's the mirrors, or it's them, and instinct and burrowed desire dictate that it needs to be them. no, there are no tears, but there is anger. violation after violation after violation. it needs to stop.
it all happens in seconds, elena's reaction, but it feels like centuries to her. her weighted gaze darts from klaus to caroline. attempting to hold caroline's own gaze just long enough to ensure that she will be all right if elena steps away. only a year ago, this would have never happened: elena leaving one of her dearest friends in the arms of klaus mikaelson.
but life has its twists and turns, and here they are.
she assents her head, just the once.
swallows bile.
looks to the now covered mirror, and then turns away in search of the other pieces that the mirrors took. )
a whole five inches, for those at home wondering.
elena doesn't see at first what has assailed them both. she doesn't see until klaus steps forward to cover the mirror, and then the words are each another gash on her throat. she takes in the sight of her lovely friend, vulnerable and covered in a towel. she processes the words that are scrawled on the mirror with the most vile of intentions. and then—and then nothing. this, here, is why elena could be comforted so little, despite those remaining closest to her doing their best to try. damon, billy, peter.
they've tried their best, if not with their love, then with fries, or other silly and welcome distractions. but she knew. she knew it was not the end, but only a beginning.
there is so little left, right now. she can't cry anymore. she can't even fear. when her eyes meet klaus', it's there again: that dulled and terrible understanding. it's the mirrors, or it's them, and instinct and burrowed desire dictate that it needs to be them. no, there are no tears, but there is anger. violation after violation after violation. it needs to stop.
it all happens in seconds, elena's reaction, but it feels like centuries to her. her weighted gaze darts from klaus to caroline. attempting to hold caroline's own gaze just long enough to ensure that she will be all right if elena steps away. only a year ago, this would have never happened: elena leaving one of her dearest friends in the arms of klaus mikaelson.
but life has its twists and turns, and here they are.
she assents her head, just the once.
swallows bile.
looks to the now covered mirror, and then turns away in search of the other pieces that the mirrors took. )
[She hasn't been dealt enough blows to be able to suppress it, the pure emotion that ripples through her. Anger, hate, guilt. She can see in her mind's eye how it all happened, how she was duped, remember thinking something was a little off but not bothering to double check.
She thought she was safe. But here in Wonderland, they're never safe. They're just trying to find the illusion of safety so they can sleep at night.
Except apparently, they can come at them then, too.
Her eyes meet Elena's briefly, some strange sort of understanding passing between them.
Now it's three for three; they've all been dealt horrible blows, had precious things stolen from each of them in quick succession, both physical and otherwise.
She watches her friend leave, watches the door close, and she feels her walls settle into place, the control she's exercised on so many occassions. She hides behind it because the mirrors can hear, and she doesn't want to give him a satisfaction greater than she's already given away.]
They knew you were here. They waited until we were asleep. I thought it was you.
[She's lucky it wasn't worse than it was, and that might be what bothers her the most. The only reason it wasn't was probably because he didn't have time.
Her blood runs cold and her cheeks run hot as she wraps her arms around herself, as if that's going to keep her all in one piece. It has to. She has to. There is no other choice.]
I feel like I'm going to be sick.
[Her voice is barely a whisper. He'll hear her. Maybe, for once, the mirrors won't.]
She thought she was safe. But here in Wonderland, they're never safe. They're just trying to find the illusion of safety so they can sleep at night.
Except apparently, they can come at them then, too.
Her eyes meet Elena's briefly, some strange sort of understanding passing between them.
Now it's three for three; they've all been dealt horrible blows, had precious things stolen from each of them in quick succession, both physical and otherwise.
She watches her friend leave, watches the door close, and she feels her walls settle into place, the control she's exercised on so many occassions. She hides behind it because the mirrors can hear, and she doesn't want to give him a satisfaction greater than she's already given away.]
They knew you were here. They waited until we were asleep. I thought it was you.
[She's lucky it wasn't worse than it was, and that might be what bothers her the most. The only reason it wasn't was probably because he didn't have time.
Her blood runs cold and her cheeks run hot as she wraps her arms around herself, as if that's going to keep her all in one piece. It has to. She has to. There is no other choice.]
I feel like I'm going to be sick.
[Her voice is barely a whisper. He'll hear her. Maybe, for once, the mirrors won't.]
[ elena leaves, and there's just them. there's just this. there's only her.
the rage that had been boiling beneath his skin, emanating for his every pore, recedes. it drains from him in a single rush, unneeded and uncalled upon from the moment the door shuts, the moment they are alone and he witnesses the crest of her reaction. (he sees that anger, that hate, that guilt. he sees her fear, his own horror paralyzing him as he watches her for only that moment, only for a one-second space of that unravelling.
he wants to tear anyone or anything that could make her feel this way apart. he wants to take her in with these hands as if the will and tenderness of his love will make it all right.
it slices through him. revulsion for what could have transpired, for what did, for knowing a twisted version of a man with his face hurt her. to see her pained, to know it's for touching her life, to bear the same anger and terror of this invasion.
there was nothing they could do.
not yet.)
he goes to her. he gathers her into his arms, against his chest, the sound of her small, reedy whispers a stab to his heart. they did know. they waited. he— klaus pulls back, the taste of bile in the back of his throat, and smooths back her damp hair. ] What did he—? [ his voice is a breath between them; his rounded eyes search hers, his hand cradling her face. ] Did he—?
the rage that had been boiling beneath his skin, emanating for his every pore, recedes. it drains from him in a single rush, unneeded and uncalled upon from the moment the door shuts, the moment they are alone and he witnesses the crest of her reaction. (he sees that anger, that hate, that guilt. he sees her fear, his own horror paralyzing him as he watches her for only that moment, only for a one-second space of that unravelling.
he wants to tear anyone or anything that could make her feel this way apart. he wants to take her in with these hands as if the will and tenderness of his love will make it all right.
it slices through him. revulsion for what could have transpired, for what did, for knowing a twisted version of a man with his face hurt her. to see her pained, to know it's for touching her life, to bear the same anger and terror of this invasion.
there was nothing they could do.
not yet.)
he goes to her. he gathers her into his arms, against his chest, the sound of her small, reedy whispers a stab to his heart. they did know. they waited. he— klaus pulls back, the taste of bile in the back of his throat, and smooths back her damp hair. ] What did he—? [ his voice is a breath between them; his rounded eyes search hers, his hand cradling her face. ] Did he—?
[She's too busy in her own head for a moment, but comes back to herself as she feels his arms encircling her, pulling her in. She releases a breath that felt stale in her lungs, and she shudders once, a physical manifestation of her relief before she relaxes in his arms.
He speaks and she answers.]
No. [The word bursts out of her, as if she can't say it fast enough. His hands are warm against her cheeks, her own fingers lift to thread through his, as if by consoling him she's doing the same for herself. Her head shakes ever so slightly back and forth, her voice calmer when she repeats:] ...no.
[Her hands trail down his, her fingers curl around his wrists, her thumb strokes his knuckles.]
I woke up. I thought it was on my own, but now I'm not so sure. [Her eyes dart toward the mirror that was both covered and behind a closed door, wondering if he was trying to listen to all of this, if there was any real place that they weren't capable of being watched.
She looks at him again.] He just kissed me a couple of times. Held me as I went back to sleep. Something seemed off, but when I woke up I just thought it was because I was half awake, like I imagined it.
[She knew it wasn't just a matter of distraction. He'd been stalking her for months by now. He could have just let her sleep.
He could have just killed her.]
He speaks and she answers.]
No. [The word bursts out of her, as if she can't say it fast enough. His hands are warm against her cheeks, her own fingers lift to thread through his, as if by consoling him she's doing the same for herself. Her head shakes ever so slightly back and forth, her voice calmer when she repeats:] ...no.
[Her hands trail down his, her fingers curl around his wrists, her thumb strokes his knuckles.]
I woke up. I thought it was on my own, but now I'm not so sure. [Her eyes dart toward the mirror that was both covered and behind a closed door, wondering if he was trying to listen to all of this, if there was any real place that they weren't capable of being watched.
She looks at him again.] He just kissed me a couple of times. Held me as I went back to sleep. Something seemed off, but when I woke up I just thought it was because I was half awake, like I imagined it.
[She knew it wasn't just a matter of distraction. He'd been stalking her for months by now. He could have just let her sleep.
He could have just killed her.]
[ he could have compelled her. had she been on vervain that night? had it left her system? he could have snapped her neck, bit her, tore her to pieces; he could have done anything, but he did this. only this? he softened her with caresses, with kiss, with twisted intimacies. was that his end, to instill in them both fear? to practice his power and fool them both, when and where he could?
or was it more? what did they take?
it is this, regardless: a warning, a demonstration. the terror of it lodges in his throat, looking at her, touching her, each moment he does a respite as if each second will assure him she is here and she is in one piece. the relief of her denials is followed by the anxiety of his worries. it's followed by the unspent and foddering rage inside of him, working his jaw with the crush of its tide.
his fingers slip into her hair; they stay between the wet strands and her soothing touches.
he looks at her, his eyes darting away, his lips pursing as his thoughts race and circle and calculate: how best they tackle this. how best he protect her. she's precious; to him, that is what she is: strong despite the fragility his counterpart will exploit, kind and sharp in ways he can only cherish and awe, nestled in his heart in ways he does not desire to extract. (would it be better for her if he did? he wouldn't take that choice from her. it's too late for that. she's a target.) the next time—
(the idea chokes him.)
next time they might not be so lucky.
his eyes focus in all their intensity on her. he whispers. ] You can't stay here. I can't protect you. [ he didn't. ] There are only so many spells Freya can do. [ she been casting plenty, back in their rooms. even if she casted them here... ]
or was it more? what did they take?
it is this, regardless: a warning, a demonstration. the terror of it lodges in his throat, looking at her, touching her, each moment he does a respite as if each second will assure him she is here and she is in one piece. the relief of her denials is followed by the anxiety of his worries. it's followed by the unspent and foddering rage inside of him, working his jaw with the crush of its tide.
his fingers slip into her hair; they stay between the wet strands and her soothing touches.
he looks at her, his eyes darting away, his lips pursing as his thoughts race and circle and calculate: how best they tackle this. how best he protect her. she's precious; to him, that is what she is: strong despite the fragility his counterpart will exploit, kind and sharp in ways he can only cherish and awe, nestled in his heart in ways he does not desire to extract. (would it be better for her if he did? he wouldn't take that choice from her. it's too late for that. she's a target.) the next time—
(the idea chokes him.)
next time they might not be so lucky.
his eyes focus in all their intensity on her. he whispers. ] You can't stay here. I can't protect you. [ he didn't. ] There are only so many spells Freya can do. [ she been casting plenty, back in their rooms. even if she casted them here... ]
[The mirrors had wanted to teach their reals a lesson. No one could say they hadn't done that.
Her shoulders tense at the intensity in his gaze, her own eyes locked on his as she processes the words coming out of his mouth. At first, she's confused. This is where she lives and Bonnie put all kinds of spells on her room. All of her things were here.
Except Bonnie was gone, and her magic could very well be gone too.
At first, she's about to ask him the most obvious question; where was she going to go? But then he's talking about Freya's spells and it hits her.]
Are you asking me to move into your place?
[That's...an awkward way of putting it, but seriously? This is not how she expected to be convinced to move in with someone for the first time.
Solely by dangerous necessity. With their siblings.]
Her shoulders tense at the intensity in his gaze, her own eyes locked on his as she processes the words coming out of his mouth. At first, she's confused. This is where she lives and Bonnie put all kinds of spells on her room. All of her things were here.
Except Bonnie was gone, and her magic could very well be gone too.
At first, she's about to ask him the most obvious question; where was she going to go? But then he's talking about Freya's spells and it hits her.]
Are you asking me to move into your place?
[That's...an awkward way of putting it, but seriously? This is not how she expected to be convinced to move in with someone for the first time.
Solely by dangerous necessity. With their siblings.]
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