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. )
no subject
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. )