Familiarity – Prologue; Hello, Brother.

1320

Dear Gabriel,

Life is not how I imagined it.

It is a wicked existence that only stays to harbor my viscid anger that threatens to choke me at every turn and angle. What do I do? What do I say? I think of your last moments every moment of this life, and I think of your dying breath.

Tell me, do y0u think of your blood on my lips?

Do you think that I murdered you, or did I save you?

Please, answer.

Love Always,

Myrella Mikaelson

Generally, when Myra arose from her slumber in the early dawns, she would begin her morning by squinting at the peeking anti meridiem rays pouring directly into her closed eyelids. It was an annoying and irritating process, one that had led her to think on purchasing more durable and thick curtains (a project that has been delayed), but it was also very familiar. It awoke her on a time schedule, so she would dare not have to utilize one of those pesky, obnoxious alarm clocks that she, truthfully, loathed.

Familiarity was an essential and important thing to Myra, she, for one, was not particularly up for digging through something without it being a familiar territory or an aspect that she had educated herself on. Over the many years of her life, she had learned that knowing was better off than not, and so that is the reason she was so acquainted with her sleeping position, with her seemingly transparent curtains, with the hatred of alarm clocks.

Because it was a mere insight on her own hidden insecurities, which were swiftly resurfacing without her fully realizing it.

It was when the daylight did not sliver across her face, and the bed gently sunk to the left from another person's body weight, that Myra felt the pads of fingertips trailing across her forehead, sweeping a brown lock away from her face, that she snapped open her vivid blue eyes. Azure clashed with azure, and Myra felt her breath intake sharply as she stared at the man in front of her with trepidation.

He was young on only physical appearance, he'd always been ruggedly handsome with his dark blond hair, unrivaled expressive eyes, and the smirk that exhibited his boyish dimples. But his style was altering from the last time she had been forced to run from him, gone was the shoulder-length wavy hair, and out was the short and trimmed that brought out the highness in his cheekbones.

Niklaus Mikaelson had situated his left arm on her right side, entrapping her within his reach as a slow, sly leer curled the side of his mouth. "Myra," he said, gradually examining her prone, stiffen form underneath his arms.

The next form of events were a slight, hazy blur. She had a rational thought process when she struck to launch the man away from her, his hand catching her wrist but her right hand swiftly caught him underneath the chin, causing his head to snap back with only a barely noticeable grimace. Myra surged from the hotel suite bed, quick to steady her balance as she blurred with inhuman speed toward the stake hidden in her bag.

Of course, it would not kill him, but it would injure him enough to bide her time to make an escape. She gripped the stake just as fingers tangled into her hair, ripping her backwards and slamming her back into the wall beside her bed. Her hip knocked into the lamp on the nightstand and sent it crashing against the white carpeted flooring, the bulb busting into fragmented, miniscule shards.

A large hand collided with her throat, the tips of his fingers digging into her windpipe as Niklaus forced her head to ram against the crème interior wall behind her. "Sister," he glared, "how foolish of you. And here I was beginning to think after so long of not seeing each other, we would have come to an understanding."

"You bastard, you lost my 'understanding' when you began daggering our family for your own selfish vendettas against yourself!" Myra struggled futilely against his hold, knowing despite her title of being older than her brother, he was stronger than her from sheer will alone – that was what made Niklaus fearful to the eyes of humans, vampires, witches, and werewolves.

Niklaus smirked, but it revised into a cold sneer of wrath. He wrenched me forward with a forceful yank, our mirrored blue eyes glaring at each other form inches apart, vengeful contending with instinctual supremacy. "I did it," he said with clenched teeth, "for their own good."

"How noble of you," Myra hissed. "What good is that to them if they are locked away in a wooden box!" she finally pried his hand free, shoving herself off of the nightstand and taking three broad steps away from him. She was highly aware of his shoulders trembling with restrained anger, and his hands clenching into fists. She rubbed the sore skin around her throat, wincing. An exhausted sigh whispered past her mouth, and she padded over to her suitcase resting on the mini-table that was prior to the large set of windows that overlooked the capitol of Italy. "What do you wish of me, Niklaus?"

He didn't turn around, but his head lifted leisurely in acknowledgment to the question. Myra removed her shorts and shimmied into a pair of black pants, buttoning them quickly as she extracted the tank top she'd previously slept in. After pulling on a white silk dress shirt, she revolved around, buttoning up the front, to see Niklaus gazing at her with a blank expression.

"Well, brother? After that petty tussle, I'm a bit famished. If you do not have anything important –"

"Mikael is dead."

Her fingers froze in the midst of their duty, and almost immediately began shaking as that name had been spoken. Myra swallowed dryly, eyes blinking fast, and stared at Niklaus as if she could not believe her ears. "What?" she asked, lowly, underneath her breath. Eyes fluttering closed, she breathed in deeply when he did not respond to her inquiry of disbelief. "When?"

"About four days ago," he answered. "Many things have happened recently that you are unaware of, Myra –"

"Don't be an imbecile, Niklaus. I know of you finally breaking your blasted curse, I know of the doppelgänger." Myra sat in one of the two cushioned table chairs as she slipped on a pair of black riding boots, focusing on her task as she felt her brother's scrutiny burn into her face. "I have many, many contacts, brother."

"I'm aware," he stated. "Then you know of Stefan Salvatore's foolhardy mistake."

"I only know of the Salvatore's through Katerina Petrova, and that was from mere rumors." Myra smiled bitterly. "It seems as though history does repeat itself, does it not? Tatia, Katerina, and now Elena Gilbert. Entertaining as hell, albeit somewhat annoying."

Niklaus rolled his eyes. "I feel as if you are attempting to steer the conversation, Myra."

"Well, I feel as if you are bringing unpleasant news." It was not a shock or surprise to her that she did not feel the requirement for mourning her now deceased father, if anything, she perhaps felt saddened for not feeling his soft words when she had been a mere child, expressing tales of dragons and heroes – but that was the past, a very long time ago that was a just, wistful memory.

Myra combed her fingers through her wavy brown hair once, standing to her feet. She was two inches shorter than Niklaus, but somehow – with both of them experiencing the most of life of the Mikaelson's, they stood at level height with mental capacity. "Come now, brother, we can discuss these details over some early breakfast."

When they had situated themselves in a booth in the small, cramped café across the busy street of Rome, Myra raised an eyebrow when he ordered a straight glass of the most expensive and strongest liquor that they acquired. She softly asked for a cup of black coffee and two slices of almond biscotti. She studied her brother, the way he twined his fingers together and rested his chin atop. For a split second, he almost seemed normal – but she was not an ignorant dolt.

Myra was old, not in appearance but in soul. She had been educated a long time ago to know many but trust very precious few. Her younger siblings had always been risk-taking and rebellious, and so her trust commonly leaned towards Elijah and Finn. Finn having been departed for so long, Elijah was her main contact to her family. She had not seen him in at least three years, though, so his whereabouts were unknown to her.

"If the beginning of our meetings could commence like this, then perhaps we could be more civil to one another, brother." Myra chuckled bitterly, playing with the lapis lazuli ring on her left ring finger. "So tell me, how has your discovery for creating more Hybrids turn out to be?"

"Swell," Niklaus stated vaguely.

"And what, per say, will you do when your ever-so loyal sired Hybrids do when they realize they are under your terms, Niklaus?"

He scoffed, "Trivial matters."

"I do not see it that way," Myra shrugged effortlessly. "You should have thought of everyone's side. Imagine the Mystic Fall's supernatural clan when they decide they do not want your pesky minions around so much." She thanked the waitress with a kind smile as her coffee and meal was placed in front of her. "I would believe they'd attempt to turn your own kind against you."

"Their loyalty is undeniable." Niklaus picked up his drink, swishing it around the glass for a second before nearly drowning the alcohol in two long gulps. "That is not why I am here, Myra." He pushed the burnt orange-colored plate away from her when he noticed her lack of awareness toward his face.

"Well, I see your manners have not yet improved," she snorted. "Yes, just why are you here, Niklaus? You know now I have to pack up and move once more when you leave."

"Yes, you will be leaving. With me." Niklaus clarified her dubious frown, "That foolhardy mistake I mentioned with Stefan Salvatore earlier, he stole the coffins that contain Elijah, Finn, and Kol."

"Oh?" Anger surfaced in her tone. "And why were they in coffins to begin with?"

Niklaus pinched the bridge of his nose, "Myra. Not now. I need your help to get them back."

"And what of Rebekah?"

"I have my suspicions of her whereabouts. Daggered for certain."

Myra breathed heavily through her nose. For all she knew, Niklaus was practically walking her into a white oak dagger with him asking her for assistance. She loved her family with all of her being, but her siblings had long since been corrupted or driven insane by immortality and Mikael. She narrowed her eyes at him, analyzing any deception in his posture. "If I say yes, what is in it for me?"

He smiled knowingly. "You will, with or without me being in your favor, Myra."

How right he was.