VIII
Henryka Potter had a dark streak a mile wide, and if you had not noticed that by now you have not been paying enough attention. Sometimes, she let that bleak little part of her out, and sometimes she had no choice, and other times, the worst times, she did, and she still chose wrong.
Henryka could be vindictive.
She blew up Aunt Marge because, for a moment, she wanted the woman gone. She did not care why, when or where, how much trouble it would cause, how frightening it must have been for a muggle woman, no matter how despicable, to suddenly inflate and fly off into the sky.
Henryka could be self-centred.
She could have helped Buckbeak long before the midnight flight, Dementors, and time travel. Hagrid had an appeal to prove why Buckbeak should be free, and, originally, Henryka, Ron, and Hermione had agreed to be witnesses at the hearing. Only, she and Ron had fought with Hermione over the Firebolt, broke apart like wet clay, and Henryka forgot all about it. She had missed the whole thing. She had not even realized her mistake until Hagrid hunted her down and chewed her out about it.
Henryka used people sometimes for her own ends.
Even the Chosen One wasn't immune from the every-day hassle of being a teenager, and like many young ladies, she struggled with how to formulate coherent sentences around those she fancied. She had gotten over that long ago, but not before she had time to ask Cho Chang to the Yule Ball. So she had settled, agreed with Ron to go with the Patil twins, not because she particularly liked Parvati, not even because she wanted to give it a shot, but because she just didn't want to be seen alone. Instead, she had spent the night sulking with Ron on the side-lines, watching Cedric spin a flushing Cho around the dancefloor, and refused to even acknowledge her own partner outside a few terse words.
Henryka took things that wasn't hers to take just because she could.
She had been well versed in sneaking into Hogsmeade, and although stealing Neville's lollipop in Honeydukes while under the invisibility cloak was categorically low on her list of sins, the thrill it gave her surely wasn't. There had been no need for her to do it, no life to be saved by candy-apple red sugar, and yet… She took it all the same, and she had smiled at Neville's bewildered face watching the lollipop float away.
Henryka could be callous.
She blew up at people easily, occasionally unnecessarily. She called Remus a coward, and blamed Hermione for bringing Cormac to Slughorn's party to begin with, she yelled at Ron in the Forest of Dean, and the insults she had flung at Malfoy and Snape over the years would turn Walburga in her grave.
Henryka could be downright unreasonable some days.
When Hermione told McGonagall on her, ratted out the Firebolt Sirius had sent her, though at the time none of them knew it had been Sirius at all, it was clear Hermione only wanted to make sure Henryka was safe. And what did Henryka do? She refused to speak or recognize her friend for nearly four bloody months.
Henryka could be paranoid.
When tasked with learning how to close her mind off from Voldemort's reach, she had been looking forward to her lessons until it became clear Snape would be leading the tutoring. She had been so convinced that Snape was trying to do more harm than good that she refused to take the lessons seriously. In fact, she had been arrogant enough to believe she could use her and Tom's connection to her advantage, especially after she saved Mr. Weasley, and then Sirius-
Well.
Henryka could be violent when angry.
When the Wizarding world was just beginning to see what she and Dumbledore had all along, that Voldemort was back, and they were vindicated in the court of public opinion, Henryka had not cared a lick. She was angry and devasted for the months following their break into the Ministry of Magic, unable to sort through the turmoil of her own emotions, and when Dumbledore had called her into his office to explain the Prophecy, the fake she now knew, and what was to be expected of her in the fight against Voldemort, everything had bubbled over the edge.
Not a single thing within Dumbledore's office had survived her wrath.
Henryka was reckless, jumping into situations without thought of their possible consequences.
That included contemplating someone's privacy. When Snape left that pensive open, and she realized she had an opportunity to see what memories Snape was removing before each lesson, she did not regard Snape's confidentiality, his reasoning for hiding such memories from her much at all. She merely saw her chance and took it and watched his worst memory like some sort of peeping tom.
Henryka used horrendous magic when the need suited her disposition.
She used Sectumsempra on Malfoy, and Crucio on Bellatrix and Snape, and, as with that Goblin in Gringotts, she had used Imperio. She barely felt guilty for the curse on Malfoy, wished she had succeeded with Bellatrix, and the Goblin, well, she hardly contemplated her actions at Gringotts most days.
You see now, don't you?
Henryka had her good parts… And she had the not so pretty parts too.
She wasn't a saint.
She wasn't a saviour.
She was only the Chosen One because, for whatever his excuses, Dumbledore had made her that way. Tom too. Vernon and Petunia. Remus and Sirius. The uncomfortable truth was monsters are not born, they are made, by their own choices, by outside influence, by circumstance and impact, they were created.
Henryka had the scars of her makers stitches all too clear on her skin.
Yes, she had respected the lives of others, but she also had her fair share of dirt on her hands, to pretend otherwise would be absurd, and that was all before the white place, before her fangs had pierced Dumbledore's flesh, and suddenly, she was…
Tired.
Tired of all the bullshit. Tired of the nightmares. Tired of the aching and the anguish hounding every step.
Tired of being nearly murdered every Circe damned year.
The problem was in Henryka's blood. Werewolves, Vampires, Witches, they all had, as with their senses, enhanced emotions. Witches drew their magic from their emotions, Werewolves grew stronger when angry, and Vampires had the unfortunate predilection to feel before they think.
What would you suppose a being born of all three would be like?
Annoyance rolled to rage. Sadness span to sorrow. Happiness hurled to ecstasy.
Tiredness turned to apathy.
Why should she care that sixty-six Death Eaters died that day? Why should she lose sleep over a lie, or two, or twenty? Why would it matter what face she stole, if only to make it harder for the oncoming Auror's to track her down should they start questioning the populace with legilimency?
The truth was it did not matter.
The truth was that Henryka Potter was done with being a bloody doormat.
A branch caught in a storm could only take so much before it snapped.
Now take that same being, seven hours out from the worst war an entire species had ever seen, fresh from her resurrection into this sharp emotionally-heightened life after finding out most things in her verve had been at least partially a lie, still grieving, still angry, still hurt, and have her walk with a blonde Vampire down the sunny road of a small American town.
A blonde Vampire who spilled everything.
Moonstone curses, Hybrids and coffins, rituals and balls, and, lastly, an attempt by a mother to kill her own children by linking them with Doppelganger blood.
Her children which included Henryka.
That did not matter, not to the Tribrid. It wasn't the first, and surely not the last, that either she had an attempt made on her life, or a family member wanted her dead. She would have let Esther walk if that was the case. She would have brushed it off and carried on her merry little way. There was only one mistake Esther had made.
What did matter to the abruptly incensed Deathly Hallow was it also included her brothers, and her sister.
Gone, before she could even meet them.
Gone, by someone who should have cared.
Henryka knows what that was like, and she had never done well with apparent betrayal, even when it wasn't her own.
She knows, and she's infuriated.
There was a moment, halfway to the boarding house, that Henryka feels it. Understands, for the first time, exactly what she is. The wolf in her erupts, seethes inside her belly, clawing at her skin to do something, break something, bleed something. The Vampire in her is salivating, pushing her to do, do, do, to drink, drink, drink, to kill, kill, kill. The Witch part was already firing up, magic sizzling at her fingertips, amped up by the influx of her already intensified emotions.
"Change of plans, cotton-candy-Caroline. You said this all went down at the ball? That you were there, inside the house?"
The blonde vampire, arm still gripped tight, nodded.
Henryka spoke through Damon's voice box.
"Take me there."
Caroline stammered.
"It's clear you have some… Issues with the Mikaelson's, and whatever it is, it's likely warranted but I'm warning you. People who go after them die. As in die-die. They will kill you. Whatever problems they have with each other, they always protect one another in the end. What-... What I'm trying to say is if you pick a fight with one, you pick a fight with every Mikaelson. A fight you won't win."
Henryka shoved the vampire up front to lead way. The girl was smart enough not to try and run.
"Trust me, I'm harder than most to kill. Now, lead the way."
Hesitantly, Caroline started walking, taking a side street to the right.
IX
Caroline Forbes had no idea what the hell was going on. That, of itself, was not uncommon when living in Mystic Falls.
What was less common was to be abducted by something wearing your friends not-boyfriend-but-not-quite-platonic Vampire and your own ex-flame, marched across city, Compelled to spew all your secrets, and to end up standing right outside the Mikaelson mansion gates staring intensely at the large house stationed inside.
For Monday afternoons, it was not the best start to a week.
"Is Damon… Dead?"
The Damon-not-Damon hazard a fleeting glimpse before the blue gaze was pulled back to the house, almost of if they were entranced by the brick and stone before them.
"No… not yet, but he might wish he were by now. Werewolf bites do horrendous things to a Vampire, I've heard. Merlin knows what my venom does. Shame I couldn't stick around and watch."
Caroline swallowed deeply, remembering her own time writhing underneath the poison of an infected Werewolf wound.
"Is that what you are? Some sort of Werewolf?"
Because this… Person had to be something, right? Something that made sense, because since Caroline had stumbled across them nothing had.
Her cautious question brought a smile to the Damon-not-Damon's face.
"Sort of, indeed… But not all."
Caroline's stomach began sinking.
"You're one of Klaus's hybrids, then?"
Damon-not-Damon does not answer her, but waves his hand dismissively.
"You can leave now."
The compulsion, whatever it was, gluing her feet to the floor vanishes, and Caroline finds she can move again, but she doesn't; instead, she stays there, grounded, similarly afraid as she was curious.
Nothing here made sense.
She felt like Alice at the Mad Hatter's tea party, without any of the sugar and milk.
A Werewolf that could Compel like a Vampire and cast magic? Shouldn't they… Oh, cancel each other out? Magical balance and all that jazz that Bonnie kept speaking about? You couldn't be all three… It was impossible and yet-
Yet right there the Damon-not-Damon stood.
What exactly had come strolling into Mystic Falls?
"Aren't you going to threaten me? Tell me you'll cut my tongue out if I tell anyone you're not Damon?"
A chuckle, deep and rich with something crackling at the fringes that turned the air electric.
Charged.
"We both know you're smart enough to realize what I would do to you if you told anyone about what you have seen or heard today. Now, leave… This is family business."
The stone dropped like a cannon ball, and suddenly the ground beneath Caroline's feet felt like swiss cheese.
Caroline should have seen it before-
Compulsion.
She had been Compelled.
There was only one thing that could Compel a Vampire.
"You're a Mikaelson… How can you-"
"Leave."
There's no Compulsion in the voice, no eye contact to be made, but, Caroline thought, that didn't mean the voice was any less powerful. She took a step back, readying to flee-
"And Caroline?"
For the final time, the Damon-not-Damon looked right at her. Caroline froze like a rabbit caught in the middle of the road with an SUV swerving right at it.
"Tell your friend Elena that should she try and kill any Mikaelson again, no matter how small her part in the plot, I won't kill her."
Caroline blinked confusedly.
"What-"
"But she will wish that I had as she stands in the ashes of everything she holds dear. Her brother, the lovers she can't decide between, her friends and her family… And just for good fuckin' measure, I'll watch as she is forced to eat those ashes. Do you understand me?"
A nod was all Caroline could give, the voice eerily calm and yet monstrously vivid.
Damon-not-Damon turned back to the house ahead.
"Oh, and you'll find the real Damon at the riverbed of the Falls. He has a shard of glass lodged between the fourth and fifth vertebrae. It stopped him squirming around so much… And screaming. If you're quick enough he might just survive."
Caroline faltered.
"But the venom from the bite-"
A fleeting glare killed her voice.
"Will take a few hours more. Plenty of time for your scooby gang to figure something out, right? It's not like either you or the Salvatore's would have survived the day if Elena succeeded in her plan at any rate."
Caroline shook her head.
"What do you mean-"
"Come on, darling. I may not have huge experience dealing with Vampires myself, but even I know what happens to the Childe when the Sire is killed, and your friend went after the forerunners. We have a word for that where I'm from. Genocide."
Her hand trembled at her side, and Damon-not-Damon whistled long and high like the tweeting of a little robin redbreast singing at a funeral.
"Do you think Elena knew that when she agreed to donate her blood to Esther's cause? Do you think she decided the Salvatore's and your life was just a little less valuable then her own supposed 'freedom' out from under the mean, nasty Niklaus? That's cold."
A tut.
"Maybe you should go talk to her about her mass-murdering behaviour… Before I do, because I won't just use words to get my point across."
Caroline got the hint, spun, and ran like the devil was right behind her.
In a way, a strange upside down way, perhaps he was.
X
"What do you think you're doing in my house, Salvatore? It's either very brave or very foolish, and given your track record mate, I'm leaning towards the former."
Niklaus sighed as he strode into the study of the second floor. He had just walked away from his family, Esther and her righteousness, Finn and his martyrdom, Elijah and his never-ending we need to wait and think this through, needing space to breathe, to consider, to plan his next move, to understand what this meant and…
Henryka had Werewolf blood.
Werewolf blood.
No one had spoke on it, no one had made mention of it… But they all knew what it meant.
Esther's little affair that had birthed the Bastard Niklaus had not been so singular after all. And maybe it hits Niklaus harder than the others. Maybe it reached in deep and hit something that he had thought long dead, and maybe it sparked that long-dead-thing back to life.
Niklaus was used to being the outcast, always half something and never whole, half werewolf to his Vampiric family, half Vampire to the Werewolf community at large, half-mad to everyone else. Never quite enough of one thing to fit in anywhere, really.
Only, Henryka was alive-
Alive with Werewolf blood, and Witches magic and…
She would… Understand, he thought.
They needed to find her, the sooner the better, Kol was right on that.
Niklaus remembered his first few years in this life, the extremes he swung between, unfettered rage to harrowing sorrow to something dark and deadly. It was the most dangerous time in a Vampire's life, typically the first three years being when most did not survive the transmission into immortality, add into the already foaming mix of Werewolf blood and Magic and…
And just as Klaus was heading to his study to ring some Witch contacts he had over in Britain, to start putting feelers out ahead of his departure, who should he find skulking in his house but one Damon Salvatore.
Damon Salvatore in his study staring at the painting on the back wall taking pride and centre stage of the room.
"Did you paint this?"
Damon turned to face him head on, and Niklaus watched the gaze sweep from head to foot, soaking him in. Something peculiar happened then.
A… Shudder, a sudden and sharp notice from the wolf inside and a-
A bloody yip, eager, warm, almost like a greeting.
"One of many, now answer my question. How did you get in here?"
A house filled with six Originals should have been able to sense and hear Damon of all people stomping about upstairs.
Yet, none of them had.
Concerning.
Even more so than the metaphysical tail wagging of the Werewolf in him.
Damon turned back to the painting, regarding the melancholy blues and decadent golds, and the two chariots sailing through the sky, outrunning the blackened clouds shaped like open maws.
"How does anyone enter a house, Mani? Through the door."
Klaus stalled.
"What did you just call me?"
Damon gestured towards the painting with a tilt of his chin.
"The inspiration, right? Sol and Mani. The Nordic Sun-sister and Moon-brother who ride through the sky on their chariots chased by wolves. They lose in the end, don't they? The wolves catch up, devour them whole, and all the stars will disappear from the sky and Ragnarök will begin."
Klaus skirted closer, over to the chair by the window where he had a stake hidden behind the blinds.
"I didn't know you were interested in Norse Mythology."
Damon hummed, snapping out from the painting, from whatever murky waters his thoughts had sailed him to, cocking a brow.
"I didn't think I remembered that until I saw this painting… Do you remember?"
A muscle in Klaus's jaw jumps, even as he shrewdly stole the stake and hid it behind his back.
Klaus doubts this person remembers what he remembers.
Wooden toys shaped like the moon and sun and stars, 'Look, Henryka!', a child's giggles, 'me and you, we'll fly just like they do, with a jump and a leap. Across-
"Remember what precisely?"
Klaus edged closer, just as Damon came strolling out from behind the desk, away from the painting, right in front of him.
Perfect striking distance.
"Me and you, we'll fly just like they do, with a jump and a leap. Across the sky and way upon high, where the stars will sing us to sleep."
His fingers lost their grip on the stake, clattering to the floor, and Klaus was left there defenceless, mute, half crippled.
Never whole.
"How did you-"
There was something feverish in Damon's gaze then, hot and heady and… And almost pleading.
"You used to say that every night, remember? I did, long before the whole linking spell. I never knew where it came from, thought it was something I made up in a dream or-… Now I do. Now I remember. And now I know what I must do."
There's a stick in Damon's hand between one blink and then next, the tip pressing into Klaus's neck.
His smile is small and… sad.
So very sad.
"Sorry, Mani, but I can't have Esther seeing me coming… I need to borrow your face for a little bit to get close enough. Just a nap and then… Well, we can have a proper 'ello, aye?"
Klaus finds his tongue, but the words break behind his teeth, small things, shattered things, as suddenly, irrevocably, he sees.
"Henryka-"
A flash of bright red light.
His head never strikes the floor.
She catches him before he falls.
XI
When Elijah, joined by Rebekah and Kol, walked into the kitchen of their home he did not expect to find the mess he did.
Pans littered the countertop, cupboard doors were flung open and forgotten on the walls, spices and herbs and sprigs of unnameable plants lay uncluttered and abandoned on the table, and, in a crockery pot, something… Bubbled on a low heat upon the stove.
His brother Niklaus stood in the heart of the storm, humming, flicking through the tubs of spices on the rack, plucking out mint, Elijah thought, from its home.
"Niklaus? Aren't you meant to be calling your contacts in Britain?"
The man in question turned, and the smile he gave was almost dazzling, his tone so warm it burned somewhere deep.
"Elijah!"
Before Elijah could so much as frown, Nik was across the room, before him-
Arms swung over him, hugging him, of all things, tightly.
"Oh, it's good to see you."
Elijah blinked owlishly.
"I.. Uh, I take it there was good news from Britain? Have you discovered Henryka's whereabouts?"
Nik pulled back with a hearty scoff, a wolfish grunt in the back of his throat, and a flippant wave of his hand, heading back to his-
Whatever all this was, especially that foul smelling concoction on the stove, but, through it all, the grin never dimmed.
"No need."
Elijah stuttered.
"No need? I-… Niklaus, you must understand the urgency of-"
Nik held up the little tub of mint in the high noon sun of the window.
"She's a bit like a bad penny, I've heard. She'll turn up eventually. Who knows, she might even be on her way here right now."
Nik held the tub up higher and wiggled it at Elijah.
"I don't suppose you know if this was picked during a full moon or not?"
Rebekah burst.
"Forget the bloody mint, Nik! Chance? Chance? The one thing you have ever wished to leave to chance, and it is our sister?! Have you lost what little of your mind you have left?"
For once, Elijah was in full, entire agreement with Rebekah.
Nik, however, only found this funny, beaming brightly at Rebekah, dashing the mint back onto the table in a sweep.
"Still as fierce as ever, I see. That's good… That's good. But what is this?"
Nik skirted around the table anew, fast on his feet, faster than normal, Nik typically liked to prowl, Elijah knew, not dance, not as he was now, even as he came to a stop before the three, kicking back against the table, eyeing the last inhabitant in the room with a glint in his eye.
"Kol with nothing to say? Now that is something, if I recall correctly. Not even a smile for your sibling? Just one?"
Kol glowered back.
It only made Niklaus chuckle.
"I do not know what game you are playing, Nik, but I will have no part in it, and neither will Henryka's fate. If you do not do something about this, I will, and this time you have no daggers at your disposal to get your way."
Almost on instinct, Nik's hand fluttered to his chest, rubbed where, Elijah knew, the dagger would go.
If Niklaus had ever been dagger'd to begin with and knew the feeling personally as every single one of his siblings did.
Elijah slunk forward, tone etched with worry.
"Nik, are you feeling well? Perhaps there is more to this linking spell mother cast than we know. Maybe we should-"
The mention of the spell seemingly broke Niklaus out of his reverie, and he pushed off from the table, turning his full attention to the steaming pot on the stove, stirring, sprinkling in spices, and-
Plucking a hair from his own head and dropping the strand right into the brew.
"Really, I do not like being dishonest. I don't like lying. I always tend to give myself away with a quip or too, I just can't help myself, but needs must right now and… You'll see. This is for the best. As soon as Esther is…"
"Nik, you're not making much sense-"
The stirring stopped, the spoon clacked onto the table top, and Nik spun on his heel.
"Blood magic, right? Esther used blood magic to link us? Petrova blood, if my intel is not mistaken. Which is, funny enough, the very same fuckin' blood she used to turn us into-… Do you not know what this means?"
Kol scoffed.
"And you do? You're not one for the intricacies of magic, Niklaus, so, please, stop playing-"
Nik rolled his eyes.
Truly rolled his eyes.
"Blood magic is dangerous because of how deep it goes. It is you who do not fully understand the extent of this bloody spell!"
Nik swung an arm out, gesturing far and wide.
"Have any of you tried leaving? Walking more than five miles apart? News flash, you can't anymore. You'll be magic'd right back to the others. And this is only the beginning."
Rebekah frowned.
"But-"
However, Nik was not done. Far from it.
"It will only get worse the longer the magic is in play. The longer Blood Magic is enacted, the stronger it is, and thus, the harder-"
"It is to break."
Kol finished, and Nik nodded.
"Do you know what happens when a linking spell is left alone to become stronger? It becomes irreversible. Things will start to… Bleed together given time. One of us might have a dream, and all the others will share it. That dream might become a nightmare. One of use might feel joy, and sure, the rest will feel it too, in some form or shade, but what happens when one of us becomes angry? Spiteful? Murderous? Why do you think Esther planned to kill us all so soon after the linking?"
Elijah sighed long and hard.
"To prevent the bleed over."
Niklaus nodded stiffly with a sharp tilt of his chin. Resolute.
"Precisely. If we don't shirk this spell off now, we may not have another chance to."
Rebekah folded her arms over her chest, squaring her feet, readying.
"And how do you propose we do that?"
Their brother turned back to his pot.
"Simple. Blood magic needs blood sacrifice to break."
The chuckle that broke out of Elijah's mouth was dry and deadpan.
"One of us must die… Impossible, given that Henryka's invulnerability has already seeped over to us."
Niklaus stalled, voice dropping low.
"It has?"
Elijah frowned.
"You know it has. That is the argument we had this morning. Finn healed right before our eyes."
Nik hummed dangerously dark.
"Of course he did. The stake, right? Then… There's only one thing for it."
Nik abandoned the pot on the stove and marched for the door.
"Nik? Where are you going? Nik? Nik!"
Niklaus ignored his call, and strode into the hall, shouting over his back.
"Esther started this, and she'll end it!"
Rebekah made to follow.
"You can't kill mother! We're all linked and-"
Elijah reached out, snagged his sister's shoulder, and pulled her back.
"Leave him to whatever madness he is currently swimming in. As we have seen, Henryka's invulnerability is based on intent over the bond on her part. I believe the only one who could hurt mother right now, let alone kill, would be her. Nik just… Needs to let out some steam. Now, help me clear this mess. Both of you."
Kol groaned but nodded, and, hesitantly, Rebekah trailed away from the door.
It was only halfway through cleaning up that the ball dropped, as Kol, scowling, sloped the pot that had been on the stove into the kitchen sink.
"Elijah?"
"Hmmm?"
"Correct me if I am wrong, but I do believe this is The Draught of Living Death."
Elijah snapped up from wiping down the countertop, Rebekah's hand half frozen between replacing the herbs onto the spice rack.
"Isn't that-"
"A witch's potion, yes… Yes it is."
Rebekah frowned.
"What was Nik doing with it? And how does he know how to make one?"
Elijah's mind span, stitching dots in one long, dark line.
"Perhaps he meant it for mother. He clearly sees her as a threat, and if she is in such a deep slumber, maybe he thought it would buy him time to plan on how to undo the linking spell."
Kol scrubbed at his eyes.
"Time he now knows he doesn't have because he realizes Henryka's gifts have transferred over already."
Elijah shook his head and folded the dish towel in his hands.
"It matters not. Niklaus cannot do anything to mother-"
The kitchen store cupboard swung open with a groan.
Niklaus came tottering out, ruffled, staggering, blinking away a heady haze.
"Nik, what-"
Elijah's gaze fled to the door of the kitchen.
The door he had seen Niklaus walk through.
The door that Niklaus couldn't possibly have gone through to end up in the cupboard with-
Oh, it's good to see you.
Still as fierce as ever, I see.
Not even a smile for your sibling?
Really, I do not like being dishonest. I don't like lying. I always tend to give myself away with a quip or too, I just can't help myself.
Niklaus, the real Niklaus, met Elijah's eye from over the way.
"Henryka… She's here."
And they'd just let her walk right on out to-
Rebekah broke the still and silent moment, darting for the door.
"Mother. She's going for mother."
Sneak Peak (Ignore if you want no spoilers/hints of what's coming):
They found Finn out in the hallway, sagged against the wall, unconscious. He awoke with a jolt at Elijah's shake, and swung for Niklaus when he saw his brother at his side.
"You jumped me!"
Niklaus's curse was smothered by the sound of a vase breaking down the hall and the garbled wail of their mother.
xXx
Henryka, still wearing Niklaus's face, was hunched over the filled bathtub, elbow deep in the water-
Mother's head along with her grip, her body bent and broken over the rim, grappling for purchase, for air.
"Henryka! Stop!"
A scoff, a struggle, a flail of water and spite.
"Oh, as if you lot have never done anything worse. It's one little murder and this whole affair can be forgotten. If I leave it any longer, she won't be able to die, no blood sacrifice will be made, no blood magic will be broken, and we'll all be fucked."
The struggling became slow, weak-
"It's not a little murder, it's matricide!"
A moment, one lingering tick of the clock and-
"Sweet Merlin. Everyone's a critic."
xXx
"Is the thought of being linked to this family such a terrible idea that you would go to such lengths to avoid it?"
Henryka, redhaired, freckled, very much alive Henryka, and that's the part Elijah cannot quite get over, glanced up to Elijah from the Veranda's steps.
And she laughed. Bright, cheerful, confused.
Lost.
She looked lost.
"I-… You don't see it, do you? It's you who should be afraid. I-… I have a society of very powerful witches and wizards baying for my blood, and, if you haven't noticed, I have a habit of dying every year and… I didn't do this so I would not be tied to you… I did it so you wouldn't be stuck with something rotten like me."
For all those who followed, favourited and reviewed, thank you all so much. I have so much fun writing this, and I hope, even if it's just one line, you found something that made you laugh or feel good.
If you have a spare moment, please drop a few words into the little box down there. They keep the muse from whining. Until next time! Stay Beautiful! ~AlwaysEatTheRude21