Words Count: 4246

A/N: Not sure when the next chap's gonna be. Could be months, maybe years. Who knows?

Defying all rationality, I decide to stay with Margaret. Out of pity mostly, I admit, but the woman has looked so… Lost. She reminds me of myself, but I had people around me. When I was abandoned by Esther, I had Ayana and, to a lesser extent, Mikael. She has no one, and Ms. Forbes' sole companions- her dogs have been brutally butchered by me. I could've left, I should have, truth be told, but I don't want the blood of an innocent staining my hands;

Judging from how unstable she is, I have no doubt Margaret will make an attempt on her life without people here to put a stop to it. Probably would've succeeded too. I was wide-awake the entire night. It may sound a tad bit creepy, but I was watching her, fearing for the worst… Sure enough, when the clocks reaches half-past 3 in the morning, she starts screaming. Her voice's hoarse, deranged almost.

She screams for her family;

Begs so the monsters prowling the streets will cease their meaningless slaughter, but it is no use.

We can't change the past, after all.

Gingerly, I put my hand on her head, my warmth- despite my Undead Status- instantly calms her, but beads of cold sweat littering her forehead tells me the nightmares have yet to cease. I find myself wondering if I can chase it away, the nightmare I mean, and suddenly I'm gone.

The room around us vanishes. The furniture, the ticking clock, the gentle scent of lilies- a product of her shampoo certainly, disappearing alongside the whole structure which keeps us safe from the elements. Eyes narrowed, I begin to make my way down the beaten path.

I can hear her rough, panicky breaths just as clearly as I can the sounds of her footsteps violently hitting the ground. She's running from them- the fanged monsters who thirst for blood like a man does water and food. I'd be lying if I say I'm not insulted to find the one leading the group; who laughs and jeers at her seems to be… Me. My dream-self, seeming to have had enough fun, blitzes towards her. In mere secs, he has his hand around her blond bundle, his eyes shinning with a cruelty I have seen more than once from my reflections.

Dark veins spot around his eyes; red bleeds in his sclera and gold seeps into his pupils as he speaks, " Silence. Do not move."

The command takes hold in an instant, forcing Ms. Forbes to comply, which I find rather… Odd. This is her dream- her mind, is it not? She should hold all the power here, one word and that apparition will disappear, yet such simple concept seems to elude the pretty blonde as she tearfully chokes, constantly mouthing a fearful, 'Please.' Unfortunately, her voice fails her, just as her mind has. " Present yourself to me."

My lips twitch as she reaches up to her blouse, covered in dirt and grime, before her fingers trail down her bosom, meticulously unbuttoning her outfit. Dream-Me wastes no time, flashing his fangs as he chomps on her neck. Contrary to my expectations, the sound which escapes her lips doesn't merely portray pain, more like a mix between agony and pleasure. " Fret not–" He runs a finger down her cheek… Sensually, may I add.

Before I realize it, my palm has hit my face.

"Is this a nightmare or a wet-dream?"

I wonder aloud. While I know Stockholm Syndrome is a thing, it sure as Hell shouldn't have taken root this quickly, though the desire to be adored… Protected by a beast who can tear her apart as effortlessly as he can a bunch of wet-tissues likely plays a part in this fantasy. " I always take care of my toys."

I shudder and cringe in embarrassment, blitzing towards the two and the other faceless vampires who surround them. One moment, he's standing over her, holding her hair like a leash, the next Dream-Me is clutching his chest as blood oozes out of the gaping hole. "Alright, that is quite enough…" Wide-eyed, Margaret gives the fading corpse a look, then tilts her head in confusion as it ashes.

"You're having a nightmare, Ms. Forbes. I'm–" I hesitate for but a moment, expression twisting. "I'm… Unsure how I'm inside your dreams, but I believe I have gained access in my attempt to calm you."

She blinks, trying to rise to her feet when I cough, gesturing at the state of her dress with my hand, gaze turned to the side. "Please… Make yourself presentable first." Only then, does Margaret seem to remember what had happened, hastily pulling her blouse to cover what can be covered, albeit that isn't much due to how rough the apparition had been. "Why're you in my dream?!" She shouts, blushing up a storm as she retracts her legs to allow herself more coverage.

"Like I was saying–"

I start, ridding myself of the cloak I've adorned.

"What're you doing?!"

Ms. Forbes hisses, inching away in fear. Upset, I grab her chin, tilting slightly so her eyes meet mine, our lips inches away from touching. "For the final time, I'm. Not. A. Rapist."

Ruffling my hair until it is enough of a mess that birds will land on and make a nest, I cuss- visibly irritated. "Odin be fucking merciful… Settle down already, woman!" My dress-jacket, flung roughly, lands on top of her. Realizing my intention, the woman's blush, impossible as it may appear, brightens. I'm honestly angry. It's not the first time I have been suspected of such beastly behaviors.

I remember clearly how I'd have to turn a different direction whenever I was out late and encountered a woman in my last life. How much thoughts I'd have to put in- whether to quicken my pace and overtake them, or slow down so they didn't feel anxious. On one hand, I'm fucking pissed at the men who made this a problem in the first place; on the other, I hate that women judge innocent men before even getting to know them.

To automatically assume someone's guilty and alienate them for something as… Idiotic as the color of skin, or gender.

It is dumb, it is stupid and if I had my way, these wouldn't exist in the future. Besides, if anything I'm the one sexually-harassed here. She was the one using my image for a steamy dream! "S- Sorry…" At least Ms. Forbes has the decency to apologize for her overreaction. In my experiences, few can, more often than not choosing to double down on their lies out of fear. "Why were you in my bedroom again?"

Now, it's my turn to blush. I cough into my fist, a poor attempt to cover up my embarrassment if I must confess. "You didn't look stable earlier, I was afraid you'd do something drastic."

"You mean you were afraid I'd take my own life." I smack my lips at the ease in which she says such dreadful thing. "Sometimes I wonder why I haven't. Never been a woman of God, in spite of my parents' various attempts to make me one. I guess, I just don't want my family line to end with me."

Hesitantly, she pats on the grass next to her, asking me to sit, and I oblige. "We did not meet under the best circumstances, but for what it's worth, you seem to be an incredibly–" Tongue moving inside my mouth while I search for the proper term, I'm finally able to spit it out after a brief contemplation. "Resilient young woman, Ms. Forbes." My curiosity prickles my brain, but I stomp on the desire to ask.

I don't want Margaret to feel like I'm forcing her to speak.

I'd not want to in her position, even though we're rather similar. Both of our families are either dead, or are as good as; we've both been thrown in a situation we could never have fathomed, and despite our dazzling exteriors, something seems fundamentally broken inside us.

"Why do you care?"

Our silence's shattered when she raises her voice. "You're the predator, and I'm the prey… Why do you care if I live or die?"

I can tell her the truth, that I pity her.

But, somehow I have a nagging feeling truthfulness won't be appreciated under current circumstance, thus I settle for a harmless lie. "I don't know. I just do. Although I'll admit I feel somewhat responsible for your life."

"Because you killed my dogs?" A weight settles on my shoulder. I don't need to look to know it's her head. "That plays a part, yes. But I feel you are important."

I refuse to clarify, primarily because I too don't know what prompts this. My response seems to satisfy her, however, as the nightmare shifts- a Sun blooming on the distant horizon. "Thank you… You are pretty nice, for a vampire." She adds teasingly, lighter, somehow. "I suppose I can forgive you for killing my dogs, and nearly ripping my throat open."

"I apologize."

I say with naught but sincerity.

The clearing we're sitting in is reminiscent of the Forbes Mansion, though far more lively… Vibrant. The dark clouds above dissipate to welcome brilliant rays of warmth. It is almost stunning, not the Sun, her smile. If not for the fact I love Tatia, I would have been smitten on the spot. "Will you be here when I wake up?" Margaret asks, blinking innocently. Truth be told, I had planned to leave.

I have lives- or unlives to ruin, and a wife to resurrect, but… How can I possibly say no?

How can I leave this gorgeous creature to languish in misery and loneliness? The Gods know I want to depart, but I know exactly how scary it is to be trapped in a prison of your own mind, more so than most can claim. If I were to leave, at least before I've ensured Ms. Forbes' mental fortitude is able to handle it, I won't be able to forgive myself.

I doubt Tatia, with her bleeding heart, will look at me the same either. "I will…"

A bit later, her breath evens. I wasn't aware one can sleep inside their own dream, but we learn new things each day, right? Lulled by the soft snores next to my ear, I find myself slowly drifting to sleep as well. "Revenge can wait… I am a vampire, I have all of eternity anyways."

— Einar's Diary —

Morning comes, and I find myself wrestling with kitchen utensils.

One may think brewing potions would have prepared me cooking, but the limit of my ability is throw ingredients in a cauldron and hope for the best. In fact, I once burnt an egg so badly, I was chased out of the house by Ayana. Never been good with cooking, though I can certainly eat. Just ask my adoptive mother. "I've fought in battles, I don't believe I can't do this."

Throwing the stove a baleful glare, I hiss as I attempt to make a semi-decent breakfast,

And after half an hour of pure fucking torture, I manage to make two servings of omelets that aren't burnt… Too badly.

"This is edible, right?" Muttering under my breath, I lightly poke the eggs, before blitzing towards the windows and throw them open in hope of ridding the area of all evidences of the travesty that is my cooking- mainly the smokes that nearly make me choke on my own tongue. Margaret's still asleep, and I did not have the heart to wake her just to make foods that won't be filling for me anyways. The woman clearly needs it, given the haunting dark circles around her eyes. "You wanna try?"

Heaven's Quintessence narrows his eyes, shaking his head left and right as he backs away. His reaction makes my lips twitch as I approach with the… Dish, wanting to shove it down his mouth, when footsteps reach our ears.

The Stand seems relieved at the interruption, "Saved by the bells, huh?" I click my tongue, as the silhouette of a woman enters the kitchen, coughing like a smoker. "Ein- Einar? What did you do?"

"Ms. Forbes."

I greet, raising the dishes in my hands. "Breakfast?"

"You were cooking?" She looks both amused and unamused. How somebody can express such conflicting emotions simultaneously, I can not quite grasp, and do not plan to. "I thought you were trying to burn the house down. Are… Those even edible?" My annoyance spikes as I make a face at her 'insolence'. "Ms. Forbes, I miss when you were terrified of me."

"Too late." She smirks, sticking out her tongue. "You already showed me your soft side."

I sigh at her childishness. "And believe me when I say I regret it sincerely." Silently, I cut a piece of the omelet, plopping it in my mouth just to gag. "… Is it that bad?" Margaret sends me a pitying glance as I walk towards the trash and pour the foul, disgusting insults to true culinary in.

Usually, I'm not one to waste foods, but those have become poisons thanks to my… Talent. "Even I couldn't stomach it, and I have eaten a lot of weirder things." Like the tasteless jerkies we used to store for Winter, for example, and my dishes have them beat. "Should have stuck to what I'm proficient at." Which mostly involve dropping ingredients into an ugly-ass cauldron that looks like it needs several rounds of deep-clean with a pressurized hose to even appear presentable. Alas…

"Here."

Tucking her hair behind her ear, the blonde exposes the side of her neck to me, causing me to frown. "What on Earth are you doing?"

"You're hungry, right?"

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I question. "I am, but why are you exposing your neck to me?" Try as I may, I cannot stop myself from breathing in her scent, my eyes drawn to her white neck and pulsing veins.

Margaret's heart is practically beating out of her ribcages, yet not out of nervousness, which is what she ought to feel, but anticipation. How do I know this?

Because fear has a very distinct scent, and the last Forbes doesn't smell like anything during our first meeting.

"You are a vampire, silly. Although all the records I found indicated you can eat normal food, it isn't going to satiate you. Only blood will." Forcefully reining in my bloodlust, I move away from the woman, pushing past her as my fangs dig into my bottom lip with enough force to draw blood.

"Do you comprehend what you are offering?" Yet, before I can successfully leave the kitchen, her hand latches onto mine, pulling me back. "I know." Margaret nods, and in a second, I have the woman pinned against the wall, my fangs jutting out from my lips as I heave, completely intoxicated by her scent. "I don't think you do, Ms. Forbes."

Everything's so clear as a vampire- visible, even when I'm doing my best to ignore my senses, I still unconsciously pick up on the minor details. How Margaret seems to gasp, holding back a pleasured groan as her back hits the wall; how her heartrate accelerates and her breath deepens when my fangs graze her slender neck. "The young calf doesn't fear the tiger." The idiom suddenly comes to my mind. All knowledge Margaret has regarding vamps are second-hand,

She doesn't fully-grasp how much control a vampire- I have to possess, simply to keep myself from tearing her head off in a feeding-frenzy. In fact, her reaction reminds me of the vampire-craze during the early 2000's, which was/will be deeply-rooted in the idea of taming the beast,

And it all began with Disney and their animated adaptation of the 18th Century French author Gabrielle-Suzanne's most successful fairytale.

Girls who grew up on the cartoon have this desire, whether they want to admit it or not, to- for a lack of a better word- domesticate a being who outmatches them in basically every aspect that matters; to heal the beast's broken psyche with their heart, and if necessary, their body. It is not something I can claim to understand, for I myself desire an uneventful life, surrounded by loved-ones on my deathbed. It is all I have ever wanted, truth be told.

"It's alright."

Margaret's arms suddenly wrap around my neck, her fingers interlocked- resting gently on my nape. From the outside looking in, us two must've appeared to be a pair of young lovers, but the fact one's the predator; one prey hasn't changed. I can still kill her so very easily, and all it will take are inconsequential actions from my end. "I trust you." For a gazelle to trust the lion… Is there anything more unnatural? And yet, those three simple words seem to strike a cord within me.

Calmly, and as gentle as I can through the red haze that has fallen over my vision, I dig my fangs in her neck.

Pure sweetness drips in my mouth, rejuvenating my every cell. The dogs' can't even begin to compare.

Theirs were sugar- pinches diluted in water, tasteless and bland. Hers is sweet wine without all the side-effects one expects from alcohols.

Unconsciously, I sneak one arm around the young blonde's waist, the other digging into Ms. Forbes' bundle in an effort to hold her in place. She wiggles and squirms, though it does not appear aspired by pain, but pleasure. I've had tattoos before, before I became Einar the Viking, and what she's feeling must resemble what I had felt when the needles dug into my skin. There is no other explanation. Behind me, Heaven's Quintessence turns away, his arms crossed as he floats to the upper-floor to give us privacy.

Seconds later, I stop- my chin wet and sticky from the life-force I've consumed as I back away, meeting her teary eyes. "Did it hurt?" I question, elongated nail trailing down the injury I had caused in my excitement.

Margaret responds with a weak smile, her cheeks aflame with embarrassment. "Not as much as the first time." How she can say such misleading thing without cringing, I haven't a clue, not that I'd have noticed if she did, not with how fast her heart's beating in spite of the blood-loss. "Margaret, I–" The blonde hushes, her finger trailing my lips as she nears.

I'm a married man, I should reject her advances, and yet I find myself rooted to the spot, greedy to have another, different kind of taste. Our lips are nearly touching, when the bell rings, snapping us out of our lust-induced haze. Margaret hastily beats a retreat, as do I. "I can't stay here forever…"

Not while the Mikaelson still live;

"I can't be what you want me to be."

Not if I'm still in love and married to Tatia;

"I can't even give you what you want."

One of the topics my wife and I touched on in the dreamscape was children. Vampires aren't fertile, not surprising considering what we are- walking corpses reanimated by Dark Magic.

I'm a man out of time, with quite literally nothing to his name but this body and the ability to battle the Supernatural, being one myself. "I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression."

I bow, slashing my palm open and offering her a sip.

"But I can't be with you, nor do I have any desire to string you along." It's not as if I'm unfamiliar with the concept of casual flings and FWBs before, but those women were about as vain as they were irritating, and the closest to an actual connection I have had with those was with a gold-digger who tried to swindle me out of half my savings on the third date.

Margaret, on the other hand, seems like a genuinely nice woman with a bright future ahead of her, and a nice little family that can fill the gaping void in her chest, caused by the demise of her family. She deserves better than me.

"It'd not be right."

The bell rings again, far more urgently given how it's pressed twice.

Margaret looks down at her feet, bang veiling her eyes, though the quiet sniffles betray her true emotions.

"Is it a woman?" My tongue swipes my lips, and I grab a handkerchief to clean the mess under my chin. "Her name is Tatia. She and I lived in a quaint little town that used to sit on these lands. We were… Not the most well-off, but we were happy, until I was betrayed by my family- stuffed inside that cave. The rest, you already know."

"I- I see." Her voice trembles, each vibration seeming to play with my heartstrings, but I quickly harden my heart. This is for the best. "She is a lucky woman…" Using her sleeve, Margaret wipes away her tears, before making straight for the exit. "I'll- I will go get the door."

I don't stop her, not because I relish in her tears or anything, but because I'm well-aware of the human psyche.

Not to say I was qualified to become psychologist, although when you live to a certain age, you learn fascinating things. If I were to stop her now, my resolve will shatter, and I will leave an imprint in her mind. It is the Suspended Bridge Effect, where people- men and women alike, grow attached to someone whom they believe was there for them at their lowest.

Better to tear off the bandage in one quick, merciless swipe, than to prolong the pain.

— Einar's Diary —

It took the woman ages just to get a wink of sleep in, too afraid of what would come in the morning, but eventually Alaya did fall into deep slumber, haunted by visions of blood and fangs and Undead.

By the time she got up, it's already past her schedule. Her little shop's untended, her hair messy and stuck in a layer of grease.

Alaya may not be cleanest, nor most hygienic of women, but she has an advantage over everyone- her Magic. In fact, the Spells she used to fix herself up for that important first-impression happened to be Einar's, according to the Grimoires. Even the Potion she drank to chase away the sleepiness- the Pepperup was also invented by the Original in town.

Once done prepping, she leaves to travel Eastward of Mystic Falls, where the Winds of Magic blow the strongest. It was odd, she had expected something inherently malevolent, but his feels like Sunlight- warmth and welcoming, not at all reminiscent of what is told inside her Ancestors' records.

,OhThe closer the Witch got to the mansion situated on the small hill, the Forbes Manor where death and despair linger like air, the more blinding Magic feels.

Vampires are supposed to reek of Dark and Unearthliness, yet his Curse- if one can even call it that anymore- seems more like those first rays after a storm… Before long, Alaya finds herself at the doorsteps of Margaret Forbes. The woman keeps to herself after her parents died, and her brothers went MIA- presumably dead. Though pretty, perhaps the prettiest in the whole of Mystic Falls, no suitor has come for her, fearing the deadly 'Curse' which has taken her entire family.

Of course, Alaya knows better.

Hers is just a string of misfortunes, nothing more, nothing less, but try to convince the superstitious townsfolks otherwise is a one-way ticket to be ostracized. The Bennett truly feels for the girl, sadly her position, what with the recently-abolished slavery laws, does not allow her to help. Last she saw of the Forbes was two days ago, when she's out for grocery. The fact she's alone in a huge Manor makes her the perfect target for Vampires,

Which is likely why the Original has hunkered down here… Alaya can only hope she's not yet dead.

"Ancestor Ayana said he is good, so he must be, right?"

After moments of hesitation, the Witch finally decides to ring the bell, but nobody answers, so she rings it again, trepidation rising within her chest pulls on the door-bell. "Ms. Forbes? Are you home?" Nobody can accuse her of not being patient, although after five minutes, even the initial calm Alaya feels has started to waver and shake. "Ms. Forbes?"

A surge of Magic courses down her arms as she fiddles with the doorknob, before footsteps make her recoil and stop all her prior actions. The door bursts open, revealing a Caucasian woman in her early-twenties. Her hair's tied in a neat bundle behind her head; her blue eyes smeared with tears; her nose red from crying, if Alaya were to hazard a guess; and her neck's covered under a thin scarf.

It's in the middle of Summer…

There is absolutely no reason for anyone remotely sane to wear such a stifling article of clothing, unless they have something to hide.

Seeming to have sensed the odd glances the Witch's giving her, her bloodied scarf in particular, the Forbes shrinks. Unconsciously reaching for her neck, as if she can still feel the stickiness stuck onto her skin, even though she has wiped it clean with a wet towel earlier. "Ms. Bennett. How may I help you?"

Alaya's frown deepens in an instant.

"Ms. Forbes, do you perchance have an uninvited guest in your house?"