𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 Kai Parker's little sister, Elizabeth after escaping her prison world, sleeps with the only vampire that can procreate, just her luck. Being pregnant with a miracle child, what a joke.
[Klaus Mikaelson]
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
.。o○o。.★.。o○o。.
The next morning, Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to look at him.
Klaus kept glancing at her, probably trying to gauge whether it was safe to speak. It wasn't. Every time their eyes met, she shot him a glare laced with disgust—maybe a little exaggerated, sure, but she was petty. Petty and pissed off.
So he stayed quiet. Good. She wasn't in the mood.
Yes, maybe she was acting immature by icing him out, but she didn't care. He'd laughed at her insecurities like they were amusing anecdotes, not actual thoughts that kept her up at night. Worse, he treated her like she was some clueless girl with paranoid ideas. And then there was Camille. Something had definitely happened—or was still happening—there.
She clenched her jaw. Maybe she should've stayed with the twins. Life was simpler with just them, her, and Rebekah.
Now, she stood in one of the upstairs lounges beside Rebekah, staring at an ancient oil painting of the Original in her first body, all poise and artifice, hanging on the wall like a relic. Klaus lingered behind them like a shadow she didn't want.
Elizabeth tilted her head. "Hmm. Your boobs look bigger in real life."
Rebekah turned, offended. Elizabeth smirked. She'd seen the woman naked once, completely by accident—Kolina had left her stuffed bunny in Rebekah's room, and Elizabeth had walked in to retrieve it while Rebekah was mid-change. Her shriek had been theatrical. And now that she was human again, with no supernatural hearing, it was so easy to sneak up on her. Elizabeth made a sport out of it.
Rebekah huffed, gesturing at the painting. "Ah yes, and that is not my chin, Nik. It was much more delicate."
Klaus snorted behind them. "The only delicate thing about you, sister, is your ego."
Rebekah whipped around, lips twitching with amusement. "Well, placed next to the behemoth size of yours, certainly!"
They laughed—genuine, nostalgic—but Elizabeth didn't join in. The tension between her and Klaus still clung to her skin like static.
A voice crackled through the speakerphone. Elijah. Still tucked away at the safe house in Arkansas with Camille.
"Could we dispense with this fascinating dispute," Elijah said, dry as ever, "and return to the subject of our supposed long-lost sister?"
Rebekah sighed. "There's not much to tell. She said her name was Freya, then bolted into the night."
Elizabeth leaned against the armrest, arms crossed as she listened.
"And you believed her?" Elijah asked.
"Not many people know about Freya," Rebekah admitted.
Elizabeth piped up. "And who'd want to fake being a Mikaelson? Unless she wants to follow tradition—get betrayed and daggered."
