Some say...to hate is often a failure to see alternative perspectives and imagine the emotional realities of others.
But Tamora Monroe's hate for the loathsome supernaturals like Scott McCall was intense, repulsive, and unconditional. The hate was infinite and knew no end.
The anger from her eyes sheathed the scared child within, the girl who was taught to fight and starved of the love she craved from her foster parents who never gave it back. Not everyone could see the pain beneath it and her soul drowning in this persona she'd carved to fit a world of indifference.
But no one could help someone like that, not unless the tears come and they realize what's really going on. And no other human apart from Monroe could fight such a traumatic past, they wouldn't, it would take such a toll on them to do so.
The best, life could offer her was a void, to let her shadow box until she craved the sunlight.
Amy's visions were just a few steps away from coming to life, from becoming the reality. All everyone had to do was wait.... all they could ever do...was to wait. The patience, the fever, the feeling of powerlessness...that turned good men cruel, unsettling for peace, battling for justice, would pay off somehow.
"Keep it down here," Monroe ordered his men.
The rusty, moldy coffin that carried the deceased, was put down in front of her.
"Now...open it. and inject those serums.."
All the men did as she told. The serums she was talking about were the ones used by the dread doctors, it was an ancient technology to rejuvenate the skin and mortal components of the body like it was the way before.
Monroe had long before planned all the serum to be stolen and collected by Fred, one of her most trusted workers, that's when Theo got beaten up and Scott and others had to come back to Beacon Hills.
They opened the rusty lid of the coffin that smelled like rotten fish. The confident but scared moonlights penetrated the large rectangular windows of the temple and lit up the dead body.
Monroe had never been so excited before.
The more she thought of Scott, the more the rage and a misplaced sense of pride and fake confidence glowed in her eyes.
The moonlight itself was afraid whether it was committing a wrong deed or not, but Monroe was as boastful as ever. After taking a few steps forward, she was now at a position where her face was clearly visible.
Monroe surveyed the coffin.
The coffin gleamed in the late moonlight that streamed through the cathedral windows. It was expertly crafted not to bring comfort to the departed but to soothe living.
Its faux-gold handles and polished sheen helped to reduce their trauma to wracking waves that were at least more manageable, but what was the point of all of these?
Seventeen years on the earth and this is what her life amounted to? a crudely built coffin by two and a half feet rough wooden box. No lining, no cushioning, no pretense that this was a place to put anything other than a dead and decaying piece of meat and bone.
All the things she had heard about her were not lies after all. Out of all the wrinkled skin, faded grey hair, torn clothes, the most definitive, distinctive, and surprising element of that night for Monroe was Allison Argent's face.
"Magnificent..." She murmured to herself.
The face though a little wrinkled, was still a definitive beauty.
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DRIPPING DARKNESS
Misterio / SuspensoCONTINUATION OF MTV'S TEEN WOLF After the remaining Hunters fled from Beacon hills, the smell of gun powder, bullets, and ashes faded, knowing that it was out of harm's way for some time. Soon, the people started living their normal lives after ac...
