ivyrose • klaus

my wife, ivy-rose . . .

Year 1793 | Paris, France

Night had fallen over the city of revolution and fires were lit everywhere. Proud cheers ran throughout streets and all those who wished for more went on the hunt for more. History had been made earlier in the day, and now the aftermath of heads rolling reigned in the streets. Death was certain for those who hadn't escaped — the once high and mighty were falling from their pedestals at the hands of the people. 

The past ten years of fighting, war in the streets, and bloodshed led to this day that promised a change for the future. 

One wrong move of the people was to center their sights on a white mansion guarded by a large gate with an 'M' monogram in the center. The family living behind closed doors had moved in and lived quietly and caused no harm to the naked eye, but underneath the white paint and fine paintings were washed-off remnants of desperate scratches and red blood. 

"Soulever et mourir!" 

A painful scream pierced through the air in the four walls of the house as a hand closed itself. Lifted into the air, a dozen men and women clawed at their throats before their hearts stopped and faces went blue. At the sight, their bodies were dropped without mercy.

With another hand, a blood-covered woman dug her hand into two chests to pull out two freshly pumping hearts. The sounds of their last beats a melody to her ears while she bit into the beating organs. Stained with fingerprints dyed in blood, a glass of champagne was lifted to her lips as pained screams quickly went silent in another room -- the chilled liquid accompanied g the bloody taste. Open and soaked at the tips, black curls were dyed naturally red as pearls and a silver chain hung from her neck as a canine-tooth smile ripped on her face. Spreading a hand out to stop another wave of people barging through the door, black veins began to creep up the woman's arms and face as her pupils went black.

"Morietur in flamma. Mori in dolore."

At the spell of dark magic, those with stakes and swords dropped their weapons to violently pat their burning skin as smoke rose from their depths. It took a snap of a finger to ignite their bodies on fire, their screams adding volume into the room.

As silence fell upon the room as the last intruders laid dead on the floor, another glass was lifted for the woman to down the expensive drink — her once white rococo gown now soaked red.

"What in the name of sanity happened here?" 

Pushing through the doors of their mansion house, two new pairs of eyes stared at the carnage spread throughout the hallways of their home. 

Drenched in blood that belonged to the dead bodies littered around her, the werewolf-witch Ivonna-Rosalie raised her head from the two bodies she pounded her fists into to look into the wide eyes of a vampire. Parting her bloodied lips to speak, the sound of double-doors suddenly opening not even shocking the man.

"Rebekah, I leave you to care for Ivonna for one night, and I come back to the home littered with dead bodies and blood down the walls. White walls, now red."

"It is not like you have not shed blood in your life, Niklaus, so take your share than dump the rest."

Clad in a similarly bloodied and ripped gown as her hair fell from its ornate style, Rebekah rolled her eyes as she wiped her hands on a rag while making her way to her sister in the middle of the room.

"Ivonna, look at me." The woman in a red held a limp body by the neck to rip out the heart, the call of her name falling on deaf ears. Niklaus' jaw clenched at the dance of bloodlust shingling through her eyes. The erratic beating of her heart and smile on her lips only meant she was in deep, "Ivonna—"