The noble stag's facade is shattered. And the demon behind the Red Door is free.
Taking his brother's life should've been Elijah's worst sin. It's clear that redemption is an illusion. All that remains is surviving the supernatural hordes that wish...
Rebekah wasn't normally a light sleeper. It's a bizarre and rare quirk (weakness) for an immortal. Especially when one experiences nearly a century and a half under the effects of a mystical artifact designed to temporarily incapacitate its victim. How much sleep could she be possibly need when she's exhausted two lifetimes worth already?
But for whatever odd inexplicable reason, she still finds comfort in the quietness of her peaceful slumber. An enchanting and ironic blessing she supposes.
That is why she's vicariously angry that her mind is hellbent on staunchly remaining awake. She turned over and over again to find a better angle. An absurd strategy when you think of how remarkably relaxing her bed is.
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She changed her mind and raided the fridge at the middle of the night seeking some scrumptious O+, only to find their stock completely empty.
It wasn't that fact alone that irritated her. Someone had gone through the trouble of renaming the remaining packets of AB+ as the other blood type. As if she's a dumb toddler unaware how to distinguish between fine beverages and peasant servings.
Kol.
Who else would be so petty and childish? And the thought of him living up to his threat and informing Elijah of how she broke his no killing rule is worsening her aneurysm.
Thor help her. She's starting to understand why Nik was so dagger happy all of a sudden.
No. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. She just needs to get dressed and hunt for a refreshment. It's New Orleans. There has to be some drunk clueless tourist running about. Snatch. Drink. Erase. Not bloody rocket science.
She feels too lazy to go into the city. There are servants in the mansion. Her brother disapproves of them drinking from them, but it's mostly due to his personal reservations in regards to anarchist bloodletting. Rebekah won't kill the help this time, so he can excuse her actions surely.
Bullocks. What is this the weird fixation that's only increasing lately? Her moments of joy are intrinsically linked to Elijah's presence and approval. Her doubts and worries cease to seem hugely impregnable or mildly difficult thanks to his words of affirmation. His feelings of anguish and pain she wants to destroy with her bare hands.
They've danced hundreds of times over the centuries. The subtle art of blending in plain public demanded that they learn courtly etiquette. No one took to it as well as Elijah did. But why did this particular dance feel different. More intimate if that makes sense.
Fucking hell. What did Kol mean? With his all too knowing eyes and mocking smile.
She wants to confront him. Drag him from whatver hole he laid his head at, and shout at him to revoke his nonsensical comments. Burn them to cinders and ash, and he along with them.
The Original doesn't find her mark in his room, so she settles with thrashing the entire place and screaming her frustrations as she paints her macabre art scene.
