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❝ you're dividing up the city and the werewolves don't even get a say? ❞
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IT HAD BEEN A MONTH. Rebekah had left New Orleans for good. Marcel had been exiled across the river. Elijah had banished the rest of the vampires from the compound. Hayley had cured the Crescent werewolves. Klaus had spent most of his days locked in a spare bedroom doing god knows what. And Enola—Enola had made a home with no slamming doors and no eggshells on the floor.
Enola would spend a lot of time in the bayou and make it home just in time to tuck Klaus into bed. Sometimes she would invite the Crescents over and they would get drunk on laughter, melting on each other like butter when they couldn't sit straight anymore. She reached out, they would reach back—one, two, three times—and they held hands on their way back to the bayou. She would lay in bed, curled up next to her lover after a long day. She hadn't woken up alone all month. She would sing, she would dance, she would unpack groceries. I love him on purpose, she would say. And she meant it. She loved herself on purpose too. The love she wanted exists out there. She exists too.
"They say the passage of time will heal all wounds. But the greater the loss, the deeper the cut and the more difficult the process to become whole again. The pain may fade, but scars serve as a reminder of our suffering and make the bearer all the more resolved, never to be wounded again." Klaus muttered oh so softly. "So as time moves along, we get lost in distractions, act out in frustration, react with aggression, give into anger. And all the while, we plot and plan as we wait to grow stronger. Then before we even realize that so much time has passed. We are healed, ready to begin anew."
"Spoken like a man who's made peace with his demons," Enola hummed.
"My demons are dead," Klaus sighed. "Or chased off."
Enola laid in bed watching Klaus paint. He had set up a canvas at the foot of the bed and began painting the landscape of the city in red and blue. She had softly reminded him that he had put together an art room for a reason. So they didn't have to take up so much space in their shared room with all of their art supplies combined. But he insisted on staying close to her. He had dedicated this entire month to spending time with the mother of his child. When she wasn't in the bayou playing wolf and when he wasn't working on his secret project in the other room, they were together. He had given the reins to the city over to Elijah for the time being.
"You could always call her, you know?" Enola reminded.
