Forbidden Fruit; ᴇʟιᴊᴀʜ. ᴍ

0.5

{Serve & Protect}

Being Mortal means one of two things, either you lived your life making every day count, or you lived everyday dreading what was to Come. A wise woman named Lydia Terrance, A fake name to go with a fake identity, Told a young something year old Nyla that being mortal meant being born to die. It was sickly sweet in a way, her destiny was made, that bed was dug and no matter the consequence, that would be how it ended for her.

It was a refreshing notice, one that had both calmed and terrified a brewing storm with a small, Angry, and repressed child whose memories were warped and distant to her. Nyla never thanked The Older vampire for this, she never said thank you to any of them. She often felt there was nothing to be thankful for when it came to a vampire's advice. It was an experience, a piece of awakening that they shared with select youth that never asked for it. Nyla was no different. She felt that bargained no need for a thank you.

So as Detective Beckett and her accomplice, Cop Barbie, wandered through the seedy grounds of a run down bar taken over by the nightcrawlers, Nyla contemplated the frivolous use of a heart beat. With death surrounding her, the idea that none of them needed a heart was a disconcerting thought. She needed hers. Dearly.

"You shut up about Thierry, alright? He didn't deserve what he got. Marcel was just showing off because of Klaus. Can't wait 'til his ancient-ass is outta here." Diego's loud and commanding voice was resoundingly calming for Nyla in this setting. sure she was surrounded by known and commercialized faces, however none knew her, none would even make it through the month. they'd know her the very same way every other new vampire had, she was the 'Princess' of the castle.

the tyrant princess of a gorged society pillaged on blood and fevered highs and lows of the communities surrounding them.

The waft of Rebekah's strongly expensive perfume dawned along Nyla's every sense and felt like a sickness slowly fighting the antibodies in her bloodstream. The longer she was around Rebekah, the more she remembered Marcel's words, and the more she felt as though she were voluntarily accepting a sickness. a virus that would consume her quickly and without a second or third thought. she was sure if she would tell Rebekah, take me I'm yours, Rebekah would indeed take her.

And use. And use. Like vampires did, without apology.

Nyla looked down at Rebekah's manicured hand that hung perfectly near her own, like a temptation that Nyla was being challenged to resist. She couldn't. Nyla had never been very strong to resist her desires. She hadn't ever been told to. She had indulged and indulged until her stomach and her brain hurt. She brushed her finger against Rebekah's soft slim fingers, looking up to meet the ancient womans wistful eyes. "He's in a mood. Just be charming- Not British Royalty charming, but Louisiana off the docks type of charming. He's a sucker for pretty girls."

Rebekah Mikaelson stared right through Detective Beckett and right into the human girl's decaying soul, where hopes and dreams had gone to burn in a fire that the original assumed was lit by none other than a boy king of the french quarter. There were still pieces there, deathly pieces, ones that were only kept alive by the resounding reality that Nyla had the entire vampire community at her feet, and should she want for anything, that girl could have at it.

The blonde bombshell of wreak, and havoc leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to the shorter brown woman's cheek. Leaving a pink lipstick stamp on her cheek bone, before she waltzed past the crowd of vampires and directly to Diego.

Nyla stood there, staring after the woman as she wiped at her cheek with the sleeve of her shirt. She was blatantly caught in a Mikaelson's trap and she didn't know how she had so easily been swept in. She just knew that she loved watching Rebekah walk away from her.