Lovers Lost

~ Kol Mikaelson ~

Kol Mikaelson was bored. Living life under the radar was more underwhelming than he had originally thought. Over the years, he grew to miss the thrill of living life on the edge, the rush he would get when pretending to be someone else, reinventing himself, and being able to feed with little to no restrictions.

He had to teach himself restraint and, therefore, compulsion. After all, he'd seen his sibling do it, so it couldn't be that difficult. Although he would never admit it, it took him a few tries and awkward... conversations before fully mastering his abilities. He had passed through many towns and villages, often growing bored only months after arriving at a new destination. Some towns had more flair than others, and those were the ones that he had enjoyed the most.

Towns where a witch or two had taken up residence. Getting to watch the locals twist themselves into knots trying to figure out who or what was causing strange phenomena to manifest- gods, it was precious. Most times, the witches would find him before he was even aware of their presence, saying that they had felt something off about him, unnatural. There was a common denominator when they described what they felt while in his presence: death. He was mostly surprised, although not shocked. He and his siblings did take many lives, but he theorised that that was not the whole reason. They were created by death, firstly their own and secondly by that of a villager whose blood they had to drink in order to complete the perverse ritual. The original soon found out the hard way that witches could not be compeled after an explanation about what he was had gone particularly sideways, leading to him being chased yet again out of a village.

In the years following the unfortunate event, he had promised himself that he would lay low, without attracting too much attention from locals or any neighbouring witches. He moved from town to town, still mesmerised by witches, occasionally revealing his identity to some. However, when the time came for him to leave yet again, that led to him having to kindly ask a few witches not to say anything about a vampire passing through their towns. Even though he was convinced his father had long ago lost his trail, one could never be too sure when hiding from a maniac.

Nonetheless, after the sixth or seventh witch in twice as many towns, he found himself once again growing bored of repeating the same ritual. Slowly, he lost interest in the witches, and all the incredible towns he saw. He almost settled in the quaint village of Vaiges, although a nearby town quickly piqued his interest due to the fact that most locals seemed to be wary of it.

And so, on a cloudy November afternoon, he made his way to the northern town of Laval. The town that, now that he was thinking of it, he had heard a few hushed whispers about from the witches he encountered. Whispers that the little town was home to a very renowned coven. The Juste Coven.

As he strolled into the town, he could practically feel the magic linger in the air. The bustling locals, however, seemed to pay no mind to it. That, or most, were told to turn a blind eye to the happenings in the town. Nevertheless, Kol deduced a third option: the town, from what he could gather in the one or so hour since he had been there, seemed to consist of no more than 150 people, give or take; most of whom he was assuming to be witches, given the prolonged stares he had received while wondering down the few streets of the peculiar town. He also took note of the three-something-dozen humans residing there, likely partners of the witches, people originating from there, or perhaps some who had moved from nearby villages. There was really no way to decipher this in such a short amount of time.

Turning another corner and returning to where he had began his 'tour' of the town, he noticed a small market in the distance where various people were selling food and other goods. From the distance, he could smell the freshly baked bread and the vast collection of meat displayed on the narrow stalls. He heard people arguing and negotiating prices, the clinking sound of the small livres made while being handed from one person to another, and a few children playing together while their parents did their weekly shopping.

Kol decided to approach the market as a petite, dirty-blonde, curly-haired woman bumped into him, causing him to momentarily lose his footing as the products she was holding flew out of her arms, landing gingerly at her feet.

She scoffed at the stranger, kneeling to grab the items she dropped. The original tried to help her gather her belongings. 'I've got it!' she said bitterly as he tried to hand her bag of rye that was about to spill onto the muddy ground.

He let out a mock chuckle. 'I'm sorry for trying to help,' he said while getting up.

The woman gathered all that could be salvaged from the ground, holding the items close to her body in the cloth bag she usually took whenever she went shopping. She got up almost immediately after. 'You could always help by getting out of the way.' she snapped, pushing past him.

'Or you could just look where you're going.' he shouted back once she was a few metres away.

She turned around, a fake smile plastered on her face. 'Not my fault you were three thousand kilometres into space and didn't see me coming.' she responded, and he guessed that by the end of that sentence, her smile was genuine.

That I didn't, he thought to himself, admiring the young witch as she walked away.