Lights Flicker And Fade : Kol Mikaelson [3]

281: Gather Up The Killers

a/n: as we enter TOS4, some house keeping;

1) if you are only going to obsessively moan about Hayley/a character, don't comment. It's already gotten old, and we're not even into the season yet.

2) if you are only going to comment about when/how MJ's getting revenge, also do not comment. It's really stressing me - just *trust the process*

Some violent revenge is the most boring/least fulfilling outcome; I am willing to post on Discord explaining why, but I'm sick of having to read about it here

Beyond that...I like hearing what people like. That's what being a fan of something is.
Complaining all the time is so dull, and kills my motivation, because, why write for a crowd that's just going to boo at the characters every time they enter a room?

Anyway, house keeping over,
I enjoy this chapter quite a bit so hopefully you all will too - Remember to vote
Bea <3

MAY 2018

Klaus couldn't help but flinch as the tunnel gate swung open. No one used that gate. Marcel barely checked on him, the few times he had more about MJ's coffin than anything else, always coming through the main door, while no one else in the city knew where he was. Supposedly, they didn't, anyway.

...

No one else permanently in the city.

Kol held his older brother's look, a large grimoire tucked under his arm, eyes red, but not in the way Klaus would've recognised. His younger brother wasn't hungry – he wasn't high on blood. He was just standing, in the shadowed entrance to his prison, like he was trying to catch his breath, watching as Klaus tried to move forward.

His lips managed to part.

Only a groan spilled out.

"Oh my," Kol waved a hand as he bowed, "The great and powerful Klaus Mikaelson."

It was the easiest mock in the world, and yet his lips didn't even manage a smile while saying it.

"Trapped! Alone!"

Flat Tone.

"Crying in the dark!"

Klaus tried to speak, throat entirely dry, whether from the lack of water, or blood, their delayed desiccation a new form of punishment. The paler his skin got, the easier it was to see the strain of the chains around his throat. Every time Klaus thrashed, the metal would grate his skin, the slight trace of blood in the air, the purpling of the bruises barely fading.

Kol's lips twisted down, forcing his body to turn.

He needed to see the coffin.

He needed to step towards it.

Completely unaware of how Mira Jung Floare-Ruiz's ghost scrambled to her feet, just behind Klaus's body, in the circle.

"I'm so sorry."

Her lips fell open, taking in the puffing of his features as much as Klaus was.

"I didn't realise you'd be able to see anything," He stumbled closer, "I don't understand how you're seeing anything – "

Clang.

His body jolted back, an invisible line around the coffin.

"Kol..."

The Nwa was in his hand, MJ's brain desperate to look at it, heart keeping her eyes pinned on him.

"I got your voicemail," His voice cracked, "Mira..."