Angel Petrova

Wolves and Puppies

Angel nodded her head along to the tune of There Ain't No Rest for the Wicked. She was currently in her car, driving to the house of the devil himself: the one and only Niklaus.

He had heard that the doppelgänger was recently turned, and he was not happy. Angel grinned lifelessly at the thought of his anger; she just had to witness it first hand. Anger was a beautiful emotion to the blonde girl. It was so complex, built off of other feelings. It was also so common that it was unique, and everybody reacted differently to it. It was just wonderful.

Her lips pursed in a cool line at the memory of the events that occured a few days ago.

She had sent Kol away, but not before he vowed to get her back.

Angel was not angry at Kol. No, Kol did what he did out anger, and his emotions were heightened. He was always impulsive, and his actions were out of complete rashness. She knew he regretted what he did; she was actually surprised by the amount of guilt Kol felt when he was around her. No, Angel was not mad. She simply didn't care.

Angel did not have time, nor did she care, to have a love life. She was done with the thought of love and happiness. She was done with the thought of sadness and sorrow as well. She was done with feeling things; emotions just got in the way of everything. Emotions stripped you of your logic and train of thought, and Angel was to the point where thinking was all she truly cared about.

But everything meant nothing now. She had saved her family, took care of Elena's fate, and she was now going to ensure the survival of the Salvatore brothers and her sister.

Emotions were such pesky little things.

Angel felt nothing, yet she remembered what she used to feel. Feelings were maybe not in her heart, but they were in her mind. So, to some extent, she still cared for the Mikaelsons and Salvatores.

It was all so very complex.

She pulled up to the large, glamorous mansion she knew the family had claimed. A dull smirk latched itself onto her lips, as she grabbed the bow-adorned, forest-scented candle from the passenger seat. Her smirk stayed coldly intact, while her fist quietly knocked on the tall door.

Her head tilted in faux sweetness, as the door violently swung open. Her eyes bore dangerously into the pleased orbs of the most composed Original out of the bunch.

"Elijah. How've you been, sweetie?"

"I've been well, Angelikah. And yourself?"

Angel frowned slightly at her old viking name. No one truly ever called her by her full names. During the greek times, it was Angele. Viking period, it was Angelikah. During Katarina's time, it was Angeliah. Currently, it was Angelina. But the only constant was Angel. She was always Angel.

Her identity was all she ever really had.

"My name's Angel," she corrected, while a cold smile sat hatefully on her cracked lips. "And I've been well. Thanks for asking."

"Is your name not Angelina in this time period?"

"Angel," she snapped, "call me Angel."

He nodded slightly, understanding gliding through his eyes. That's something she despised about Elijah. He always understood her motives. He trusted her, so he never questioned her. Well, she supposed that that was the same for all the Mikaelsons. But Elijah knew. He knew her story, and he knew how she became what she did. He knew how miserable she was, and he know how broken she now is.

Angel hated that. She did not want his sympathy and pity. She didn't want anything from anyone.

"I've missed you."