𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 ⟪♥︎⟫ Elijah Mikaelson

I

The city of love was to many just that, the city where you proposed and shot beautiful wedding pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower. Some said that Italian was the language of love and charm, but most agreed that French still stood tall as the language of romance.

However, not many knew why the language was able to open hearts. Leah, did.

'No, it's not just because of the way we view it,' she argued as she played with the cookie she got beside her hot cup of tea.

Daniel raised his eyebrow and a sigh escaped his lips, 'Well go on then, if you're so eager to tell me.'

She stared at him in disgust as he dipped his cookie in his tea, a French habit she still hadn't wrapped her head around. 'It's because of your king, Louis the fourteenth. He was very fond of the arts and established these academies for dance, opera, painting and literature. He literally put a team together of people to develop the French language, he wanted it to be the most sophisticated language of all. Before that, there were just so many dialects and grammar rules weren't clear.'

He grinned, 'Nice pun.'

'What?'

'Literature... literally.'

Leah groaned and buried her head in her hands, 'That's what you got out of all of that? You should know these things, you're the French one.'

'No, you're just a nerd and I'm not.'

Leah could barely decipher what he'd said as his voice had been muffled by the cookie being mauled between his teeth. His childish antics annoyed her greatly, but somehow they also made who he was. The dorky, spontaneous and a bit reckless guy, with brown hair and glasses. She knew that often, she needed his crazy ideas. Because she was, according to those who knew her, too mature for her own good.

She spend all her Tuesdays in the same cafe, sitting across of Daniel and rambling on about literature or art. He usually joked around, but a month ago she picked up on the fact that he did actually listen.

It had been one of their usual Tuesdays, her nose scrunched in disgust as he dipped his cookie in his tea. When she told him about brothers Grimm and the fairytales they wrote. She theorised that the brothers Grimm must've had a very loving mother during their childhood.

In no fairytale written by the brothers, had the mother ever been evil, only the fathers were capable of such horrible things. When it came to an evil mother figure, it somehow always turned out to be a stepmother. While with fathers, a stepfather was never needed.

He'd nodded and said: 'Well, I know I couldn't write about my mother being evil. She'd have my head. Why are we talking about fairytales again anyway?'

'Because they're based on folklore and-' she'd paused, 'why'd you say again?'

'You were telling me last week about Aurora, the original fairy tale. She didn't wake from a kiss, but because that douchebag raped her and she woke from the pain of childbirth.'