Henrik Mikaelson died a horrible death. Torn apart by the werewolves, his last minutes on this earth were unbearably painful. He also served as a catalyst and unknowingly assisted his mother, who turned her family into the Originals. Alan Mason, a 1...
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Henry wasn't a morning person. Not by a long shot, so when the first rays of sun hit his window, he reluctantly pried his eyes open, adjusting to the intrusion of photons. He sat up in his bed, looking ahead, eyes unfocused, his mind addled with sleep.
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That's when Jeremy entered the room, intended to wake him up, but he noticed that his little brother was already awake.
"As well as I could, considering..." trailed of Henry. He didn't need to finish that sentence, his brother understood him.
"Well, get ready, school's starting," informed him, Jeremy.
"Hooray!" sarcastically rolled his eyes, Henry.
"You know," started Jeremy. "One day, you'll eye-roll yourself to another dimension"
Henry barely refrained himself from rolling his eyes again, if only his brother knew.
"Good Morning, Stolas," greeted Henry his familliar, who cawed at him.
Henrik dressed in his favorite skin-tight black jeans, that made his ass look great, according to Cheryl, black and white sneakers and a muscle shirt, coupled with a white leather jacket.
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