𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 ⟪♥︎⟫ Elijah Mikaelson

XIX

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.

And in the city of New Orleans, French was spoken quite frequently, especially in the area known as the French Quarter. It was one of the most popular places for tourists, they were always lured in by the eccentric nature of the place. Entranced by witchcraft or the festivals that it was crowded with.

But unbeknownst to all those wanderers, the city of New Orleans was also one of the most dangerous places to be. The creatures of the night roamed the streets when the sun had disappeared and those cursed by the moon, lurked around the mysterious bayou.

It wasn't such a dangerous place for everyone, for some fortunate souls, protection of the mightiest was sworn. One of these souls, was Leanne Petrova, yet fortunate was not what was used to describe her. Because from time to time, even the mightiest could not protect those they loved.

One could say that it was human, to fail, that it was necessary to forgive those whom did. But they were not human and there was a lot more to forgive than a simple breach in the shield that had protected Leah from harm.

Leah laid in bed, knowing she was no longer in France and she stared at the ceiling. Elijah had visited her yesterday, followed by Jacques, Daniel and Natalie. Not much later she'd fallen vast asleep from exhaustion.

'I hope you're miserable, I hope you'll tear yourself apart, knowing that I hate you, with everything I have.'

The words drummed in her head, a thin wave of guilt followed by them that made her stomach turn. Yet every time she questioned the things she'd said, she reminded herself of Jacques, the subtle questions he asked at the dinner table. Why he hadn't called yet, if he'd lost their phone numbers, whether something might've happened to him.

A hot fire burned in her chest as she heard Jacques' therapist tell her that he'd taken the hit harder than they'd initially expected. She remembered scoffing and calling the therapist names, of course Jacques had taken it hard, she didn't need to have a degree to know that. Elijah had been the only decent father figure the kid had ever had.

After all the abuse, he'd finally found stability in her, in Elijah, only for it to be stripped away. And then, again because of Elijah, she'd been stripped away as well. Forgiveness was very far from her mind, when she pictured her boy and the things he'd been through.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she turned in bed and let her feet slip from underneath the blanket, her bare feet reaching for the cold floor. She was wearing what she assumed to be Rebekah's pyjamas, or perhaps Elijah had found a new love and these clothes belonged to her.

Her jaw clenched as she stood on her legs, a little wobbly, dizzy even, but mostly hurt. She yanked the closet open and grabbed a bathrobe, winding it tightly around herself as she kept on walking.