Bloom || HOPE MIKAELSON x RYAN CLARKE

2] A WALK AMONG THE TOMBSTONES

Ryan felt light.

Weightless.

As a feather.

But as every good thing that had ever befallen him, the feeling barely lasted a second before he sank to the ground, catching his breath and clutching his head between his hands.

The pain hit first.

The warmth came to him a second later.

Malivore hadn't been anything at all -made of emptiness itself, he couldn't feel pressure, gravity, just as he couldn't feel warmth or cold.

The only thing he'd ever felt there was anger and pain.

Relief didn't even begin to cover what he felt as he pushed the thoughts away and focused on the warmth that spread through him.

It wasn't nearly as satisfying as the distant memories he had of sun rays, but it was enough for him to feel at ease.

How much time had passed since he'd last felt anything but utter loneliness?

He stood up, bracing himself on a nearby table. Glancing up and around his surroundings, he realized he was standing in a house he'd never seen before.

This wasn't his one-bedroom apartment, nor was it the ominous Salvatore School. Or anything else he'd ever known.
Had Hope bought a house on her way out of Malivore?

The area was large, complete with vintage armchairs and dusty bookshelves lines against the brick walls. For a pile of mud, he'd always been very tidy, and so this kind of place made his lips curl into a tight line.

His sights swept over the place and the intricate décor before they found a window, prompting his legs to run toward it immediately. Risking a glance outside, he saw nothing but a pawn shop across the busy street and what looked like a jazz fest.

''New Orleans? Seriously?'' he whispered to himself, turning around and taking in the room he was in once again. He shook his head, reminiscing his father's words.

Why or how didn't matter.

It was time to find Hope.

He walked out of the room and into a corridor, letting faint voices lead him farther into the house. It was a lot bigger than he anticipated, twists and turns leading him farther away from the long window panes he knew he would fit through. He also knew his attempts would be fruitless. He would never escape Malivore, or his new mission. Moreover, he knew he didn't want to. Not this once. Hope had taken enough from him.

The corridor was bare if not for the furniture pushed nearly against the same brick walls, and the light sun rays seeming through the single window to shadow his steps.

He treaded carefully, acutely aware of her heightened senses, his posture rigid as he straightened further away from the wall.

His feet stopped before the threshold of the very room she was in.

He didn't bother risking a glance inside the furnished area. He didn't need to see her to know she was in there. Driven by his hatred, he glanced around, his eyes stopping on an expensive vase propped on a shelf.