Carpe Diem || KLAUS MIKAELSON

1] NOTHING BAD EVER HAPPENS HERE

The porch looked old as dirt, celebrating the perfect bridge between her previous life and the next, Charon most likely waiting on the other side.

She could tell this was ancient, even, as she stepped over the creaking floorboards and took a hold of the nearest cardboard box. She lifted it in her arms and stepped into what would be her new home for the next few years, would she grow to like this small surrounding town.

The floorboards groaned beneath her feet again, sending an eerie chill down her spine, a fleeting feeling of dread overcoming her senses.
As she walked over the staircase, desperately trying to block out the deafening creaks of the old wood beneath her shoes, she forced herself to take a long look around the place, a luxury she hadn't judged necessary until now.

This house was old as well, ancient -if the decaying floorboards were anything to go by.

On this floor, there was a kitchen, a living room and any other room a standard home would require, much to her relief.
The windows let a distinct streak of light through their surrounding blinds, which cast over the bare walls, a direct result of her mother's incessant renovating work.

Her eyes raked over the piles of sealed boxes scattering the floor, drawing a soft sigh from her lips as she wondered how much work she still had left.

Then came the memories.

But that was just the thing, the ever-present constant wherever she went: memories of her life -of their life- were just that, memories.
They lay forgotten in boxes that would most likely end up in a dusty attic for the rest of her days, never to be seen or cherished again.

So many memories, so many lives, all sealed away in mere cardboard boxes.

Her eyes trailed over the box that read photo albums and her frown deepened considerably. She was positive all of the memories it contained would remind her of Savannah and the life she'd left behind.
Unable to see those memories wither away, she grabbed the box and tossed it on top of the one she already had, carrying the merry pile upstairs.

The nerve-rattling sound of the wood giving underneath her nearly brought her to tears but she clenched her teeth and sucked it up until she reached the second floor.
Contrary to downstairs, the hallway on this floor was drowned in a sea of darkness, through which she could only make out closed doors -she had no means to escape.

Squinting her eyes through the abyss, she caught a flickering movement at the opposite end of the corridor. Her heartbeat picked up and a current of electricity jolted through her until it prickled at her fingertips, ready to go off, but her feet remained rooted in the floorboards.

However, the slight tremor in the decor was gone as soon as it appeared, carrying a whiff of nothing but cold air with it.

Shaking her head, she almost laughed at her own paranoia as she put her palm across the nearest wall and felt for a switch.
Once the lights were on, she could see that this hallway was smaller and narrower than the one downstairs, but there was no room for doubt, and she stood irrevocably alone.

There was nothing but a busted chest of knocked out drawers pushed up against the corner, right under a small round mirror perched on the wall.
Her mother would have a field day redecorating this house.

She sighed and walked off to the closest closed door, balancing the weight of the heavy boxes on both arms. Opening the door just a crack, she peered inside and immediately recoiled.

''Ew! Because that's the first thing I want to see in the morning!''

''This is my room, Phoebster,'' he stepped forward, pushing the door all the way open, revealing his bare chest glistening with sweat.