Beauty of Darkness (Elijah Mikaelson)

Chapter 1

"Wynter! Downstairs, now!"

Poor Danielle. She was so energetic for this time of morning; probably because her fantasy of a life didn't entail an endless self-struggle for happiness. Even if it was selfish, I wished she was like me. I wished her fantasy would fade away before her eyes, showing her the absolute carnage and torture that is reality. I wished I had someone who understood; not just the smoke and mirrors story I put on with my mask every morning like a second skin.

I didn't realize my usual morning pity party and existential crisis had lasted until almost 10am. Late - even for the new me. I have forced to call myself the "new Wynter" because I know if I admitted how much I've changed it would send me into an even deeper spiral.

"WYNTER!"

Shocker, the thoughts made me out of touch yet again. In my usual morning rush, I quickly slapped on a hoodie that didn't smell entirely like a sewer, not yet, at least, and didn't even make eye contact with the brush and makeup collection that had been collecting dust on my desk.

Only 9 hours and 21 minutes until I could go back to my comforting cocoon of emptiness.

Danielle obviously became tired of my snail-paced shuffle down the stairs, yelling at me to hurry up. Of course I didn't acknowledge it - why would I rush happily into the embrace of another *wonderful* day. At this point, her words sounded like one of those teachers from the Charlie Brown specials. I wanted to let her in, but I was no longer in control.

Danielle had always done a great job given the circumstances; I had never given her enough credit. If anything, I need to give her more from what she has had to put up with on my end. Ever since the accident, she had been nothing but caring. Offering spa nights, fancy brunches, you name it. Everything a roommate should do when they see a friend in need, she did. Things I loved so much, but couldn't bring myself to do again.  God forbid I allowed myself to be happy for once again.

"Excited for a fresh start, Wynnie?" Danielle asked with a pitiful smile.

I didn't expect an actual sentence to process. The nickname shocked me - I hadn't heard it in almost a year. Nevertheless, I nodded. A lie, of course. How could I be excited? A new place means forced social interactions I do not want to have, new routes to be paranoid over, and the inability to hide anymore.

I know New Orleans was supposed to be a fresh start, but moving only opened the door for even more darkness.

After more nodding and pretending to care, Danielle had to attend to her life that actually served a purpose. I was envious of her motivation to face the day with a beautifully crafted hairdo and precisely steamed blouse and skirt. Not to mention the hair and makeup she spent hours perfecting.

I eventually found the strength to leave the comfort I found from the kitchen island, leaving behind a bagel I barely touched. Slipping on the closest pair of shoes, while simultaneously dodging the maze of brown boxes yet to be unpacked,  I reached the door. After mentally preparing, I found the courage to seperate from the comfort of the dark. A new New Orleans day - in all of its awfulness.