[𝐈] 𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗩𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗗𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝕱𝖔𝖚𝖗: 𝗞𝗹𝗮𝘂𝘀' 𝗙𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗠𝗼𝗼𝗻

Chapter Thirty-Four
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Klaus' Full Moon

April 29th, 2010
Delicate smells of freshly brewed chamomile tea rouse me from a deep, exhausted sleep. The sheets beneath me were scratchy although they smelled delectable, clean - cleaner than the Boarding House, anyway. A faint whisper of a woman's voice as she hums grew louder and louder as her footsteps near me. My thoughts retrace my steps, the events that would've occurred not long after Greta had both paralyzed and blinded me. Jenna Sommers, Elena Gilbert and Jules (whatever her surname was) were dead, lost to the land of the dead, hopefully remaining at peace after the ritual that took them. Sealing away any hint of emotion was all I could do now, suppressing all of those feelings into a hefty bottle, shoving them onto the furthest shelf.

An aura approaches me, one unlike the woman who wondered about the house. An essence dark, bedevilled or simply Original, the dark magic of a reanimated corpse, a vampire. Niklaus would have a new silhouette to him after seemingly breaking the hybrid curse, that was if Elijah had killed him. However, this wondering carcass belonged to Elijah, or at least it smelled as much. Pushing up from the bed gave my eyes no choice but to reopen, taking in unquestionably unfamiliar surroundings as my movement startled the wondering woman, only for her to return to her duties.
  "Thank you for your help Mrs Farmery, that will be all." Elijah's voice discards, leaving her to promptly exit with a slight bow as both myself and the Original lock eyes on one another.
  "You didn't kill him, did you?" I questioned, my voice still hoarse from brief misuse as I was still gathering my bearings. No matter how much I willed to ignore it, I could still feel him. I could feel the wolf I was once deeply connected to, the cage encasing it now crumbled to dust as the beast once held inside sprints across the world with new meaning. The New Order. A new order of hybrids, cross-breeds or to put it in the eyes of most; freaks.
  "He claims to have kept our siblings safe from the clutches of the sea. I intend to believe him, for now. Nevertheless, there is a new problem, cleaning up after his colourful escapades." Elijah notifies, bringing me a hint of joy at the return of Rebekah, my favourite of the Mikaelsons'. Though this revelation of constant torment with Klaus' newfound powers was confusing, by what I could assume, the night had passed, he should've been human by now.
  "Niklaus is still-"
  "Indeed, see for yourself." He gestures towards the door, the tumbling and growling from outside as an unidentified limb flies behind the wolf who's mauling it. Klaus was still a wolf, still trapped in this cursed form. My presence introduces a new scent to him, turning towards me his amber eyes meet my usual grey ones, remaining in contact for a few moments before bounding over. Elijah, frantically pulls me behind him, unsure of his brother's intentions due to his new abilities. Comfortingly, I assure Elijah with a simple squeeze, allowing him to step aside as I meet the hybrid at the bottom of this poor lady's porch.

Setting the tone, I gesture for him to play the first move, like an overcomplicated game of chess. He was a wolf now, his anger even more so heightened than before, he'd be the oldest living wolf and the most egotistical. He softly stands before me, there is no wagging of a tail, although he is a wolf it does not make him a dog. The fur he dons is a combination of many lighter neutrals, you'd expect a tumultuous onyx or dastardly raven to fit the colour of his undead heart. It would've been poetic for him to don a red coat like the oceans of blood spilt by his hands, instead it matched the lighter tones of winter, the usual colours of sheeps' wool. He's a sandy blonde, grey mixture with a few hints of white, his coat was matted with blood in a few places, however, he was relatively clean compared to most wolves I'd met in my time. I kneel before Klaus, not in a way that would connote loyalty or abeyance but trust, well, whatever was left of it between him and I. He approaches slowly, seemingly in control of whatever he was doing as he now sits pleasantly before me. It was my turn.