Of Blood and Bone ₰ The Originals

Chapter Two | Crown of Thorns

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The song of the chapter is: Colours by Halsey

Everything is blue,
His pills, his hands, his jeans.
And now I'm covered in the colours,
Pulled apart at the seams,
And it's blue.

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CHAPTER TWO | CROWN OF THORNS

      The bonds that constrained me chafed against my wrists and ankles, rubbing and tearing. Each time brought a new wave of burning, causing a strangled yelp to burrow through my throat before vanishing into a wisp as it evaporated in the hot air. I pulled and pulled, my muscles trembling from the strenuous activity, stretching to their maximum. I murmured something, my lips forming a thin line, beads of sweat coating my skin.

      He was there, I could see that now. His steel grey eyes glittered with a certain malice, his lips a pale blue colour adopted from death. Ghost-like skin spread over the sharp contours of his bones, radiating a translucent vibe; a walking cadaver. As he walked closer to me, a lonesome light bulb swung idly overhead, the yellow light flickering on and off, smidgens of dust floating in the air. Slowly, my eyes travel upward, the breath rattling feverishly in my flailing lungs. Save our souls. Blood on the walls.

     Inhumanly fast, he ran, crouching to my level, his Cimmerian coat rippling enchantingly like oil behind him. It caught light and dark alike, absorbing tendrils of smoke into the cloth. A high-pitched yell reverberates from the depths of his throat, a blood-curdling reptilian voice and I shrink away instinctively while sniffling, pathetically raising my hands to my ears. Stop, I say. But no sound comes out of me. Stop. Go away.

     But he shuffles closer to me anyway, and in the flicker of the bulb above, my breathing halts momentarily in shock as the shape of his skull glows ― a silhouette. I part my lips to say something ― I don't know what, a last plea? A scream? ― alas I am too late as bony fingers clutch my neck, squeezing, shaking, squeezing.

     So cold, I think, as the light from my eyes dim. I'm so cold. My trachea convulses as it struggles to revolt against the choking fingers of the Cimmerian clothed man before me. A shout gurgles in the pit of my voice box, however, only the remnants of one swims out into the hot world.

     He slams one hand downward, forcing me to look directly at him as I languidly succumb to the coercion upon my writhing spirit. Fight, it whispers, fight. Nonetheless, no matter how much I try, I cannot muster the energy to push him away, to crunch the bones of his fingers from my neck like I know I can.

     His eyes are the only luminous items I can see as my own fail to catch light. As the softened edges of my vision blacken and contort, the steel grey gaze which is abhorrently calm, stares back tranquilly, almost detachedly. Then, as I give my last sussuration, the light flickers again and his eyes change colour.

     Pools of blue.

    My spine lashes upward, and my eyes broach open, patulous and panting. The chilly air conditioned breeze flutters the ends of my hair, comforting against the torrid temperature gradient of my gooseflesh. I swallow loudly, pressing my eyelids closed. A hand makes its way to my throat, gripping the places where the he choked me. "It's just a dream, Mel." I mutter, dragging a hand through my bedraggled hair. "Just a dream."