Of Monsters and Men ₰ The Originals

Chapter Twenty Four | Song of the Sirens

     "Manny, you know I've never lied to you, right?" I ask desperately. "You know that if Mother starts horrible rumours about me that they're not true, right?" Emmanuel nods his head, his blonde hair bobbing. "Of course. You're my sister." I blink rapidly, trying to stop the pain spreading from my chest.

     A silence falls upon us, and its not entirely uncomfortable, but it isn't pleasant either. I hug myself, rubbing my arms to create some kind of warmth, trying to ignore the sky rocketing dryness in my throat.

     "Did Niklaus hurt you?" He asks all of a sudden, solemnly.

     I jolt upward and look at Emmanuel with wide eyes. "W-what? I ―" I stop abruptly, my throat seizing to move as I catch his resolute features. I am suddenly reminded that he's grown so much. He hadn't reached double digits yet, but at this very moment, his surveying scan erased any childish nature on his face.

     "W-what gives you that idea?" I ask, not knowing how to answer my baby brother. "You told me that you never lied to me, Mellie. Don't start now." Our eyes hold each other in place for a few moments, me, in stunned silence, and Emmanuel with unusual austerity.

     I don't answer him, because I just can't. Instead, I allow my emotions to tumble over my very being, my soul until they devour it alive. Everything hurts, and I discover that I cannot pin-point the exact location of the highest precipice of pain. My breakdown begins with little gasps, like a fish out of water. Then start the thick tears, tears that choke me and make me sputter. Bizarrely, however, the tears aren't hot.

     They are gelid, like Death's very own soul.

     I blubber, trying to cover the noise with my hands, but they prove to be useless, so I drop them at my sides. I peer at him through the stringy, dirt-matted strands of my dulled hair. I've always been the strong one, the one who always has the answers. It suddenly hits me that I've never cried in front of him before.

     "Manny, I don't know what to do." I whisper helplessly.

     Loud, agonising sobs wrack their way out of my body, forcing me to bend in double, the only things holding me up being my legs. My throat hurts and the emotions threaten to continue to eat my soul, refusing to regurgitate it back up. Emmanuel, tiny little Emmanuel, walks over to me and wraps his short arms around my waist. I hug him back and hide my face in his shoulder, muffling my lamentation.

     "I thought he was a good person." He says, and I can sense his confusion. "But don't worry, I'll protect you; I love you." Like someone pressed a button, I stop crying, something of a clockwork. "He was a good person, but he just isn't a person any more." I lift my head to step out of the embrace, but I stop, as his neck comes into my view.

     Thump. Thump. Thump.

     It's entrancing, the dancing of liquid. I had never had the opportunity to visit the seaside, but I had heard tales of its splendour, especially from Luke. The crashing of water hitting the rocks, the sun beating down on the weathered backs of laughing children. The sea was moody, its halcyon songs lilting and dynamic.

     Sometimes it was a serene serenade, its light warming the hearts of the most wicked. But sometimes, most times, it would scream and yell itself hoarse, the pandemonium tearing the sky apart into shards, crimson petals swimming, dipping and diving, digging into crevices hiding evidence of sin.

     Right now, it was ululating, calling at me, like a siren's song. All thought left me, all morality. My jaw ached a constant throe and I felt my face rippling. I apprehend that I'm hungry. Starving, actually. It was the sort of hunger that ripped into my sides, slashing it beyond repair.