Laurel Hell ━ Klaus Mikaelson

Prologue. ⠀Renaissance.

Prologue ━ RENNAISANCE

Content Warning : Murder, Torture, Abuse, Blood and Gore.

She was 14 years old when she lit the cigarette. With uncertainty eating away at her heart as the paper crackled, the flame caught on. She watched as the tendrils of smoke danced into the cold November air, her heart debating if she should do it. Her mind controlled her though, the adrenaline of rebellion drowning out her second thoughts. She inhaled the air, the sharp taste licking her tongue and lungs with a burning touch. For a while, the trepidation that caused her fingers to tremble, stilled as she took in the foreign sensation. It was so uncomfortable and it hurt but the taste of the forbidden fruit was too alluring. She felt like she was teetering on the edge of freedom so she kept inhaling.
As the last ember remained, she could feel regret and fear coil around her throat. It felt sickening but everything would be okay, right? She would be fine, right?

Wrong. Mother found out immediately. She always did, somehow she always did. Panic made her blood chill as the consequences of her actions crashed down on her like a tidal wave. Her pleas of forgiveness fell upon deaf ears as her mother dragged her to the table. The woman's looming figure made her think for a split second, is this her Mother or the Devil?
Her mother didn't listen. She never did. She always told her that her transgressions need to be punished. She has to repent. She has to learn.

A shrill scream rang through the four walls as the scalding hot iron was slammed onto the tender skin of the child's hand. Her mother's grip was like stone, unwavering as the girl tried pulling away, the agony in her raw screams a haunting echo. She had a permanent reminder of what would happen if she failed to obey, a permanent symbol of what her priority should be.

Growing up, she always wondered, what is her true purpose? Who is she? A girl (a host), a human (a dermis shell), a dancer (a killer), etc. So many beings warped into one, wrapping into her shape. So many beings warped into one body. So many beings make up the entity that is Irene Song and yet, none of it was her identity. She was simply, a vessel. The face that she saw in the aluminum mirror felt like nothing but a stranger. A skin painted with crimson, ivory, and ebony. An oil painting of a tragedy in the shape of a girl. Hiding the vision of calamity underneath.
They said her purpose from birth was to grow up to be a perfect vessel for the Mater. To be a healthy, young and beautiful body for the soul of the Mater to reside in. And she couldn't taint her body and mind with these sinful actions. She had to do what was told. Her fate was already written from the beginning. Her purpose was already established. They turned on the music and told her to execute the dark choreography of torture.