White Blood | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter Eight

    She pushed his hand away from her throat and glared as if her eyes would shoot daggers out of them and pin them straight to his heart. To calm herself down, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she looked at him with eyes that revealed no emotion. "And you are heartless man, Klaus Mikaelson."

   "So, I've been told," he responded, smirking. He pulled his hand away from her neck and straightened himself, cracking the bones of his neck by twisting his head sideways. "It has never bothered me, Eleanor, even less said by you."

   Once again, Eleanor was tempted to raise her hand and hit it against his cheek. She held back for the second time and took a deep breath, none of it calming her down. "Get out," she lowly said, pointing at the closed door. "Get out, Klaus!"

   When he left, she sat back on her sofa and looked down at the wooden floors. Unlike the orphanage back in Hastings, the floors didn't creek as much or look stained. They looked new, wonderful, glossy, as if they were taken care of with love. Unlike the orphanage, it seemed that whomever cleaned the floors did it with love instead of spite.

   Eleanor wanted whatever to take her mind from Klaus. The words he said hurt her, caused her stomach to flip worse than knowing that Elijah was angry at her. The hurt that she felt was all over her body, starting from the tip of her fingers and toes and slowly ending in her chest. She didn't know of this pain, but it was there, and she felt it, and it was one of the worst things she has ever felt.

   As the day continued with the house being eerily quiet and no sound coming from any of the Mikaelson's, Eleanor sneaked out of the house. It was the first time she ever did something so reckless, so adrenaline-filled, and she both loved and hated it. She tiptoed on the wooden floors, slowly, carefully, until she got to the front door and took off on a run. The back of her feet dug into the ground, the grass sinking as she stepped, all of it feeling as soft as silk. Although she was about to sign her death contract once again, she didn't feel afraid. No, this time, Eleanor felt as if she could take on the world, the adrenaline running through her at full force. 

   She went to the French Quarter, hearing an array of languages all around her. Although it was wonderful, since it was her first time going alone, she was in no mood to shop or to look at the little shops. In fact, Eleanor felt as if she could sink her teeth into something, or someone, juicy and fill herself with the delicious blood. She didn't know what was that gave her this adrenaline, this feeling as if she could do absolutely anything in the world. 

    "Come, girl!" Whispers between the buildings would echo around her. "Have some fun... Enjoy the night... Come to Paradis et Enfer, have some fun... Have some fun... Have some fun... Come to Paradis et Enfer and have some fun..."

   Eleanor stopped walking and shut her eyes, listening to the whispers that surrounded her. She could hear more than one voice; she heard multiple voices, all of them slithering with amusement, with a smirk. For a moment, she thought it was Klaus playing with her, but it was different. The voices didn't appear to have the same wickedness Klaus's did. 

   She opened her eyes and marched in the direction the whispers came from, her skirt bunched between her hands. The whispers became louder with each step she took, loud to the point where it was all she could hear. She stopped in front of one of the buildings with a creaking sign that read Paradis et Enfer with, "Où les démons les anges viennent jour," written underneath in neat cursive.

   "Heaven and Hell," Eleanor read out loud. She made a face and tightened her grip on her skirts. With another deep breath, she walked in to what seemed to be a bar. There were people all around here, drinks in their hands and merry songs leaving their mouths. She looked around, her eyes scanning the dim lighted room. There were candles on a big chandelier in the centre of the ceiling, candles melting on a platter in each table, candles y the bar and candles wherever she looked. They appeared to be everywhere, in every corner, as if it were made just for the building.