Devil's Angel ° {K.M}[Rewriting]

{017}

The Last Dance

———

"If you focus on what you left behind, you will never be able to see what lies ahead."
—Ratatouille
———

-

The moment the onyx-haired young woman disappeared down the hallway, detached from him for the first time since the moment he had gotten her, the man turned to the doppelganger as she stepped out from her hiding spot—though neither supposed it would have mattered as America wasn't aware of much. "Eery, isn't it?" Though standing in the centre of the room with his arms crossed was Alaric, the occupant of his body was none other than Klaus. "Both you and Isobel neglected to tell me she was a witch—and a rather powerful one at that." 

Katherine felt slightly bolder with the fact that Klaus couldn't hurt her now—not without alerting the apartment's other resident—so she merely only shrugged at the man's narrowed eyes and accusatory tone. "Because we didn't exactly know. America, Eleanora, whatever you want to call her is an enigma, Klaus. I wouldn't worry about her trying to kill you, though." The brunette said as she settled back on the couch, suppressing a frown at the soft cries she could hear under the noisy spray of the shower. "And why is that?"

Her gaze flickered back to the man towering over her, the vampire biting back an eyeroll at the obvious powerplay. She was bold but not stupid. If Klaus really wanted to find a way to punish her without revealing himself prematurely, he would and Katherine wasn't really itching to find out how. "For better or worse, she's got a soft spot for the people in her past." 

~

"You look like hell, сестра." America blinked through the curtain of damp hair at the lax brunette sprawled on the couch and a tense Alaric standing some feet away from her. She didn't utter anything for a few seconds, eyes flicking bemusedly between them before she shook her head, sighing softly as she decided she really didn't want to know. "I feel like it," she muttered in fluent Bulgarian, huffing at Alaric's surprised expression, "That look on your face is the story of my life, Ric. It's never just normal. 

"Did you know I'm fluent in Greek, German, Bulgarian, four dialects of French and all dialects of Spanish? Because I am at my ripe seventeen years of age with over a thousand years worth of memories." America made her way over to the couch, nudging a put-out Katherine into a sitting position before she plopped down right next to the brunette despite the extra space on the couch. She appreciated it when Katherine said nothing about it and was grateful when Alaric sat down on the space left.

"Tell me how you know Bulgarian." America glanced at the man as she pulled her knees to her chest, leaning back into him and never quite noticing his hesitation before his arm slid around her shoulders. "It was. . . it was during the late 1400s. I was Katherine's sister at the time and we lived in Bulgaria. . ." The stress in her muscles dissipated and the occasional tremor in her hands stopped as she lost herself in the story, recounting the better part of a good life.