1872 — Lourmarin, France
Seven hours and two trains away from Annecy was the scenic village of Lourmarin. It's nestled in the middle of vineyards, olive groves, and almond trees. With the bright sun, its golden stones glowed against a swathe of green, marshy land watered by the Aigues Brun brook. In contrast to many other villages in Vaucluse, Lourmarin isn't a rugged village perché. It's only just slightly hilly, with narrow cobbled streets spiralling lazily up to the belfry at the top of the village. As scenic as it was, the only reason Eleanor Fraser had chosen the place was because she thought it could inspire Klaus, for his paintings.
Their stay was at the guest house for the D'Agourn family. The guest house was set around a shady interior courtyard, with seats and flowers and even a small orange tabby named Pippin. It was what made Eleanor grin whenever she came out of her room, to see little Pippin basking in the sun by the foot of her door. She would lean down, pick him up, and scratch him behind the ears as she carefully stepped down.
The young vampire was greeted by someone softly calling her name. She looked up as soon as she stepped down from the last step, and smiled at the owner of the voice. Thomas Cummings had accompanied them, much to the dismay of Elijah and Klaus. She had invited him, which added more to their dismay to be accompanied by a man they didn't know that much.
"You look lovely," Thomas told her with a grin. "I do enjoy to see you with your hair down."
Eleanor smiled at him. "It was too much hassle to pull it up," she said. She put the cat down and took a seat in front of him. "It's early in the morning, Thomas, why are you out here?"
Thomas looked up at the sky, at the small bits of blue that could be seen between the branches filled with green. He let out a soft breath between his lips and smiled. "I enjoy mornings most," he said. "Some may think that it is the night that's most quiet, and it is, but it is the morning that is the most welcoming. The sun comes up from the horizon, the birds begin to sing, and the soil begins to warm up. Flowers emerge from their cocoons, the fresh scent of coffee surrounds us, and the crisp morning fog lightly lifts away to renew the day."
"That is something a writer would say," Eleanor mused, shaking her head. "That was very poetic, Mr. Cummings."
"Thomas," he corrected. "Call me Thomas, Eleanor. I have told you that many times."
She let out a chuckle. "Thomas," she said, tasting his name on her tongue. It was sweet, gentle, like a fluffy pastry, not at all how Klaus' name tasted.
Thomas let out a soft chuckle and nodded. "Was that hard?"
"It was very difficult," she jested, shaking her head. "Isn't there some thrill when I call you Mr. Cummings?"
"Yes," he joked, giving her a gentle smile. He leaned a bit closer to her and softly said, "You give me the chills."
Eleanor let her lips widen into a smile, which she hid by bringing her hands up. She looked away and took a deep breath, once again hiding the smile. "You were writing," she said, glancing back at him. There were papers in front of him, ink and a quill pen as well.
"I was," Thomas nodded. "You interrupted me."
"I did no such thing," Eleanor grinned. She reached her hand to him. "Let me read."
Thomas shook his head. "No."
She pouted. "Why not?"
"Let me read it to you," he said. He cleared his throat and looked down at the papers in front of him, and with a soft and tender voice began to read: "She loved the soothing hour, when the last tints of light die away; when the stars, one by one, tremble through aether, and are reflected on the dark mirror of the waters; that hour, which, of all others, inspires the mind with pensive tenderness, and often elevates it to sublime contemplation..."
It was the story of an orphan named Emily, who finds herself separated from the man she loves and confined within a castle of a man named Theodore. Inside the castle, Emily must cope with unwanted suitors, Theodore's threats, and wild imaginings and terrors that threaten to overwhelm her. There were two characters that Emily had completely fallen for in the castle, a man named Nicholas and a man named Elliot.
Eleanor listened closely as Thomas read, her palms under her chin and eyes staring at every inch of the man in front of her. She watched his eyes, how they blinked every six seconds and crinkled when he smiled. She watched his lips, how they moved so perfectly with each word that escaped his mouth. She watched his hands, how they carefully held on to the paper, his pointer finger being the only finger not to touch the paper.
Each time he would read one part, he would pause and laugh, then explain how he came up with it and when. He told her about the many times he had thrown papers into the waste bin because the idea that came through his fingers wasn't the same one he had in his mind. When he rambled on for too long, he would pause and apologise, then continue to read.
Eleanor liked that about him, how gentle he was with paper and with words. And then, she would imagine the same thing with Klaus. She would imagine him with a paintbrush and a canvas, early in the morning with a smile on his lips and paint on his clothes. She imagined him in a field of flowers, a straw hat on his head to cover him from the sun and blue eyes darting from the canvas to the scenery in front of him. What she imagined was something that seemed so strange, yet so beautiful. Yes, so beautifully human. It was the first mistake she made when she thought of Klaus, for he did not share the same view in humanity as she did.
Eleanor let out a grin as soon as Thomas finished reading--she didn't know if it was because she was relieved that he did. "It was wonderful," she said. "I do hope to hear more when you are finished."
"When I'm finished, it will be bound in a blue cover with gold letters," he told her. "I do very much think that blue fits this book quite well."
Eleanor hummed and nodded as her eyes darted around the small courtyard. Her caught the figure in the corner, the blonde man sitting in the corner with the orange tabby in his arms. Klaus sat in the corner, legs crossed and cat in arms, his fingers gently scratching behind its ears. She stared at him carefully, palms under her chin and eyes focusing from his hand to his face. His eyes didn't glance up from the cat, and she wondered if he could feel her staring.
At that moment, said devil looked up. At that moment, said devil looked straight into her eyes. There was no emotion behind them, no warmth or cold, nothing. It made her shiver. She looked back at Thomas, who was deeply staring at his work as he furiously wrote on the paper. His handwriting, just like the rest of him, was neat. It was a gentle cursive writing that he seemed to have learned when he was human and perfected when he had died.
Eleanor, on the other hand, had become bored. She stood and decided to walk over to Klaus, hands behind her and eyes glancing everywhere except for the man petting the cat. Only when she stood in front of him did she look at him. He, on the other hand, didn't look up and continued to pet the cat. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and took a seat on the step under him.
"I apologise," she softly said, just loud enough for him to hear. "I acted like a terrible jerk in Annecy."
"It's in the past, Eleanor," he sighed. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
"But, I..."
Klaus interrupted her with a low chuckle. "I really hate when people apologise," he said. "Especially when they don't mean it."
Eleanor scoffed and rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't apologise if I don't mean it, Klaus," she said as she crossed her arms. "Why would I so easily apologise if I didn't mean it?"
"It's easy," he said, looking back at her. "You just pout those pretty lips of yours, stare at them in their eyes, and apologise."
The young vampire licked the corner of her lip and let out a huff. Then, slowly, she smiled as she leaned a bit closer to the back of Klaus' head. Her lips were a few inches from his hear, and she softly joked, "So, you have noticed how I apologise?"
"You have done so more times than I can count."
"Then how come you have noticed how a pout my pretty lips, stare into their eyes, and apologise?" She rested her hand on her palms and looked at him, a soft smile on her lips. "Tell me, Klaus, do you look at me often?"
Klaus pursed his lips lightly and looked up at her. In that moment, their faces were inches away. Lips craving each others touch and eyes holding each other. Eleanor would be lying if she said she didn't desire to lean in and kiss him. But, she didn't dare. No matter how much she wanted to, she didn't dare to close those careful inches and have his lips against hers once again. At that thought, she remembered Paris.
Eleanor Fraser remembered the passion, the love, the care, the tender, the roughness of his mouth against her skin. She remembered every detail, how he pushed her against the wall and smirked, then kissed her ever so softly as if she were porcelain; how he ran his fingers up and down her skin, making her shiver under his touch; how he kissed and bit her neck, covering in her own blood; how told her to drink from him as he moved ever so carefully against her. It would be a terrible lie if Eleanor Fraser said she didn't want that to happen once again.
She pushed herself back and cleared her throat. "I apologised because I meant it."
"Eleanor," he softly said, standing. He stood in front of her, his lips quirked to the side as he stared down at the girl. He leaned down, face just inches away from hers, and breathed gently against her lips. "Like I said before, don't apologise for something you don't mean." He pulled away, chuckled, then brushed by her up the steps.
Eleanor let out a huff of a breath and tightened her grip on her skirt, feeling her cheeks redden. She glanced back at Thomas, who was still so furiously writing down on the paper. At that moment she thought that it was a mistake to ask Thomas to accompany them; she just wished it was her and Klaus.