1872 — Lourmarin, France
By the countryside, with a tinsel and a paintbrush in hand, Eleanor met a young Dutch man by the name of Vincent van Gogh. His paintings were filled with colours, which Eleanor loved. He mixed his paintings on a wooden pallet, which was already covered in many different shades of colours of dried paint from the past. She found it all fascinating, and spent the afternoons with him and Thomas on a filed while admiring both boys as they did what they enjoyed most. To her surprise, Vincent spoke as he painted, a soft smile on his lips.
He told her about his life: his full name was Vincent Willem van Gogh, he was born in Groot-Zundert, Netherlands on March 30, 1853. His father was an austere country minister and his mother was a moody artist whose love for nature, drawing, and watercolour was transferred to him. He was born exactly one year after his parents first son, also named Vincent, who was a stillbirth. At a young age—his name and birthdate already etched on his dead brother's headstone—he was melancholy. He had several siblings, but he was closest to a younger brother named Theo. At the moment, he worked for a travelling art dealer, which was the reason why he was in Lourmarin.
"What are you painting now, Vincent?" Eleanor asked, coming up behind him to look at the canvas that as filled with spluttering colours.
"Yellow," he responded, taking a step back from the canvas.
All that Eleanor saw was yellow, different shades of it collected in the canvas and created wonderful designs. The sun rested on the centre of the canvas, and bellow it a field of flowers of all colours. There was a single figure on the painting, and that was Eleanor with her arms spread and her head looking up.
"Is that me?" she asked with a grin, glancing back at the painter.
Vincent's cheeks reddened as he nodded. "Yes," he responded. "You remind me a lot of the colour yellow."
"Why is that?" she said, tilting her head to the side with curious eyes.
"Your hair is yellow," he said, "like gold glimmering with the sunshine. Your eyes, they're a cold blue, Miss Eleanor. They're a tundra, like water spilling from a glass and onto the ground. Your eyes, Miss Eleanor, are cold and broken yet filled with a single speck of life—the yellow. You, yourself, are yellow. There's a sign of happiness inside of you, so big and strong and the possibilities for it to burn brighter and change onto red, but it's yellow. Oh, a pleasant yellow like the stars, like fire on a cold night."
Eleanor Fraser was at lost for words. Vincent van Gogh's words were surprising, as if he should have been a writer instead of working for his uncle's company or painting for a hobby. She let out a small smile, leaned closer to the man, and laid a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Your words are just as beautiful as your art," she said.
"No, no!" he suddenly said, shaking his head and his hands. "No, my art isn't beautiful. It's just simple, a hobby, nothing more."
"My dearest Vincent," she said with a grin, "if this art isn't beautiful then I don't know what you consider beautiful. Beauty comes in different ways, and yours is a splendour."
"You remind me of sunflowers," the redheaded man uttered, with cheeks just a red as his hair.
Eleanor let out a chuckle and nodded. "Thank you, Vincent. I consider that a compliment."
"How much for the painting, my dear friend?" Thomas asked, walking up to the pair with a grin. "I must say, it's a wonderful painting and I need to buy it!"
"It's a gift!" Vincent said with a grin. He took the painted canvas and handed it to Thomas, nodding. "It's a gift, Mr. Cummings."
"No, no," Thomas chuckled. "I insist to pay for a wonderful piece of work, Vincent. How about a hundred and thirty francs?"
Vincent's mouth was left open. "Sir, that's... I make that in a month!"
"Now you made it in a day," Eleanor grinned, reaching for the small purse filled with money and giving it to him. "Vincent, don't let anyone tell you that you aren't a great painter. If you hear a voice withing you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint and the voice will be silenced." She gave him another grin before walking away, Thomas behind her with the painting in his arms. She walked slower to take a good look at the painting, a grin on her lips. "I wonder why doesn't he paint for a living."
"It's hard to do what you love for a living," Thomas answered, letting out a sigh. "In that arts, it's hard to make a living. I know from experience."
"A writer and a painter walk into a bar," Eleanor hummed with a soft chuckle escaping afterwards.
Thomas chuckled. "And suddenly that bar became the most creative place in that small town."
"And the most loneliest," she added.
Once again, he chuckled. "Now that sounds like a horrible joke, dear Eleanor."
The pair made their way to where they were staying, with the sun still shining brightly upon them. Upon entering, they were greeted by Elijah. He stood with his arms behind his back, eyes darting between the pair and then ending on the painting.
"Where have you two been?" he asked, raising a brow. Eleanor took the painting from Thomas' hand and showed it to him with a grin full of pride. It was then when Elijah realised with a sigh. "You were with that painter, I see."
"His name is Vincent and I believe he will be a wonderful painter, Elijah," she huffed as she laid the painting against the wall. "He might even be the most wonderful painter in the world."
"Now, that compliment to another was hurtful to me, Eleanor," a new voice joined. Klaus emerged from another room, papers in his hands as a smile with no emotion decorated his lips.
"Well, I cannot lie, Klaus," she said with almost a smirk. "I was taught that lying was a sin."
"Murder is also a sin but you have made so much of that," he chuckled, rolling the papers and putting them under his arm. "Tell me, have you gone to confession for your sins?"
Eleanor huffed and crossed her arms, glaring at the vampire. Although there was a part of her that wanted to smile, she couldn't let the smile show. Instead, she pursed her lips slightly and tried to glare at Klaus. "My sins are for me and myself," she said. "There is no god that would want to hear of what I have done and how I repent."
Klaus let out a chuckle and nodded. "Of course," he said. "But, don't you remember, love? I'm your god."
"More like an annoying fly that can't stop bothering me," she retorted. Elijah and Thomas chuckled at her words, which made the young girl smile in amusement. "Now, if you'll excuse me." She turned and went towards her room.
Her room was warm, the windows open and dancing with the gentle breeze. She took a deep breath and took a seat by the window, laying her hands under her chin and staring at the gardens. There were more flowers than she could count, the eldest daughter of the D'Agourn family with her arm around Klaus'. They were laughing, flirting, and it made Eleanor cringe. She huffed and stared for a couple of seconds, until Klaus' eyes landed on hers with a smirk around his lips. Eleanor lifted her head, pursed her lips, and turned from the window with a huff. She took a deep breath and noticed Thomas standing by the door with a wide-eyed look.
"Thomas?" she questioned, raising a brow. "Is everything alright?"
"No," he said, his hands together. He took a deep breath then marched closer to her, taking a stand right in front of her. "Eleanor, I have been thinking for a while, ever since I first met you at the parlour of the Château d'Annecy. And I let those thoughts return to the back of my mind, until recently, they have returned, and I need you to hear my thoughts, Eleanor."
"Tell me," she said, growing worries.
Thomas took her hands in his and stared into her eyes. "Let's leave," he said. "Eleanor, let's leave and go somewhere else, just the two of us. I have a manor in England, handed down from my father's father. We can live in it, make a life for ourselves that does not involve searching for some silly stone."
Eleanor stared at Thomas with her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide. Klaus had told her the reason why they moved around a lot, because they were searching for a stone that would break a curse that was bestowed on him by his mother. To the young vampire, it sounded like a fairy-tale, in which its ending would be with Klaus loving her and living happily ever after for the rest of eternity. But, Eleanor knew Klaus quite well. She had learned that Klaus had no space for love in his fragile heart, no space for her. His heart was already acquired by his siblings, and no one else could penetrate those high walls.
"Thomas..." she uttered, her voice fill with unsure.
"We can make friends with the Queen!" he continued. "Imagine, living in a manor and becoming friends with the royal family..."
"Thomas!" Her voice was louder, shaking, filled with surprise. "Thomas, could you give me time to think about everything?"
Thomas took a step back, but smiled and nodded. "Of course," he said with much delight. "Take your time, El, but I advise you to tell me after supper."
"Why?"
"I fear that Klaus dislikes me," he chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "And I have noticed that his dislike of people often ends up with a stake to the heart, heart out of their chest, or their head to the other side of the room. I'll be frank with you, Eleanor, I do not want to end up like those people." He let out a soft laugh, then straightened himself and nodded. "I'll see you later." He walked out of the room, stopping by the door. He turned his head back and gave her a smile, then left.
Eleanor stood surprised, every inch of her body feeling strange. How could he suddenly ask that of her, to leave Klaus and Elijah all of the sudden. It was strange for him to ask that, but maybe he had been thinking of that for a while She hadn't thought about it ever since he turned her, and it surprised her because she sometimes thought of Klaus as a terrible man. How could her heart accelerate when it came to a monster?
Supper was with the D'Agourn family, who so graciously—with Klaus' compulsion—allowed them to stay in their guest house. The man of the house, as he liked to call himself, was a fat and jolly man named Floren D'Agourn, who held a bright grin as face was covered with the grease of the duck his servants served. His wife was a plump woman with black hair and red cheeks, named Laudine D'Agourn. Together, they had several children together. The eldest was twenty-five year old man named Leandre; he was known as a flirt throughout the village, and had eyed Eleanor several times. He was eyeing her at the table, a soft smirk on his lips. She glanced at him with a raised brow, then turned back to the conversation the others were having.
Following Leandre, and in birth order, were: Lilou, Coralie, Sebastian, Luc, Solene, Remi, Marielle, and the youngest, who was just eight years-old was Gianni. He was the owner of Pippin, the orange tabby. He had told Eleanor that he once fed the cat and then it followed him home, hence how he ended up naming it Pippin and giving it a home between the plants of the courtyard.
Coralie was the girl Klaus kept flirting with, the one that made Eleanor's blood rush through her in anger and her hands squeeze together in annoyance. Coralie was a pretty girl, with long brown hair and dazzling blue eyes that resembled the sapphires in one of Eleanor's necklaces. The girl held a flirtatious smile as she looked at Klaus, who sat besides her. Her eyes sparkled, twinkled with the lights from the candles around the dining room of the main house. It made Eleanor irk, her hand tightening around the fork and knife in her hands.
The D'Agourn family, although French, had learned English from their travels to England. They spoke with an accent, which was adorable when it came from little Gianni, annoying when Coralie spoke.
"I must say," Lord Floren chuckled, digging his knife into the duck, "I am thankful that you decided to stay with us, Lord Klaus."
"Please," Klaus chuckled, glancing at the fat man, "the pleasure is mine. I have heard of the wonders of the D'Augorn family, and I must say that they are all true. You are kind as you are wise, Lord Floren."
Lord Floren let out a boisterous laugh, which shook his belly, which shook the table. "My son tells me you are, what's the word, un aventurier." He glanced from Klaus to Elijah. "And you are a, er, un historien."
Elijah smiled. "Yes, I'm a historian," he confirmed. "I enjoy to write about history, the past. I find it very fond, interesting, nostalgic perhaps." There was a secret in that smile, one that held immortality. Only four of the fifteen people around the table understood the nostalgic part of his words.
"And you," Lord Floren said, turning his head to Thomas, "you are a, uh, un écrivain."
Thomas nodded. "Yes, I am a writer."
Lord Floren then turned to Eleanor. "And you, what is it that you do?"
"She is my muse," Thomas answered with a grin, glancing at her with softened eyes. "She gives me the inspiration for my novels—my Calliope."
Although Eleanor felt strange to his words, a smile formed around her lips. She took a deep breath and put the fork and knife down by the plate in front of her. "To be honest, dear sir, I don't know what I want to do," she said, the smile shortening. "I'm a woman, so they tell me that my job is to get married and have children, bend the knee to my husband as if he were a king, but I do not wish that. You see, I wish for something more, adventure and enlightenment." She took a deep breath and let a chuckle escape her lips. "I'm no Mikaelson or a Cumming's. I'm a Fraser—we dine on a diet of betrayal and heartbreak."
After the supper, Eleanor retreated back to her bedroom as the rest dined on custard tarts with fruits on top. They had offered to bring some to her, but she wasn't hungry for tart or any of the delicious foods the cooks had made. No, Eleanor had become hungry for something that sustained a bit more of life, something that she had not drank ever since she had left Annecy. She was tempted to feed on the wild chickens that roamed around the yard, but she had once tasted chicken and hated it.
In order to calm her hunger, the young vampire drank some of the wine the Lord D'Agourn had so fraciously sent with a servant when she decided to leave the supper. She drank one glass, then two, three, and downed the fourth with force. It was strange, how the hunger began at her belly and made its way to her throat. At that moment she knew that she should have listened to Elijah when he told her to feed on the train; if only she had listened.
The familiar scent of blood caused her to stop moving and inhale deeply. The veins bulged under her eyes, the blood pumping through her to show the deep hunger. Her fangs pushed their way through her gums, and just as fast as they came they were pulled back. She took a deep breath, inhaling, and followed the scent out of her bedroom. She crossed the courtyard, left to the gardens in the back, and came face to face with Leandre. He had a smirk around his face, a bloody knife in one hand while the other was clutched closed with little droplets of rubies dripping to the ground.
"Je sais ce que vous êtes," he said, opening his hand so blood flowed freely. "I know what you are."
"What am I?" Eleanor breathed, staring at the deep cut on his hand.
"Un démon," Leandre answered with no haste.
Her eyes moved from his hand and to his eyes, a slow smirk forming around her lips. "You're not the first person to call me a demon," she said. She sped towards him, grabbed him by the neck and pushed him against the tree. "It's not the worst thing in the world to be called."
"Then what is?" Leandre asked, eyes glancing down at her as her hand gently squeezed his neck.
Eleanor's eyes darkened as the scent of blood got to her. The veins bulged from underneath, her fangs extended, and the white of her eyes turned red. "A monster," she said. "Being called a monster is worse than a demon, for you can never get rid of it." She opened her mouth wide and sunk her teeth to his neck, a groan coming from him. Then, a laugh. Although she found it strange for him to laugh, that didn't stop her from drinking. It was until she heard his heart stop beating that she pulled away. Her mouth was covered in blood, an euphoria running through her that made her wish for more. She let go of his neck, causing the corpse to fall to her feet in a mangled mess.
Eleanor took a deep breath and looked towards the lit house, her hunger getting the best of her. She could smell the blood pumping through veins, hear the heart sustain life, feel the hunger pulling her to a room and immediately sink her teeth into the person. Screams erupted all around her, and she didn't stop. What made her stop was the young boy crying out her name, the young boy screaming at her to stop hurting his mother. Eleanor pulled away from the neck and slowly turned her head, her red eyes colliding with little Gianni's blue ones. At the sight of his grief, she came back from her hunger craze.
"Gi..." She reached for him, but pulled her hand back when she saw all of the blood. "Gianni!"
"Monstre!" he screamed, cowering back against the wall. "Monstre! Vouz aves tué Mama, monstre!"
"Gianni..." Eleanor breathed, falling to her knees in front of him. "Gianni, je suis désolé. Je suis terriblement désolé."
The small boy let out a scream, crying out for his mother. "Mama!" he cried, his mouth wide and tears staining his cheeks. "Mama!"
Eleanor's heart broke at the sound of his cries. She hurried to him and wrapped her bloody arms around him, immediately pulling him to her chest. "Shh, Gianni..." she hummed, swaying with her hand on the back of his head. "I'm so terribly sorry, Gianni." She pushed his head away and made him look into her eyes. "You'll remember none of this... You were tired and you fell asleep on my bed." At the end of those words, the boy had fallen asleep.
Eleanor looked up from the boy to notice that she had killed everyone in the D'Agourn family, except little Gianni. She cradled him to her chest, her eyes coming in and out of focus. All she could do was quietly hum, cradle him, and sway as she tried to get the image of blood and corpses out of her head.
"Eleanor!" she heard someone gasp. She opened her eyes to see Thomas staring at her in shock. "What have you done?"
"I couldn't control myself," she said, allowing the tears to fall freely down her cheeks. "Thomas, I couldn't control myself..."
Thomas hurried to her and wrapped her in his arms, cradling her to his chest just like she was doing to Gianni. "It's alright, Eleanor," he hummed against the top of her head. "It's all right."
"I killed them," she cried. "I couldn't stop myself, I didn't want to stop, Thomas, and I killed them!" She cried on his chest, the blood around her mouth staining his shirt.
"It's alright, Eleanor," he repeated.
"What has happened here?" Elijah snapped as he walked in. He stood by the doorway, eyes scanning the scene until they fell on Eleanor. "Eleanor, did you do this?"
"I'm sorry," she cried. "Elijah, I'm sorry!"
Elijah moved towards her, pity showing on his face. "I had my thoughts, but now this gives me confirmation that you're a ripper."
"She can't be!" Thomas hissed, glaring up at the Original that looked like royalty. "She has always been composed; this was just a one time thing."
"It appears not," Elijah sighed, getting on his knees in front of Eleanor. He glanced down at the boy in her arms and let out another sigh. "I'll take the boy."
"No!" she said, pulling him closer to her. "No, Elijah, please! He's just a boy!"
"I won't do any harm," he said, low and carefully, as if he was afraid that she'd lash out at any harsh movement.
"We'll take him," Thomas said. "I'll raise him as my son."
"Take him where?" Elijah questioned, raising a brow. "Where you two planning to leave?"
"He asked me to leave," Eleanor began to explain, "I decided to think about it instead of giving him an immediate answer. Elijah, I think it's best for me to leave with Thomas..."
Elijah sighed and shook his head. "You can stay with us, Eleanor," he said. "I can compel you to control yourself around blood, to no longer be a ripper."
"I don't want to be compelled anymore," she said, shaking her head. "Please, allow me to leave with Thomas."
Elijah laid his hand on her cheek. "You can leave if you want, dear Eleanor; you still have your own will. I will never take that form you." He stood and glanced at the trio. "If you want to leave, do it now. Klaus is with Coralie, he won't know until morning."
At the mention of both named, Eleanor felt her chest ache. She nodded and stood, following Elijah out of the room. He helped them pack their bags, he helped them with a bag of money they would need on their trip, and he helped them hail a carriage that would take them to the train. He stopped Eleanor when she was about to leave, laying a hand on her shoulder.
"I'll miss you," he said, giving her a small but warm smile. "Write to me, Eleanor."
"I will," she nodded. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, inhaling his scent. Elijah was like the brother she never had, a man she trusted in every notion. He was a happy memory she didn't want to leave, but she had to. When she pulled away, she gave him a small and teary smile. "I'll miss you, Elijah."
"Go," he said, pushing her forward gently. "If you don't, I don't think I'll let you go."
"Farewell, my friend," she said with a smile, laying her hand on his cheek. "Until we meet again." Eleanor walked down the steps and to the carriage, where Thomas the sleeping Gianni in his arms. She pulled him to her arms and cradled him, every feeling of guilt eating her alive.
The feeling and thought of leaving behind Klaus ate at her, pricked her chest and made her want to tell around, kill Coralie and run to his arms. But, another part of her told her that this was meant to be. She was supposed to leave him, to forget about him, to live without him. It was to be her first time, ever since she turned, to leave the Mikaelson's, and it was bittersweet.