•

____________________

He who spreads evil

Is one who plants weeds

Don't waste your words

Don't sell him more seeds.

-Rumi, The Evil Planter

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Warning: Graphical violence ahead in the chapter.
Proceed at your own discretion.

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"Rebekah, the tarp is ruining the interiors. We have a fully functioning basement. Do utilise it," Elijah drawled at the sight of the Salvatore hanging from the chains.

"I like my playthings entertaining me wherever I please," the sister replied, tipping a glass of Bourbon down her throat.

A whirl of clothes filled their vision suddenly as Adelia threw an armful over the pooling blood.

"Well, Mrs. Smith, you really are very kind." Damon grinned at the woman who was about to go, "Offering me clothes in my current state."

The witch spun around to give him a bewildered expression. "In light of today's events, the maid was looking to replace the existing mop. I am merely providing her with these new ones with an impressive thread count."

"Miss Laurentis..." Elijah started.

"The shirts will make good mop heads," Adelia replied firmly.

"Ouch," Damon chuckled, watching her leave with a glare directed at her husband. "I see the fixation now. She is as demented as the rest of us."

"Sister, would you be willing to remove his intestines?" The Original responded with an impassive expression. "I do not appreciate commentary on my domestic disputes."

"Do not tell me what to do, Elijah!" Rebekah shrieked. "Oh, look! Your wife was correct. Your shirts do make a good mop."

____________________

He heard the urgent shuffle of footsteps around him as his eyes flickered under the lids. He cautiously opened them, the body still unresponsive from the dagger's residual pain, and peered out the corner of his eye to see a few people carrying a prone body out of sight.

Painful eyes fell on the dagger held in a dangling palm, blood dripping as it clattered within his reach.

It was his dagger. Did they undagger him?

How long has it been?

Where was Niklaus?

His gums ached to relieve his dry throat as his senses drifted to blood, and he focused on the body being carried out.

Feminine.

The bloodstained hand was feminine, a diamond ring glinting under the blood moon.

Where was Niklaus? Did his brother do something?

Why was his home in this state?

He gulped, finding no movements in his limbs, and wondered what year it was.

Silence fell upon the vast quarters at the exit of the hooded figures. He waited for his other senses to awaken and only hoped that Niklaus was safe.

____________________

With a pout, Adelia dug through her purse and crouched to tip the contents onto the marble floor.

The Original observed her replacing the wallet, hand wipes, gloss, scented lotion, sanitizer, and a chew toy of a notoriously pampered four-legged mammal. His lips twitched, and he leaned against the door, waiting for his wife to locate the apartment keys.

She was upset with him, he concluded, after the witch had ignored his attempts to strike up a conversation in the last 24 hours. He was aware that she was enraged and was just waiting for the right opportunity to vent.

It had always been like this—her rage was simply an extension of her disappointment. 

He had disappointed her. Quite often these days.

He would be forgiven, however.

The witch stuffed a handful of hair ties and receipts into one pocket, insisting on taxes despite his repeated assurances that they could let it go. He was Elijah Mikaelson; law and diplomacy went hand in hand, and he excelled at both. But his law-abiding wife would not have any of it. She ignored his moody murders, and he paid taxes—her ultimatum to balance out the world's evil.

A diary in which she kept track of her to-dos was shoved into the bag, along with a shimmering pencil for taking notes and a TS Elliott book he had been reading this summer but had never finished after Niklaus undaggered their sister.

It had been a downward spiral after the family's reunion.

Did he anticipate it? He certainly did.

Was he prepared? No. He was ashamed to admit that he had forgotten how exasperating it was to be around them.

A jingling caught his attention, and he noticed her forcefully throwing one set of house keys into her bag, which was clearly not intended for their Mystic Falls abode.

He missed the tranquillity of their lives in Seattle, even if his hands twitched now and then to see red. It was second nature and extremely difficult to resist. It became easier once he got accustomed to seeing her long brown tresses spilling over the pillowcases in the morning light, glowing almost red.

His twitching hands would eventually end up caressing her cheekbone with his knuckles, entangling rough fingers in red strands of peaceful mercy to give him hope.

She was so beautiful. That quiet elegance, so innocently mischievous, like the girl with the red roses in her hair and the empty dance card.

How different would it have been to initiate courtship like a common man? Would her father have kept the Original at the end of those infamous binoculars? Or would he have continued to insist that Elijah did not deserve her kindness? Arnold after all, never did come to terms with their relationship, not even as he lay dying.

The first time Jasper laid eyes on her, he had stumbled upon the ornate carpet of the Laurentis residence. A year later, the patriarch secured a betrothal for Adelia, beaming at the prospect of a reputable name joining his—one who adored his daughter equally, if not more than he did.

The doctor was a few years older than her and had seen the world enough for his gaze to soften exponentially whenever it fell upon his betrothed, carving out their world with his wise words and her innate kindness. She still carried both within herself, with his shadow lingering in their lives even a century later.

The Laurentis heir looked up at him with a frown. The witch put everything back in her purse and got up, asking, "Did you perhaps check your bag?"

He could sense the stiffness in her form while she regarded him. Not soft, and Elijah wondered if she would melt against him the way she always did if he kissed her at that moment.

Nevertheless, he answered in a lighthearted manner, "I do not have the keys."

"It better be in the car." She glared at him softly, and he retrieved the key to the vehicle from his pants pocket, handing it to her. "Do not go anywhere," Adelia warned him, shoving her purse into his hand as she walked towards the lift, her heels clicking loudly.

Elijah watched her go.

She always looked ethereal walking away from him as if the halo around her was too bright to be tamed by his darkness. But then Adelia would return, wrap her arms around his neck, let him taste her fragrant, supple skin, and encourage him to burrow himself in her warmth, basking in the afterglow of their completion. He would feel gentle icy fingers sliding down his spine to pull the covers over them.

Perhaps she was as afflicted as he was—equally because any less than that hurt. The thought of Miss Laurentis not loving him as profoundly as he did terrified him, as did the idea that his madness was entirely his own.

He had been burning since the day he met her again in Alexandria. Miss Laurentis' sudden proximity had then ensnared his senses, and he burned under her woeful eyes.

He was alone in this madness for a long time while she had her betrothed tending to her like the most precious flower she was, glowing under the Cloverville sunshine.

Did Jasper Reynolds feel the madness as acutely as Elijah Mikaelson did? Even with her presence beside him for centuries, it refused to recede and he could only imagine how that man felt as her first love, one who, from his grave, might still feel her madness cling to the tombstone she trailed her fingers over every week.

Would Adelia also brush away the leaves from his tomb every day if he were to die in the hands of their mother?

His mother. She made him see things and made him think of things he hadn't rummaged over in ages.

"In every reality, she is not destined to be with you, Elijah. Her affection is the consequence of the anomaly I created to kill my children."

"Your cruelty is astounding, Mother. You do not think your son deserves to be loved."

"And neither do you deserve to love another."

The lift's descent echoed the floor, and a shadow flickered past the staircase at the opposite end of the long hallway. He narrowed his eyes at their presence when he clearly remembered renting the entire floor during their stay. The Original made a decision and then discreetly followed.

A ding echoed in the empty lobby in the middle of the night as Adelia clutched the house keys between her fingers. They only needed to get the required papers from the apartment to send Finn far away with Sage.

Klaus had burned a hole in Elijah's head for this suggestion.

The noble one had reassured his younger brother that he would stay instead and promised to deliver the citizenship documents before Finn left for Italy—something about starting where you left off. They were to meet at Mystic Grill sometime later.

Throughout this conversation, Klaus had done nothing but stare at her with an unreadable face. Always the eyes that promised retribution if she were to also tempt his dearest brother away from him. Unspoken and kindly veiled.

The lift door opened, and the witch quickly entered and pressed the button for their floor. She blinked and was abruptly cornered to the side of the lift, a familiar palm covering her mouth. Adelia looked up in the dim lighting to see Elijah pressing the button for each floor, shooing her into the corner to stay out of sight.

He looked down at her as the lift ascended and gently removed his palm. "A few are following us. If the need arises, I want you to leave. Inform Niklaus and get out of town."

She nodded at him when the door opened to the first floor. Footsteps filled the empty hallway as the witch cautiously peered outside. The door closed once more, and the lift moved upward.

The second floor was too quiet, and he shuffled closer to her, his hand tightening around her waist. She quickly took her purse from him and fiddled with her phone, sending a text to Klaus.

Something was wrong.

____________________

An agitated witch looked inside the circle where the prone figure of Sharel Beauchene's granddaughter lay, unconscious as her hand bled on the stone. A young witch sitting next to her whimpered in pain, her palms blo*dy as well.

"Why is it not working!?" the coven elder yelled, glaring at the weeping girl. "Maybe you are not made to carry a foetus. Remove yourself from my sight!" She gestured to another young witch, "You! Come here." She knelt and slashed the Laurentis heir's palm once more, dropping it onto the ground, not too gently.

The witches surrounding them began their incantation as she took the knife and dragged it across the girl's palm, forcing her to clutch it against Adelia's bleeding ones.

"Once the child is with us, we do not need to concern ourselves with such frivolities. You must nurse the child," she said, lovingly running her hand through the crying witch's hair. "To have prophetic blood coursing through your veins is an honour."

The Fleureau matriarch was banished for practising dark magic beyond the comprehension of the ancestors; her daughter died while saving her child with a man who had no desire to grasp the power in his veins, leaving an heir with the ability to steal magic—an abomination with tragic bloodlines.

The unborn child suffered a cruel fate by being born to Sharel Beauchene's granddaughter. She wondered what the new member would be. A thief begets a thief, even if the blood is mystical.

The first girl started to gurgle blood, holding her bloody hand as everybody's attention turned to her. The elder witch snapped her eyes towards the spectacle in astonishment to see black veins slowly crawling up the girl's neck before she fell like a heap on the floor, eyes open as the blood coating her palm sizzled, melting off the skin.

The air smelled pungent, like burning flesh.

The second girl immediately severed her connection to Adelia, wiping away any trace of the cursed blood on the gown; her fate imminent. She gulped, looking to her coven elders for assistance, her eyes gradually filling with tears.

"What is this sorcery?" The elder's voice boomed as she approached the Laurentis heir and plunged the knife into her palm, leaving a trail of blood that slowly soaked into the salt boundary. 

This should have been enough to get their hands on the child, but it seemed it was still protected in the abomination's womb. The child was solely theirs to protect.

Her hand flew up to her neck in distress, interrupting her inner ruminations. She saw other witches clutching theirs too, gasping for air as soft footsteps reverberated at the cemetery's entrance. They recoiled, a proverbial rope digging into their skin, as Sharel Beauchene appeared, innocently tying a noose around a doll in her hand.

She pushed open the iron gate and stepped in.

Sharel's green, bloodshot eyes followed her unconscious granddaughter's form impassively as the witches screamed at the sensation of nails digging into their necks. 

"I have finally been connecting your convoluted plots blessed by the Original witch," the Beauchene whispered and waved her wrist, making one elder stagger forward and start to breathe at last. "It is unfortunate Sofia let you down."

The elder hesitated before bringing a girl forward, glancing into the former regent's eyes. "The child's conception was intended for Sofia. The mother offered her other daughter after her premature death."

Sharel cast a critical glance at the distraught girl and remarked, "I do not see it. The resemblance to my Adelia." With a subdued scowl, her finger nudged the young girl's chin before she said, "Explains the untimely passing of the elder one."

The coven witch sneered at the former regent, "Your grandchild stole the opportunity from us like she steals magic."

"And are you not the one taking my heir right out from under my nose?" she blurted. "Or are you truly that fond of abominations?"

"How dare you insult your ancestors?!"

"My ancestors would prefer that I tend to my blood," the former regent said as she crouched next to her granddaughter, fingers touching the flaked blood on her healed forehead. "It better not scar because I would despise making this into a fairytale for my youngest family member."

"We have brought the child to fruition, and we will see to its birth," the elder said firmly. "They are no family of yours."

With a nearly offensive tilt of her head, Sharel got to her feet. "The servants tending the garden shouldn't have the audacity to steal the fruit, even if they have laboured their souls into it," she replied. "Is that not why you sacrificed seventy-seven of your own last winter?" At the elder's stunned silence, she continued, "Tell me, will your ancestors resurrect them?"

"What would you know?" she spit. "You turned your back on this city, our coven, and your power. You turned your back on your childhood friend."

The Beauchene frowned with a touch of affection. "My dear Angelique knew the consequences once she chose to whisper secrets into filthy ears. Lorraine accepted her fate with grace.

"The prophecy would not choose an abomination," the elder shrieked in disbelief. "We can rectify the errors by giving it a new mother."

"Giving the child a new mother will never change its conception, that it is my blood that runs through them," Sharel said with a sigh. "The banished Fleureau's sacrifice has upheld its promise and how proficient would I be if I allowed you to touch what is mine? Adelia is my granddaughter, and her child is mine to care for. Your prophecy has no meaning.

"A Beauchene seer proclaiming a prophecy means nothing. How the Mightiest Have Fallen."

"I never said the prophecy meant nothing," the seer replied, narrowing her eyes. "I stated that it held no significance for me. I am Sharel Beauchene and I will not let my heir live in the shadow of vengeance."

____________________

Inside the lift, a phone rang loudly, grabbing their attention. Alaric looked at Stefan and motioned for the doppelganger to stay behind him. They stared at the empty lift as the door closed and it moved up again. The vampire nodded to the hunter, who rushed up the stairs.

The Salvatore sighed as he took the stairs down to check the parking—Elijah's wife would not have taken long to find some keys, and the Original had also followed her down a few moments later.

The phone was still ringing when the lift doors opened on the third floor, startling the doppelgänger. When the lift stopped moving, she hurried over and stepped into the eerie space, where, to her relief and dismay, discovered the phone lying in the corner, still deafening her ears.

When 'Miss Laurentis' appeared on the screen, with a cropped display image of the woman cuddling a dog, the young girl almost assumed they were normal, if not for her husband's and his family's murderous tendencies. This phone also belonged to Elijah, who preferred to save his wife's contact information as Miss Laurentis—rather than Adelia, Mrs. Mikaelson, or Lia on the rare occasions she had heard him refer to her as such. And why would Adelia call her husband if she was heading upstairs, where he was already supposed to be? 

Did they know they were here? 

Where was Elijah then?

Elena gasped as she saw Adelia in front of her on the staircase, who appeared to be expecting her. Her hand fumbled in her pocket, nervously grasping the vervain grenade, when a sharp object lodged itself in her neck. She looked up at the witch, who was holding a glittering pencil in her artery, and felt blood run down her neck.

She let out a painful cry before dropping the grenade at their feet. The witch hissed at the sudden splash of vervain against her legs and left the girl to her own devices, the doppelganger falling down the stairs at the abrupt movement.

"Elena!" Matt rushed up from the second floor, crossbow in hand, to the bleeding doppelganger, and looked up at the Original's wife.

Adelia took a step towards them, and the human aimed the weapon at her. The witch flicked her wrist, and it flew towards her. She caught it quickly before taking another step down, firing the stake at the boy as it lodged in his stomach. 

He fell beside Elena.

"Do not remove the pencil, Miss Gilbert," Adelia told the girl, her expression impassive. "You will bleed out, and I cannot have Klaus upset with me for wasting your precious blood. Hold it in."

She turned around on the stairs and gasped as a stake pressed into her chest, just above her heart. Stefan pushed it deeper, and she clutched the metal railing in agony before grabbing the hand holding the pointed wood.

Her hand glowed red, and Salvatore stumbled, feeling his power drain. Adelia grabbed his neck to push him into the wall, plaster cracking around his head. The muffled screams of the doppelganger reached their ears, and his skin began to grey.

"My love," Elijah suddenly stood beside her, not a hair out of place, and threw the town hunter's lifeless body at their feet. "Niklaus will be displeased. The doppelganger requires medical attention. Only Mr. Salvatore appears capable of transporting his companions to the ER. Perhaps a funeral home will suffice, given his bloodlust as the Ripper, but that is not on us."

Her grip on the vampire's neck loosened, and he fell on the stairs. She backed away, clutching the railing behind her, as the Original kicked Stefan down towards the whimpering doppelganger. He took a few slow steps before plunging his hand into Salvatore's chest, squeezing his heart.

Elijah turned to Elena and said, "Miss Gilbert, tell me. Do you believe my leniency will never end?" He squeezed Stefan's heart harder. "So far, I have been very understanding of your petulant attempts. Consider it a novelty, but I would prefer that you learn a few lessons from it. I cannot afford to excuse you every time you attempt this. I do not pardon anyone."

The Original tugged his hand up, his heart nearly half out of the chest cavity, as the Salvatore groaned, unable to fend off the older vampire.

"My brother's desire to see you alive has made you very brave," Elijah expressed. "It might not be too farfetched to have your bone marrow harvested for his supply of doppelganger blood. Shall we give it a try?" He finished as veins appeared beneath his eyes, his other hand clutching the end of the pencil lodged in her neck, feminine screams echoing throughout the building. "I will rip it out of you just as easily as this one."

Stefan gurgled blood, staining the floor beside him, and extended his hand towards Elena.

"If you attempt to behave like an adult, your punishment shall be dished out accordingly." The Mikaelson released his grip on Stefan's heart and removed his hand from Salvatore's chest. "Do not test me anymore, Elena. Keep the pencil in."

Shuddering breaths reached his ears, and he looked back to see his wife bleeding profusely on the top stairs. His jaw clenched, and he instinctively pulled the pencil from Elena's neck, causing a rush of blood to flow out. "It belongs to Miss Laurentis," he said, getting up to approach the witch.

"Elijah," Adelia breathed out as her bloody hand gripped his fingers, wounding around his neck before he lifted her in his arms and walked away from the injured intruders, hopefully dead.

The Original entered their apartment and went straight to the kitchen, where he laid Adelia down on the empty counter. He turned on the overhead chandelier lights and began gently pulling the stake out of her chest.

Her nails dug into his wrist, and a tear escaped her eye. Her knees curled up under her body, and Elijah held her waist down as her back arched to escape the pain.

He met her tearful eyes and whispered, "Adelia, it is almost done. I assure you that it will not hurt too much." The Original exhaled, taking her face in his hand before pulling the stake out of her chest at once. Her cries reverberated throughout the flat as she tried to move away from him, her hair damp with silent tears.

Elijah gulped and threw the bloody stake into the sink, glancing at the red on his hand.

"I need to check for splinters," he explained softly to her. "You will be fine."

He hurriedly removed his jacket and folded his shirt cuffs before assisting her in pushing the stained blouse off her body. Elijah positioned her on the cold counter and opened the kitchen drawer to retrieve a pair of forceps.

"I cannot heal you now, my love," the Original told her and Adelia drew down the strap of her brassiere on one side and nodded tentatively.

The bright light drowned out the anticipated tension as he leaned over her, and she looked away, fingers gripping the counter above her head.

"You can count the seconds," he suggested, as she concentrated on hearing the watch tick on the hand holding her shoulder. The witch closed her eyes and felt the cold metal penetrate her skin.

Elijah bit into his wrist a few minutes later and put it in her mouth, throwing the forceps on the other side of the counter, ignoring the wooden specks littering the marble. He dabbed the paper towel on her chest and arms, feeling her tired body meld into him.

The Original sat her up and guided Adelia's head into the crook of his neck in an embrace. His finger moved the brassiere strap up to rest properly on her shoulder before gently patting her hair. 

The doorbell rang unexpectedly, and she stiffened, looking up at her husband.

"Elijah! Open up!" Klaus' voice filled the hallway, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

The noble brother examined her dishevelled appearance and draped his discarded jacket over her figure. He sat her down on the couch before opening the door to see his brother.

"Small mercies for technology but you haven't adapted to this century well enough to pick up your goddamn phone when it rings," the hybrid seethed as he walked past his brother to enter the apartment. He came to a halt when he smelled a tinge in the air and discovered Adelia sitting on the couch. "What happened?" he enquired, his feet carrying him as he crouched on the floor in front of her. He turned his head to look at the bloody kitchen counter and Elijah's own appearance.

"Have you again done something to aggravate the children here?" Elijah began, devoid of humour.

Klaus remained silent as his fingers gently pushed off his brother's jacket from Adelia's shoulder to examine her injuries with a frown. "Did you take all of it out?" he asked his brother instead, knowing Elijah had already done so.

"Yes, Niklaus," the noble one sarcastically replied, keeping a close eye on his brother's actions. "It is regrettably nothing new that you have put my wife in mortal peril. Maeve is just the tip of the iceberg."

"I propose you let the ice dissolve in a glass of whisky and have your Miss Laurentis chug it like a champ," Klaus said, withdrawing his hand when he felt the witch shrug it off to pull the jacket closer to her body.

"How long do we need to put up with these abhorrent residents? I have killed others for less. My restraint is no more merciful than your absolute disregard for us," Elijah said, taking the subtle hint from his brother to ignore the townspeople.

"Elijah," the younger brother admonished, "you shall not speak of murder while your delicate wife is in the room. It is very impolite."

"The delicate wife requests that you not goad my husband into murdering you instead." Adelia spoke for the first time since his arrival, breathing deeply, reminiscent of the same conversation being carried out in a thousand different ways over the years. Her suspicions increased when the man in question did not respond. "What is it, Klaus?"

____________________

Sharel knelt and placed a tender hand on her granddaughter's protruding stomach. She took a deep breath, feeling the brewing power beneath her fingers, before looking up to see the witches struggling for air. She clenched her fist, watching the black veins on Adelia's skin disappear.

"You linked the child to your ancestors. Should I test how far you have forged the connection?" She held the doll in one hand while grazing Adelia's exposed skin, which burned red under her touch. "Can you take an ounce or will you take it all?" Sharel whispered as the doll began to burn red and the witches screamed in agony, black lines gradually covering their hands.

"Mother, stop," Arnold said, appearing in front of her.

Expecting his presence, she ignored the plea. "They started it, and I am merely seeing it through," the matriarch replied impassively.

"I would prefer nothing more, but we cannot afford more eyes on us," he explained, his eyes not leaving his daughter.

Sharel looked at her son abruptly, rage in her demeanour as her nails pressed into the doll's eye. The coven howled in pain as blood filled their vision. "You will not tell me to stop, son," she said, gritting her teeth.

"I will not have the human faction sniffing in our business as well if these many suddenly turn up dead. We have to practice restraint until the child is here," the patriarch commanded, snatching the doll away from his mother, and throwing it away.

The cemetery echoed with sighs of relief and violent coughs as the Beauchene witch closed her eyes, a tear escaping its confines. She dug her fingers into the stone and slowly drew her granddaughter's limp hand between hers, bringing it to her forehead as her shoulders heaved with tears. 

Adelia's touch slipped away as Arnold stood up with his daughters in his arms, not moving to console his mother after Marcellus' sudden visit to their home a while ago had devastated him just as much.

He had anticipated Klaus's behaviour since he began visiting their home in Cloverville to confide in his daughter. He had been waiting for the day when the Original would turn against her, but nothing indicated that he would do so while she was at her most vulnerable.

"Do you know where your wife's mother kept her grimoires?" Cecilia?" Sharel asked her son, breaking him out of his reverie.

Amid the stifling chaos, Arnold fixed his gaze on the matriarch. "Alessandra's mother was banished for a reason," he answered slowly, before looking around at the incapacitated witches and then his unconscious daughter. He gulped and let out a defeated sigh, "I will have them brought to you, mother. Do what you must."

As the carriage arrived at the entrance, Sharel stood up and brushed the dust off her silk gown.

Arnold said nothing more and walked towards the cemetery gate, stepping on the doll's hands in his path. Terrifying cracks echoed throughout the room as he paused and glanced at them. "It is a shame my son-in-law is not alive. He was a very competent doctor," the Laurentis mused, his voice dry and impassive. "He treated scoundrels like you without charging a dime." He moved away, digging his boots into the doll's fingers.

The Beauchene witch watched her son leave and turned her attention towards the whimpering elder, who was clutching her oddly bent hand close to her chest. "Tell Klaus that he is not deserving of our ire or refutation. I do not hold court for cowards, and punishing him even implies we harbour sentiments for him. Inform him that Maeve is dead, as he desired."

____________________

Elijah threw Klaus against the table, breaking it in half.

"Elijah! Stop!" Adelia rushed in, cornering him against the wall with her hand on his chest. "Let him go."

"Miss Laurentis, leave me be," he said, gritting his teeth while ignoring her efforts and punched his brother. Klaus retaliated by pushing him through the wall, debris falling around them. "I ask that you refrain from interfering."

Knowing that she would not use magic against him without his consent, he tackled his brother to the ground. "We are losing everything because of you! Because you are unable to comprehend that your actions have cost us our family!"

"Antagonise the ones left, would you?" Klaus kicked him off and the vase next to them shattered. His pupils turned golden as veins appeared under Elijah's eyes.

The witch stood in front of Elijah, clutching his raw knuckles in her grip. "Do not do something you will regret," she implored, as he stared past her at his brother. He took a step forward, and she followed, immediately stopping him. "They need both of you. Kol and Rebekah. The enemy is far more ruthless than your anger, and she is still alive."

"How can I trust him to protect them when he lets Finn die?" Elijah asked her instead.

"Our brother died because you stole him away from me!" Klaus bellowed. "I had kept him safe for nine centuries, and I would have done so for ten more. He was safe under my roof until you decided for him to go gallivanting across Europe with his lover."

Adelia gently cut him off. "Klaus, it is not about you."

"Well, I guess not when Elijah was next on their list," the hybrid said, advancing towards them.

"And do you have no fear of losing him?" The witch sighed and took a cautious step forward. "They were here because you allowed them to come this far."

Klaus glared at her before shifting his gaze to Elijah. "He is alive, is he not?"

"You will remain forever despicable," the noble one seethed, turning to face his wife. "I will have their heads before midnight."

"You would not dare!" Niklaus came forward. "I need my doppelganger."

"Our family is in shambles, Niklaus," the eldest of the family nearly cried, "and all you seem to care about are your little mongrels."

"My hybrids do not disappoint me!"

"Finn is dead, Niklaus. He was our brother," he said in the most gentle tone possible following the debacle.

"He was a disappointment." The hybrid threw it off, now looking at Adelia to fend off his brother's imploring eyes.

"And it was supposed to be ours to keep." Elijah's voice hardened. "I congratulate you on your new family. We will be leaving. Are you joining us?" He let out a breath in the tense silence. "Stay with your abysmal hybrids, and replace us all you want."

He turned his attention to his wife, who was standing close to him, and wished that instead of the moon, the sun was orbiting the sky to turn the brown strands red. Maybe then the blood glittering on his knuckles would pacify him.

They heard the door slam against its hinges as Klaus left their apartment, enraged and ridiculed. She glanced at Elijah, who was fixated on the empty spot his brother had left behind.

"You have to be better than him," she started. "He did not mean any of it, I am sure of it. Your mothe–"

"What more can mother do that Niklaus hasn't already done?" he interrupted her fiercely.

"You have not given him a reason to trust you either," Adelia remarked with an accusatory gleam in her eyes. "Elijah, you went to her."

The Original chose to ignore the impending conversation. "Do you intend to justify him, Miss Laurentis? Or are you afraid of me?"

"You tell me." Should I be scared for you?" She cast a soft glance at him before looking around at their destroyed home, one of many.

"You should rest," Elijah responded.

"Please call your sister," the witch gently urged, clutching the vanity. "Kol has already accompanied Rafael back to Seattle and I will speak with Klaus in the morning."

"You will do no such thing," he said, staring at his wife intently.

"Elijah, you are angry."

"Let's get you into a bath and then we are leaving," he said, pursing his mouth. "Do not ask me any questions tonight, please."

With hesitation, Adelia stared at his outstretched hand before moving forward and away from the vanity. The next moment, drowsiness overcame her, and her movements faltered. Elijah helped her to her feet by holding up her shoulder, and she desperately leaned into him.

The Original tipped her tired chin up and gazed into her concrete pupils. "You have lost too much blood," he concluded softly, loosening his tie to tug the collar down.

Her trembling hands clutched his throat, and then her canines sank into his skin, sensing the pulse of an artery on her tongue. He sighed as he felt her lips press against his constricted veins and gently patted her head. Her hands dropped to her sides, and his arms tightened around his wife, knocking her heels against his shoes.

He felt her bite another spot, fingers running through the length of her tousled hair, as her breathing became slower, less agitated, and more lifelike. Her breath caressed his nape, and his hands tightened as her lips detached from his being, only for her knees to give way.

He wound his arm under her knee instantly to pick her up as she slowly slipped into nothingness with her heart pounding. Adelia let out a whine, feeling the soft sheets beneath her body, before a bloody wrist touched her lips. The witch quickly turned her head away, and a tired sigh filled her ears. She promptly fell asleep.

____________________

Klaus awoke with a hazy vision, the dawn testing the humid air as his consciousness gradually returned and he rose to his feet. He looked beside him, and his heart stopped when he saw no trace of the little witch—only a trail of blood leading out of the compound.

He gulped, not sure what to do. Should he pursue them? Inform Sharel that he traded her granddaughter for his brother?

Another thought crossed his mind, and he squinted his eyes to see that the coffin had vanished as well. He searched around for the dagger, recalling it being in Maeve's possession last.

"I am assuming it was not you who undaggered me." Elijah's voice came from behind him and the younger brother went stiff. He did not know if it was anticipation or terror.

Klaus' gaze swept the study, where he discovered a dog-eared book on the chair as well as her discarded shawl, the scent of roses still clinging to the silk.

Did Elijah wake up in time to help her? He was hoping he did.

Adelia's presence was very much alive in this room, and it terrified him at once—her fate. Did he send Maeve to her demise?

"I did something," he admitted without turning, his gaze fixed on the ancient books lining the shelves. Klaus did not question his brother's elongated fonts or the feminine cursive that appeared on the margins of some of the most treasured books. 

She did not recall writing them. He did not ask again.

Was this how Elijah came to adore the little witch? Entice the ever-curious mind with knowledge? Or was Adelia the first to tempt him with her sweet innocence? 

He remembered that he had also been tempted once. 

"When do you ever not?" the noble one replied, jolting him out of his reverie as the state of their blood-splattered home bothered him enough to commit murder, some on Niklaus himself telling a story.

"I need you to trust me." Niklaus turned to face him now, seeing a weary brother instead of an irate one. "It had to be done. They took you from me."

Elijah stayed silent, and Klaus pondered whether he could also smell the roses—the ones that flourished in the soft sunshine of Cloverville.

"She doesn't remember yo–" he started, only to be interrupted.

"Her blood is still on my hands. I never had the opportunity to wash it off the night of the ball."

Klaus examined Elijah's hands, which were smeared with prophecy, and then his own, which were stained with atrocity—both perpetrated against Adelia.

"Brother, I never-"

The elder one spoke firmly. "If you want me to forgive you, you must never speak of her."

The brothers looked at each other.

"Nothing has changed since we last spoke, Niklaus. I meant everything I said."

The weight on Klaus's shoulder dropped. Perhaps, as long as his brother was unaware, he would be forgiven. As long as he could keep them apart to withhold the truth and stop his brother's ire. Adelia being a barter will never be ignored by Elijah, much less in her delicate condition.

"She is with child," Klaus informed Elijah, fully aware that this would be the end of it all. A future his brother cannot afford, even with all their fortunes. Her infidelity would shatter him, and a child from another man would bring acceptance.

His brother said nothing, but Klaus noticed his eyes flitting to the rose-embroidered shawl, indicating that Elijah recognised it. Of course he would. 

"I suppose Sharel would not appreciate us sending a congratulatory missive," the noble one said, left with a wounded heart even in the absence of his brother's dagger, not quite healing. "I had some pending matters up north. I will go see them if you have not already."

"Yes, you must attend to them," he said impassively as he watched Elijah leave. A demented part of him wished Adelia were already dead so he could embrace his brother's return without the burden of guilt.

Klaus's heart dropped when he saw a coven witch enter the compound, his ears pounding with the implication as he stared at Adelia's blood on his hands.

____________________

She opened her eyes with a jolt, feeling faint fingers pull the coat to rest above her shoulders. Adelia sat up, realising she was resting her head on Elijah's leg, and immediately lowered her own feet from the seat.

"I apologise," the Original said as he closed the driver partition.

The witch noticed the woollen dress her husband had put on her before tugging on the peacoat to wear it properly. His fingers combed through her hair delicately as she fastened the buttons down the centre.

Adelia cleared her throat, her gaze flitting to the urn between them, and he watched her intently. "I am so sorry," she said, her heart hurting for Elijah.

"I always expected it to hurt less than it did with Henrik," he admitted. "But it hurt the same—when I saw father plunge a dagger into his children's hearts for the first time, and even now."

She gulped and reached out to grasp his trembling fingers as he turned to look out the window.

The witch only had to wait a beat before he started speaking.

"Finn that night, even in his injured state, attempted to push off our father before he could do the same to Kol. Rebekah was last since father adored her the most and could not do it to her first. Mikael began with Niklaus," Elijah told her, feeling the starched collar scratch against his skin. He snapped it loose, and Adelia noticed his distracted eyes with furrowed brows.

"I could not even tell when that sword had pierced my heart next because I was so petrified by his actions," he said, his tone laced with contempt. "When I finally could muster my eyes open in that blinding pain, Finn was fighting our father with already a blade inside him so Kol and Rebekah could make a run. But there was no escape. Mother had sealed our cottage shut. Mikael had to stab Finn twice to get to them."

His fingers flew back towards his neck again when she gently stopped them and unbuttoned two buttons from the top, flicking the collar ends far apart. Adelia did not say anything but gripped his hand tighter, feeling his fingers intertwine with her own. She reached over to press the window down as cold air rushed through his heated skin, uncoiling the tension in his body. The Original leaned back into the headrest, closing his eyes.

"Let's stop at a motel nearby," she insisted in a worried tone. "We can do whatever you need to do tomorrow, Mr. Mikaelson."

"I cannot rest, Adelia," he replied, adding, "Every moment I let pass, I fear it will be Rebekah, Kol, and Niklaus' last."

"I apologise, but you are not in a state to make wise decisions, Elijah," Adelia gently stated, and he opened his eyes to look at her. "We can have this discussion tomorrow morning once you have processe-"

"My brother's death is not an event, Miss Laurentis," he said abruptly. "I do not want to repeat this with any of my siblings, so I must not rest."

The witch removed her hand from his and sat up straight, moving away. 

"What do you need me to do?" she enquired after a minute, feeling lost.

Elijah ignored their distance, lost in his thoughts. He lowered the driver's partition and turned to face his wife. "You can tell him where Rose-Marie is."

Adelia turned her head to look out the window this time, her fingers quivering as she pushed the button harder and harder to roll it down. The breeze rushed loudly past her ears, allowing her to drown out the lingering silence.

__________•__________

a/n: an update with growing conflicts between every character in the present and strengthening resolutions in the past. The outline for this chapter certainly took time since I was in a dilemma about how to strengthen the conflict for the next chapter.

Adelia will be out of the Mystic Falls drama for a while. She has some stuff to do, some fluffly mammal to pamper. Elijah has some demons to tame and some pages to fill in his diary. Klaus will be Klaus.

Now onto some serious stuff. I am also stumbling across some plagiarised stuff. Since 70–80% of the content are original scenes, I find some direct snippets/scenes literally copy-pasted as one-shots, most of them from the flashbacks. Please refrain from doing so. Thank you. [*whipers* replacing Arnold with Klaus will leave those expensive binoculars jobless, you know *wink wink*] 

I am already outlining the next chapter and hope that I get to finish, finalise, edit, polish, post soon! Have an awesome day!

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