•

____________________

The sound of salaams rising as
waves diminish down in prayer,
hoping for some trace of the one
whose trace does not appear. If
anyone asks you to say who you
are, say without hesitation,
soul within soul within soul.

- Rumi, Roses Underfoot

__________•__________

A cacophony of sounds filled the air as a soft musical orchestra blended in with the murmurs of conversation scattered across the crowded ballroom. 

The glitter of chandeliers reflected off polished marble floors, and the gentle hum of laughter wove through the room like a melody. Jasper's gaze swept across the crowd, his figure commanding attention as he moved through the sea of guests. His eyes settled on a figure in a green gown with brunette curls cascading down her back, and he walked towards her, hurrying his pace to reach his betrothed. 

"Miss Laurentis," he murmured, his teasing voice a low whisper in her ear, "your grandmother saw you smuggling the kitten from the host's library." He edged closer to her when she remained silent, a playful smile curling his lips. "Tell me, is it adorable?"

The woman turned around and the smile on his face disappeared seeing a different person. He immediately took a step back. "Forgive me, Miss," he blurted out in hurried embarrassment. "I mistook you for someone else. Please accept my apologies."

"No worries, sir," the woman replied with a smirk, sweeping her eyes over his handsome face. "Quite the beguiling thief she is, your Miss Laurentis."

Before he could reply, a voice reached their ears.

"Mr. Reynolds," Adelia called, walking up to him with a pout. "You would require another two inches on those shoes for me to spot your head in the crowd."

Jasper turned to her, his embarrassment melting into a gentle smile and he took her hand as she approached, guiding her fingers to his elbow."Miss Laurentis," he jested, "I would have welcomed your suggestion if not for my head brushing the chandeliers already."

"Oh," she replied, amusement sparkling in her mischievous eyes, "in that case don't let that dazzling hair catch fire." Her nose remained scrunched in humour before she lifted her toes to kiss his jaw in greeting. "Evening."

"Good evening, it is," he replied warmly, and his gaze shifted from Adelia to the bystander. The woman pushed those curls away from her shoulder while staring at them with her narrowed brown eyes, the rouge gracing her lips identical to the one being rubbed away from his skin.

Jasper gulped, feeling very unsettled, and Adelia withdrew her fingers from his stubbled jaw, tucking her stained fingers in the handkerchief.

"Such heartfelt banter." A sharp smile played along the woman's lips. "Is she your companion, sir?" she asked, her eyes not leaving the young girl beside him.

"I apologise for the lack of introductions," he politely answered before exchanging their names and titles as the lady returned the gesture for the couple curiously.

The mention of Laurentis' heir name sparked a glint in the woman's eyes. Her gaze grew more acute as she studied Adelia, scanning the turquoise gown from top to the lace filigree handiwork on the bottom hem.

While most New Orleans girls dress to impress, this one chose to blend in with the crowd. Perhaps little townspeople forget that mute elegance instead made them stand out among the city's colourful clientele. The expensive gown did not help, and neither did the man on her arm when everybody knew she was to be the daughter-in-law of the Washington ambassador, one whose wife had rather made it known that her estranged son's choice was too soft for their name in political circles. Little Butterfly was what the matriarch had called the bride back home, now known by half of Orleans.

Adelia felt the weight of the woman's scrutiny and clenched her fingers around Jasper's elbow, prompting him to cover her hand with his own and give her a concerned look.

"Adelia Laurentis, one of Cloverville?" the woman mused.

"Indeed," Jasper humoured to dissolve the tension. "Did my lady steal something there as well?"

"Only a few hearts."

Her madame, like most of the prominent figures, had received the invitation doused in patchouli with a silk bow tying the golden parchment. She saw one herself, burning away in the coal embers during that one dawn when Elijah Mikaelson thought she was asleep.

She had ignored the tipped bottle of rose oil staining the sheets beneath her as the Original trailed his lips up her spine, his whisper of Adelia an echo in her ears as he tangled his fingers in brown curls.

"That innocence and wit," the woman murmured with a secretive smile, "seem tailored for temptation." Elijah Mikaelson was uncharacteristically soft when he thought she was the little butterfly. The coldness set in his shoulders would recede at any mention of the girl from his brother's atrocious tales of the day spent with her, always finishing with a drunken horse. Klaus would laugh in his drunken stupor, leaving a whimsical smile gracing the older brother's face, eyes distant.

"We shall be taking our leave, Miss," Jasper iterated, lips pursed as he gently clasped Adelia's hand within his own, preparing to depart from the untoward conversation. "Hope you have a pleasant evening."

Before Jasper could depart, Elijah made his presence known subtly and joined them.

"Mr. Mikaelson," Jasper greeted the Original politely.

"Mr. Reynolds, Miss Laurentis." The vampire nodded at them both, gaze lingering briefly on Adelia. "Is everything well?"

"We were just making acquaintances, Elijah," the woman replied instead, sliding closer to him to kiss his cheek in greeting, intimately.

"We should return Miss Laurentis to her grandmother before she grows anxious," the betrothed replied.

The mention caused the heir's eyes to stiffen. "Grandmother saw me with the kitten, did she not?" The witch looked down instantly to brush away the remnants of white fur from the silk gown.

Jasper chuckled softly at her mortification.

Adelia narrowed her eyes at his choice of humour before turning to face Elijah. "Mr. Mikaelson, where is your devil brother?" she questioned with furrowed brows.

The Original then smiled and answered, "You must know better than to conspire a kitten theft with my brother, Miss Laurentis. I saw him trading the creature to children for coins outside."

Her eyes grew wide at the betrayal.

Jasper bid farewell to their companions, moving Adelia alongside him in the crowd. She peered past the heads in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the curly-haired cheat of an Original.

"What a beautiful pair they make," the woman said with a loud sigh, turning to look at Elijah to find him already staring at the girl. Her mouth felt the poison suddenly, like the shade coating her lips, identical.

"The old crone believes you come around with those peculiar requests because you miss the Sofia girl, but she was not her, was she?" The woman scoffed, piecing together the truth of the Original's heart. "Did you call her Miss Laurentis in the dark as well? Put that wretched pin in her hair and hoped she would turn into Adelia."

Jasper reached out to take her fidgeting hand, intertwining their fingers discreetly at her side. Adelia lost in thought, contemplated the implication of her grandmother knowing about the cat or Klaus trading the said creature. The witch glanced at her betrothed and moved closer. He looked down at her, raising his chin in question. She shook her head with a smile as her fingers tightened around his.

Feeling watched, the man glanced back to find the Original staring at Adelia. "Is Mr. Mikaelson well?" he whispered to his betrothed.

Adelia frowned and turned to look at the Mikaelson as he met her gaze for a blink before averting it. "He is a vampire, Jasper. They do not get sick," she whispered back. "Why? Has something happened?" the witch asked, concerned now.

Reynolds gave her a reassuring smile. "Nothing, my sweet."

With uncertainty, Adelia cast a sidelong glance at the Original and saw him looking at her as well. She felt knuckles grazing her jaw suddenly, her hair rising at the unfamiliar touch.

The witch turned her head towards Jasper, but Elijah was there instead, his fingers moving from her jaw to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Miss Laurentis," the distorted voice echoed in her head and her body froze in fright at his proximity.

"Your insinuations about how you feel for me, about us are misleading," he continued, an echo of deja vu addling her senses. Elijah joined their lips gently, leaning in as her back touched the sheets underneath her. The Original trailed his hand down her front, fingers encircling her waist over her gown as his teeth dug into her exposed collarbone.

"Please be kind to me," Elijah whispered as she made note of the familiar canopy above the bed. Klaus suddenly appeared in her field of vision, watching them over his brother's shoulder with impassive eyes.

She froze in horror as the noble one withdrew the silver dagger from his chest. Before the witch could open her mouth, the sharp end pierced through her palm and into the soft cotton sheet.

Adelia awoke to the sound of the bed curtains snapping open as Sharel appeared in the periphery. She glanced around, but neither Jasper nor the Originals were anywhere to be seen. Her tongue felt numb and she looked down at her palm to find them unharmed with no strength to lift them.

The matriarch slid into the bed beside her and nervously touched her granddaughter's stomach. After a few seconds, it moved beneath her hand unexpectedly, and the older woman's lips curved into a smile.

"Your father has been breaking a sweat outside for the past week, thundering over the physicians," she whispered to the younger witch, lifting Adelia's palm to reveal the knife wound healed. The matriarch rubbed her thumb over the smooth skin, almost in wonder.

Adelia was startled by a wet cloth on her face and noticed the maid flinch when their gazes met.

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I dreamt of Jasper again," she mumbled, feeling an ache bloom in her chest. "Why do I not feel much for our child when I loved him so much?"

Sharel took the cloth from the maid, gesturing for her to leave. As the door shut down a few moments later, she sighed and wrung the cloth into the bowl.

"How long have you been feeling this way?" the matriarch asked politely.

"I do not know." She curled into the sheets, wanting to disappear.

"This is not unusual in your state, Adelia," the older woman assured her. "Perhaps we can consult the physician."

"I need him, please," Adelia whimpered.

"You do not need anyone," Sharel replied abruptly. She patted the healed hand with the wet cloth, feeling it tremble within her own. "But your child needs you. Many trials await you, and Jasper can only protect them with his name."

The young woman said nothing in response, feeling everything crumble around her.

The maid soon entered and the two helped Adelia down the bed to stand before ushering her towards the bath.

Adept hands pulled the strings as the chemise fluttered to the floor before she settled inside the tub. The ghost of Elijah's touch lingered within her and she did not know why. The witch felt fingers in her hair, pouring water over them. While Jasper brought her peace, even the mere whisper of the Original's words echoing in her ears unravelled something akin to epiphany. 

She gently touched the surface of the water, watching the ripples helplessly. Her gaze remained transfixed to the water turning murky red, drowning her slowly.

Adelia watched the blood disappear down the sink, the water now running clean as Elijah closed the faucet.

"What did you do?" she asked him from the doorway, wrapping the nightwear around herself as his wristwatch ticked silently on the counter, the moon still blanketing the sky. "You said you wanted to talk to Rose-Marie."

"You gave me your word that if I spared her, she would stay away," the Original replied, looking down at the receding water.

"She did stay away," the witch answered, turning on the overhead lamps. The light flooded the room, and she stepped inside.

"If you know me, I would assume you understand what staying away entails," Elijah countered, turning to face her. "You were aware she was still speaking to the Salvatore and withheld it from me."

Adelia pursed her lips at his knowledge. "We had more pressing concerns than chasing a woman who was already running from you," she said, not moving an inch.

"I should have seen to her demise the moment she joined hands with the Salvatore boy," he replied, leaving the towel by the washbasin before taking a step towards her. "I pardoned her previously because you requested it of me. I watched you heal that woman when I had shown enough mercy. Then you decided she was worthy of the ring."

His eyes bore into her form as hers drifted towards the counter, discovering the daylight ring drenched in red.

"It was mine to give," Adelia whispered in a morose tone, moving to retrieve the ring when he grabbed her wrist.

"I refuse to let your kindness sate her anymore," he said, his gaze sweeping over her face.

The witch locked her gaze on him. "We have no moral standing to determine who is worthy or not, Elijah."

He flinched at her words before pulling her in closer. "I have already dealt with the consequences of your kindness," he said before abruptly releasing her wrist.

"And what will be my punishment?" she asked, dishevelled appearance and imploring eyes. "Are you going to tear my heart out as well?"

He gripped the doorknob between his palms before turning to look at her. "You will not speak of such cruel things to me, Miss Laurentis." His voice echoed throughout the small space.

"Then to whom should I speak?" Her voice trembled as the cold tiles numbed her bare feet. "You do not talk to me. You run away, first to your brother and then to your mother." Adelia looked at her husband, a tear rolling down her chin. "All I get are apologies."

He felt his heart break at her admission. "I want you by my side, always."

"But I am alone, Elijah," she confessed in a defeated tone, "and I can do nothing. It has been this way for quite a while now."

The Original gulped, opening his mouth to refute her claims, when flashes of red roses and blue gown filled his vision. "You mean everything to me," he breathed out, avoiding her hurtful gaze.

She moved a little closer. "Then why do you not show me kindness and stop pushing me away?" Adelia tearfully requested.

"Please, Miss Laurentis," he said without looking her in the eyes.

Tears clouded her vision and she moved past him.

He heard the hotel door slam shut as the silence of the empty bedroom singed his ears.

____________________

Adelia sipped her drink at the boutique while watching a girl flit between racks of Quinceañera dresses on the other side of the room. The assistants bustled around the large family, holding up options, each one prettier than the last.

A soft smile touched her lips as she watched the family argue about the colours. It brought back memories of her spirited grandmother meticulously curating her wardrobe with lace and ruffles on the hems. She remembered the matriarch examining every stitch the seamstress delivered with acute precision—nothing less for her granddaughter, she would say with finality.

The witch let out a sigh and turned her attention outside to the rain gently pattering against the glass storefront. It dulled the intensity of the storm brewing inside her. Stomping out before dawn in a nightgown had been a bad idea, and hiding behind the soft beiges and pastel couture felt equally foolish.

Her phone did not ring once, and she did not dare check her messages for fear of being inevitably disappointed. The printed boarding pass and ticket, courtesy of the very polite receptionist, burnt a hole in her new bag. She drained the rest of her retail white wine, her gaze lingering on the lipstick stain on the rim. A few more hours and Elijah would be asleep for her to return.

"I cannot imagine such a lovely lady being left to tedious tasks." A voice came from the entrance, and the woman's musing was cut short by the familiar voice. 

Adelia stiffened, her fingers tightening around the glass before she turned towards Tristan. His silhouette cut sharply against the boutique's warm lighting as he stepped forward with calculated ease, settling down onto the leather sofa beside her without invitation.

"Mr. Demartel," she greeted, a bright smile spreading across her face. "It has been a while."

"Not too long, I hope," Tristan replied smoothly, his piercing gaze taking in every detail of the woman before him—the delicate lines of her chiffon blouse, the subtle tension in her posture she was trying to hide. He remembered his sire's penchant for charming noble daughters of his court, deceiving them into believing he was one of their own. Adelia Laurentis, however, was no mere conquest. Her presence was the result of Elijah Mikaelson's arduous desire and fruitful coincidences. He glanced around the boutique. "An intriguing choice of establishment to pass the time."

Adelia uncrossed her legs and leaned over to set the flute on the low table. Her midi skirt shifted, then fell gracefully back into place to cover her knees. She returned his smile. "You seem to know the family I keep company with. There is no jolly time to desire for peace."

"A woman keeping a Mikaelson company rarely seeks peace," he retorted, watching as she moved unruly strands off her shoulder, plucking the sapphire pendant to sit between her collarbones. "Ambition seems to be a more fitting companion."

"Then they do not know me at all," she hummed, her gaze darting around to find only his men and two of the employees. "Elijah suggests I ruffle some feathers once in a while."

"Does he, now?" His lips quirked at her response. "May I offer you another drink?" Tristan obliged, gesturing to the glass.

"No, thank you," she said curtly, just as the mindless instrumental echoing in the boutique came to a stop. The witch looked at him and he smiled, drumming his fingers on the armrest. The owner turned the signboard on the front to close. 

For a moment, silence settled between them, punctuated only by the faint rustle of fabric as assistants cleared out and left through the back. 

"I must apologize for our previous interaction," he said finally, his voice measured. "It was certainly not my intention to offend either you or my sire."

The witch watched his men leave the room as well. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Please accept our apologies as well," she replied briefly, tone neutral.

"Does Mr. Mikaelson know you apologise to people on his behalf?" Tristan mused, eyes trailing over her bare feet, stilettos discarded away.

"Might buy him a year or two, you never know," she humoured, fiddling with the rings on her finger. Adelia could sense the conversation ebbing with an undercurrent of subtle hostility. Tristan was probing for cracks in her composure, and she could only respond to each one with a deliberate misdirection.

Their gaze strayed to the store owner, who came in carrying numerous bags. Adelia reached into her purse to retrieve the black Amex, only to discover the woman gone, her bags left on the futon.

"That is taken care of, Miss Laurentis," Tristan spoke as the curtains closed behind them again.

"I will arrange for it to be sent to you," she answered, glancing briefly at the receipt before raising her head. "Should I be concerned that you have your men following me?"

"Perhaps you misunderstood," the blue-eyed man said, raising his brow before adding, "This establishment is run by one of my men. I happened to be nearby for an inspection."

"I did not know a man such as yourself would prefer to conduct menial inspections yourself," Adelia quipped.

"Then they do not know me at all," he quoted her previous response, and she fell silent. Tristan smiled at her and moved to take a seat across from her on the wooden table. "May I?" he said, pointing to the heels that were left on the carpet.

Adelia gave him a strange look, opening her mouth to politely deny before he crouched down to lift her ankle over his thigh. Her face remained expressionless as her nails sank into the leather seats.

"Such a dainty ankle," he said, meeting her eyes before gently slipping the first stiletto onto her feet, actions deliberate. "Perhaps nobility is not limited to your birth name, Miss Laurentis."

"My grandmother would be pleased to hear that," she replied flatly, unwilling to extend the conversation.

Tristan watched her ruefully. "And I suppose Elijah liked the thought of having them for himself," he began before continuing, "especially when these very feet walk into my Strix initiations to dismantle them." His hand came to a stop over her heel, his thumb nearly digging into her skin. "Poisoned wine is an old trick."

She looked up at him, unsurprised by his knowledge of their involvement. "I assure you Elijah did not see a wink of my ankles for quite a few years. It was considered very scandalous," Adelia said, ignoring his words but not denying the accusation. "Your grapevine is exceptionally intuitive."

The man tied the willowy knots around her foot, tightening them suddenly, causing her to wince internally. His finger slithered under the tight knot in the back to hold her foot, inspecting the stiletto under the dim chandelier, velvet resembling the skin it was sitting on.

"Intuition has paved my way through the centuries," he said, gently lowering her leg.

She held her breath as he grabbed the other stiletto. "Intuition is often fuelled by one's perception of what they wish to decipher from it," she replied.

"Perhaps my perception serves me better." Tristan smiled thinly, a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"If one happens to believe the same, won't that be a deception of their reality?" she whispered and he stilled. "Perception is after all a veil woven from whispers of the past, knit with experiences of the present."

Tristan studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Then tell me, what is my perception of you?"

She cocked her head, a gleam in her eyes that met his with deliberate calm. "You do not know me, nor do you wish to. You only want to know my relationship with your sire," the Laurentis heir responded. "I am nothing to you but everything to have earned your disdain."

They started at one another, the soft silver glow of the chandelier overhead casting a shadow over their features. His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile forming.

"Your devotion to him enthrals me," Tristan said abruptly, breaking the silence. "That you choose to entangle yourself in that family to honour him." He put the velvet on her slowly, a lone finger trailing the minute invisible veins under her skin like she was hoping to get under his. Perhaps she already had.

"It is a choice, Mr. Demartel. You grow to embrace the consequences as well," Adelia answered. But she had considered nothing when she was pushed headfirst into this relationship. The Laurentis heir grew into the role and the consequences became an afterthought. She had embraced everything for her grandmother.

His hand came to a halt, and he smiled at her slyly. "Then perhaps Elijah's choices will have unfavourable consequences for you," he repeated.

"I have made my peace with it," she said nonchalantly, attempting to withdraw her foot from his grasp but it tightened instead.

His eyes twinkled as his fingers twitched over her delicate skin. "And people wonder why my sire has been reluctant to let go of you all these years," Tristan humoured.

"Maybe it was I who was taken with Elijah," Adelia countered with humour as well.

"If the shoe fits, Miss Laurentis," he hummed. "But we both know it was not you who had taken wh*res resembling Sharel Beauchene's granddaughter." Tristan gave her a smirk and Adelia held his gaze, her expression betraying nothing. "Elijah Mikaelson earnestly desired a widow in mourning, with all of New Orleans as witnesses." He proceeded to tighten the stiletto. "How scandalous indeed, ankles or otherwise."

Her eyes hardened under the dim lights, patience fraying at the edges. Adelia stood up quickly, his grip on her foot slipping before she kept them on the edge of the table between his legs.

She leaned down, and he caught a whiff of rose and sandalwood on her pulse, her soft hair brushing against his face. Her fingers picked up the discarded strings and worked with precision to tie the stiletto knots, fully aware of their proximity.

"Your accusations are rather derogatory, Mr. Demartel," Adelia whispered in his ear and continued, "when you do not even know how my husband likes his eggs."

He turned his head to look into her plain brown eyes, which were suddenly intriguing. Tristan might not know how his sire liked his eggs but he knew they were never scrambled. A beauty all wrapped in a delicate bundle of grace and loyalty that even had Klaus Mikaelson endeared to her. 

Adelia slowly placed her foot back on the floor before standing up. Tristan followed suit, gently holding her waist to put an appropriate distance between them, freesia filling his nose.

Her fingers reached his collar gently, finding the tie. "I would sue whoever tried that Windsor around your neck."

"I am sorry to have disappointed you," he said and met her mischievous eyes, noting the golden specks in them for the first time. Elijah Mikaelson truly had picked his match to call his own—to portray a picture-perfect relationship to sell.

"Did I disappoint you?" she asked, fingers pushing the ends of the collar under his jacket before stepping back.

"I never thought you would, Miss Laurentis," he said, adjusting his cufflinks. "Only had to see for myself what people mean when they say you enthral them. That no one but your husband is deserving of you, given how much he must have adored his wife, for you to devote your entire life to commemorating his wishes." Tristan took a step back this time, his gaze falling on the sapphire ring on her finger. "I meant Jasper Reynolds, of course."

Adelia pursed her lips, wary of showing any reaction.

Tristan smirked. Perhaps they both enjoyed getting under each other's skin.

"Of course," she replied before slinging the bag over her arm. "I shall take my farewell now, Mr. Demartel."

The witch did not wait for him to speak before exiting the boutique, bags clutched in hand. Maybe she will not compensate him for her new purchases. He earned the missing zeros in his bank account for being so diligently troublesome. Truly a Mikaelson acquaintance.

Adelia stepped out just as a car screeched into the empty street and Elijah got out, face impassive.

His gaze flickered behind her and she knew he saw Tristan. He walked towards them and she resumed her exit. She reached him first, getting between them.

"Please help me get these in the car," Adelia hummed and pushed the bags at him to get them away from here.

One of Tristan's men came forward to grab the bags from her hand, the Original freezing at the unspoken action. The man took them and walked towards the car, leaving them empty-handed.

Elijah stared at his wife, reading her eyes.

"Mrs. Mikaelson is a bewitching raconteur," Tristan said from behind her. "Kept me entertained while I was shopping for ties that can hold a decent Windsor knot."

"Is that all, Adelia?" the Original asked, pushing her hair behind her shoulder with his knuckles. He did not look at the man.

"Yes, Mr. Mikaelson," she replied, seeing the creases left behind by him on her new chiffon and stayed quiet.

Elijah suddenly smiled at Tristan. "I hope you did not let Mrs. Mikaelson spend a dime."

"What sort of gentleman would I be if I let a beautiful lady pay on my watch?" the first sired answered, his gaze stuck on the back of her head. She did not look back.

"I am rather surprised by such a generous change of heart when you left such an unsavoury message for her last week," the Original iterated, surprising Adelia. Klaus must have told him.

"Perhaps I changed my mind," Tristan replied. "Mrs. Mikaelson does have a way to people."

"Ensure it stays that way. I would hate to dilapidate your hubris more than usual, and my wife's wonderful new clothes deserve to be spared of insolent filth."

The younger man stayed silent. "Have a pleasant night, Mrs. Mikaelson."

____________________

Sharel entered the study with a stack of invitations ready to be sealed. Her granddaughter's wedding was to be the event of the season, and she was determined that it be remembered for at least a decade.

She found Jasper lounging in a chair, absorbed in one of his medical journals, though his eyes occasionally drifted toward the window, watching his betrothed in the garden. Adelia, for all her grace, possessed no green thumb. The poor flowers had likely already accepted their doomed fate.

With a faint smile, Sharel settled at the desk and opened a drawer to retrieve the seal.

"For how long has Mr. Mikaelson loved Miss Laurentis, Lady Beauchene?" Jasper asked, gaze not leaving his betrothed. "Elijah."

The matriarch froze at the unexpected question, her fingers tightening on the seal. She inhaled slowly, bracing herself. "It is nothing more than a fleeting infatuation," Sharel replied, her voice clipped. "You need not concern yourself with the Mikaelsons."

Jasper turned to face her, his eyes filled with quiet curiosity. "I do not see it as a matter of concern, but rather an attempt to understand."

Sharel closed the drawer with a sharp thud, the weight of his inquiry stirring past anxieties. "Adelia is no longer the child she was in Cloverville."

"She was not a child then either," the physician countered, his tone gentle but firm. He set aside his papers, now giving the conversation his full attention. "Adelia told me, before our courtship began, that Elijah had broken her heart over a notion of some whimsical fancy. She was young, and he was not too kind, almost cold."

The matriarch's expression tightened, surprised at how much he knew. "She never spoke of it to me," Sharel murmured, her mind flashing back to the day she had found the Original gazing at her granddaughter with something more than mere admiration. "I only learnt of it when I saw him making proclamations, as though my granddaughter ought to abandon her vows and run to him." Sharel's voice wavered with the indignation she had long held back, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the seal within her fist.

Jasper did not comment on the agitated matriarch. "I assume he lied to her back then," he said, turning his eyes back to the garden. Outside, Adelia poured a pail of water over a fragile plant, the soil spilling over her feet. Her chaperone standing nearby, visibly winced. "Mr. Mikaelson does love her."

"Elijah loves the idea of what she represents," Sharel corrected sharply, her eyes narrowing. "A reprieve from his existence, one who might equally tolerate Klaus as he does. He does not love Adelia."

"Expecting the one you love to understand why you love the way you do? That is not irrational," he commented. "His idea is honoured by what he desires to return as well. A longing as deep as his devotion to Klaus."

Her lips tightened into a thin line. "It makes no difference. You are the one Adelia loves. That's all that matters."

A quiet, knowing smile appeared on Jasper's face, and he looked back at Adelia, who was now frowning at her muddy hands, letting the gardener lead her away from the drooping plant. "Miss Laurentis is not easy to unlove," he said softly. "I've seen it in him; he tries."

Sharel hesitated. "Elijah knows not to cross lines, and Klaus won't let him." She stamped the seal on the hot wax, closing the invitation for Adelia and Jasper's union. "Be assured, his affections will never hinder your relationship with my granddaughter."

He let out a sigh, picking up the papers again. "I only wish he told her the truth. It would free him as well," Jasper said.

"You are too kind," she stopped him midway. "Men like Elijah prefer their wounds to fester until it controls them."

"And you do not find it troubling?" he asked, "that it might bring consequences for Adelia as well."

The matriarch withheld the glare at the inquisition that she would jeopardise her own granddaughter's happiness. "Elijah is too noble to act on his desires."

Jasper tilted his head, his brows raised in curiosity. "Forgive me, but you have trust in Elijah's grace for Miss Laurentis, but not in his love? How is your belief in his nobility any different than his belief in Adelia?"

Sharel met his gaze, her eyes hardening. "How can you be so nonchalant of another man desiring your wife?"

He smiled at her attempt to evade the conversation. "Because Adelia has nothing to hide, and Elijah is not disrespectful in his affection for her. I see no reason to be concerned."

"It is hard to show compassion for a man who will forget her face in a few years, months even."

"I choose to be considerate because I do wish for my wife to heal too; that kindness is not merely extended to people but to circumstances as well," Jasper replied politely.

"You have a lifetime to teach her virtues," Sharel answered. "It does not need to start with a Mikaelson." She sealed another invitation.

"Have a little faith in your granddaughter, Lady Beauchene," the physician worded kindly. "It might bring you peace."

Sharel regarded him with a tired smile. "Peace is not easily afforded, Mr. Reynolds."

"I would like to believe you have earned it." Jasper smiled back.

A wince escaped Adelia's lips when the chaperone rinsed the dirt from her hands, pouring the water hurriedly to make her presentable. Across the patio, she looked up at Jasper. There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but she smiled softly when their eyes met.

Sharel stamped the final invitation and glanced at her granddaughter.

For a moment, she allowed herself to see Adelia through Elijah's eyes—the unassuming grace, defiant mischief, and silent kindness. It unsettled the matriarch suddenly for the girl to have that much power over a man like him. It terrified her that Adelia was not strong enough to survive such a kind of love.

"I am relieved," Sharel said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper and continued, "That she has you."

Jasper turned to the older woman, his gaze steady. "Miss Laurentis will always have me," he replied, before turning to look at his beloved outside.

____________________

Adelia sat on the kitchen stool, slowly turning the page of the latest magazine delivered by the hotel staff. The soft rustle of the glossy paper felt louder in the quiet room, the words not registering with a myriad of thoughts already present.

"You have not come to bed." From the doorway, Elijah's voice broke the stillness. "I was waiting," he added, almost hesitant.

Adelia did not look up, her finger flipping another page mindlessly. "You should go to sleep," she said, her voice distant. "I wish to be left alone."

He lingered at the doorway, his fingers tracing the edge of the wooden frame. "I apologise for what I said this morning," he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. "You did not deserve it."

"I did deserve it," she responded, not bothering to shift her gaze from the dull pages. "I will consider it a consequence of my kindness and move on. Good night, Elijah."

His heart sank and he took a tentative step toward her. "Please come to bed. I cannot think well if you are not with me."

Adelia dropped the book onto the counter with a sharp thud, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. "I can't keep fighting you at every turn, Elijah," she murmured, her voice betraying the exhaustion.

"Then please don't," Elijah pleaded, stepping closer.

The witch exhaled sharply at his dismissal, that somehow she was at fault for their current state. She stepped off the stool, grabbing her cardigan from the counter to wear it hurriedly. "You have been finding ways to antagonise me for months," she said, her voice quiet. "I acknowledged everything. But you are lying to me, and I will not accept it."

He reached for her, gently wrapping his fingers around her wrist, his other hand hovering by his side. "You are thinking it wrong," he whispered, though the denial felt weak, even to him. The sentiment shared by her as the droning television illuminated the disbelief on her face.

Adelia released his hand, her fingers lingering within his palm as her heart tried to indulge in every bit of him, and then she felt alone. "You do not have to tell me any more lies," she said, her voice steady as heartbreak filled her voice. "I don't even need the truth. I'll stay ignorant, just as you want me to be. I won't ask any more questions. You can keep your secrets, and I shall retain my sanity." She felt so alone.

Elijah's chest tightened and he gulped, desperately trying to grab onto her numb fingers. Her silence terrified him more than her disagreements.

"Adelia, please." He cupped her warm cheeks, surprised to find wetness under his thumb. How had he missed them? "You have to understand—"

"I do," she interrupted, her voice soft but resolute. "You want me close but away from you. I understand." She pulled away from his touch and stepped back. "Let's retire for the night. I am sorry I kept you awake."

"Did Tristan say something?"

His voice stopped her.

She did not turn around to face him and looked down at the rings gracing her fingers. Her voice suddenly quivered. "Nothing untrue."

Elijah gripped the counter behind him, his knuckles white. "Please tell me I have not pushed you away this far," he begged. "Please, Miss Laurentis."

"I have to be in Osaka for a few days," she informed him instead. "I will be returning to Seattle shortly after that."

His heart stopped. "You are leaving," he whispered, the realisation settling in like a brick in his chest.

A bitter chuckle escaped her mouth as she turned to face him, tears slipping down her cheeks now. "I have the decency to inform my husband beforehand."

Shame flickered across his face. "I love you, Miss Laurentis," he said, his voice carrying a bit of urgency. "I will be better." He deserved her anger.

Adelia stepped closer, gently cradling his jaw in her hand, her touch warm and tender. "I will be better when I come back," she said quietly, her voice heavy with unspoken defeat. "I have an early flight tomorrow. Good night, Mr. Mikaelson." She leaned in to press a soft kiss to his jaw before pulling away to disappear inside the bedroom.

Elijah stood frozen, his heart already aching at her absence.

__________•__________

a/n: stuff mostly outside of whatever is happening in Mystic Falls. we know, they know; save words, save eyes. the last many chapters were building up to this in terms of adelia's tolerance for elijah's pikachu moments. 

tristan has a purpose, he always does. he is as diabolical as his sire. i wrote that scene four years ago i think. 

jasper sprinkled throughout this chapter is intended to balance elijah's lack of perspective when it comes to adelia. elijah is a good husband but he could be better. and jasper is not as blind as people think he is - one of the very few reasons klaus offed him.

we will return to mystic falls saga in the background next chapter. have started drafting it. need to write it now. 

no proof-reading done (otherwise this won't get posted for another month)

as always, have a wonderful day! thank you

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last edited: 11/2024