Rebekah Mikaelson
@RancorousVirago
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- 8 Following
- 20 Posts
I will use the blood from my spilling heart to write the words that were never able to slip out of my mouth. [RPMC.]
> She had known when all hope was lost. When my promise of salvation was fictitious. I saw it in those big blue sapphire eyes. When I looked at her with sorrow, she knew I had not come for her. I had come for myself. To seek a slither of reprieve, and I find as I watch her frame becoming consumed by the flames, she had given me it, her innocence and nativity were the lasting impressions.
> skin. Why had I not moved to take her away from it all? It is because of me that she is here, it is because of me that her coven threatened the lives of Niklaus and Elijah. It has to be her. I am and will always be her greatest enemy. For that I am sorry, any chance of survival dies with me. I cup her cheek one last time and cut a locket of her hair with a small blade concealed in my dress cuff.
“Light it.” I hear the order and the crackle of flames as they begin to engulf the wood. She >
> except now, now she is a stranger and I cannot save her. I step forward, hand outstretched. Her breath hitches in desperate anticipation, tears falling. I am mere inches from her now, her head thuds on my chest and she relaxes, so confident I am here to save her. Perhaps, I am, perhaps it is love, after all. “Margeaux, look at me.” I cup her cheeks, silently, another tear rolls down my cheek as I compel her into a deep sleep, of dreams far far away so she cannot feel the flames licking at her>
> tear slides down my cheek. My heart thuds excessively remembering the way her warm breath tasted against my lips, the way my skin set afire after each touch. She had been my companion, teaching me patience, comfort when I believed I was destined for loneliness. ”Help me...” Only I can hear it. I waited and waited, reading her gaze. ’Why won't you help me?’ ’Please do something.’ ’Rebekah, please!’ I shiver, perhaps it is love, for I have studied her endlessly and I could spot her anywhere, >
> tear his heart from his chest and gift it to her as an apology. An act of love but I do not love this girl. I have lain with her many nights, I have caressed her flaxen curls, kissed her skin, mind and soul and promised her safety but I could never provide it, I could never give her my love. I have no space in my heart, Niklaus has it all.
”Rebekah...” She whispers, defeated. Head slumped, wrists and ankles tied to the pyre. I look up from where I'm standing, hair framing my face, a lone >
> My loyalties align with my family. To protect them, to promote our rising sovereignty, I must adhere to contracts. Extinguish those who pose a threat to the faction, the old blood runs through her veins.
”Please!”
”Please! Help me, please!”
She pleads, howling into the night, praying that her soul is delivered from this anguish. I watch on, focussing on the pyre built behind her. Her cries are quieted by a handler who strikes her across the face and for the briefest second, I wish to >
”Please!”
”Please! Help me, please!”
She pleads, howling into the night, praying that her soul is delivered from this anguish. I watch on, focussing on the pyre built behind her. Her cries are quieted by a handler who strikes her across the face and for the briefest second, I wish to >
> life. It is sad but I do not feel shame. Prospects for girls like her are non-existent, housewife, mother or victim to the whims of the ancestors. A pawn all of her life. I had saved her from a life of misery, only to gift her death, instead.
Slowly, like the scene before me moved in slow motion, hooded figures thicken the crowd, I among them, hooded, concealed, and it is then that all began to chant. . She is a sacrifice. One I had given to them neatly wrapped in a bow. Always and forever.>
> I grimace, briefly. She had fled the clutches of her father's control, straight into mine. I had spoken tales to her of great curiosities, the many countries I have fled to and from, the beauty of the Italian court, the riches of being Lady Rebekah de Guise. She had listened with wonder, susceptible to the romanticism of it and I too had briefly fallen in lust with the idea that she could love me as she loved the visions of my life. Alas, a head filled with fairy tales of finding the perfect >
> providing power and witness. She - Margeaux Angevine, a woman of twenty-four, a witch who had so much of her craft to learn, a girl whose eyes dart from one person to the next; her assailants’ hand so tight in her hair that her scalp must burn. I know so. These are my instructions; this is my orchestration. Whispers of her opposed crime spread through the cemetery like kisses on the breeze, they are awed that a mere French peasant seeking a promising life could possess evil within her. >
> over my shoulders, then, I had grimaced, I had cried and I had begged for Niklaus to save me and for brief moments I believed I needed him to save me, despite my ability to tear them all apart. I had watched them bound her wrists and clasp her shoulders, knees scraping at the ground beneath as she tirelessly fought against them, her cries replace those of mine. At every corner, witches from every area of New Orleans line the cemetery in formation, chanting in unison, the ancestors of each >