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littlegodzilla · 2 years ago

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Chapter 17 is coming!

Our Story.

Daryl Dixon x Wife / Daryl Dixon x Reader.

Series. Part 17.

Masterlist.

Warnings: Slow burn. Panic attacks. Feelings.

Words: 3700

Summary: You and Daryl run away together and find a empty cabin.

Taglist: @minervadashwood @green-eyedladywrites @livingdeadblondequeen @phoenixblack89

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Chapter 17: Alone.

You keep running, never looking back, your hands clasped together, Daryl squeezing yours so hard you feared he might break your fingers, but at no time did you ask him to stop, or to let go, you just kept running beside him, leaving the prison behind you.

Escaping from your home.

The survival instinct is the first thing that activates in both of you. Especially in him. With his mind on autopilot, he tracks and hunts everything he considers edible; squirrels, birds, even snakes. You've never eaten snake before, and it's certainly a morsel you wish you'd never eat again. Ever since the governor knocked down your defenses and destroyed the prison forcing you to run out of there, Daryl hasn't opened his mouth, always stuck in his head, lips pursed tightly together, face transformed into a grimace you can't read. He's dealing with the situation in his own way, or not dealing, just trying to bury it as deep as he can to forget it. It hurts you, you've both lost a lot of dear people, you wish he'd talk to you about it, but it's clearly not in his plans.

"Daryl..." You say one night, as the two of you stand by a fire you've lit, small and almost lifeless, just enough to warm you. "Maybe we should go back..."

He watches you silently as you chew what's left of the snake, you've finished your share, but it hasn't left a good taste in your stomach. You're still weak from the flu that hit you no more than a few days ago, you're stronger, that's for sure, but you still feel a little strange still. He doesn't say anything, he keeps eating and that bothers you, you feel like he's shutting down on you again.

"Daryl..." You insist. "Our companions may be looking for us..."

"There's nothing anymore, we're not coming back." He cuts you off instantly.

"You don't know that..."

"Neither do you." He grunts one last time and lies down on the floor to sleep.

For a moment you're tempted to get up and leave him there, if he doesn't want to find the others, you'll go alone, but not far away you hear thunder rumble and you both look up at the sky. At that time, the weather in Georgia is changeable and unstable, so you soon see the clouds begin to gather and darken. Daryl gets up from the campfire without a word, gathering his things to get going.

"Daryl, wait!" You ask him picking up your stuff as well to run after him.

The storm catches the two of you halfway through, walking through the woods to try to avoid it, but each time the rain is getting heavier, Daryl is ahead at a time and you realize you're having a hard time keeping up with him. The curtain of water is so dense that you suddenly feel alone. Your feet stop, panting and nervously, you look around.

"Daryl?"

But Daryl is not there. You are unable to detect him, between the deafening noise and the column of water that keeps falling on you, you feel isolated, lost, alone. Your pulse starts to race, your mind asks you to calm down and start walking again, but you have turned around so many times that you don't know where you have to go. The sky is so black you can't even be guided by the moon or the sun.

"Daryl!" You scream in a desperate attempt to make him hear you.

Your feet start moving with no concrete direction, the only thing in your mind is that you want to find the archer, make sure he's okay and get out of that hellish rain. It's not cold, but staying too long in the rain, even if it only drops the temperature slightly, could make you sick and that would be dangerous. You press your backpack against your body with all your might wanting to keep everything inside from getting wet. Suddenly, a strong grip on your shoulder startles you, out of instinct you grab your knife and turn quickly to face whatever is holding you, but another hand stops your attack, grabbing your wrist.

"Hey, hey, it's me. It's me." The growl of Daryl's voice instantly reassures you, even though it's still raining cats and dogs, you discover his form in front of you, his hair covering most of his face, but he's still managed to find you.

"I thought I'd lost you!" You shout above the noise of the rain and see him shake his head.

"Come on, I found a place." He tells you and takes your hand, guiding you through the trees and the storm.

You have to admit; he never ceases to amaze you, no matter the situation, Daryl always seems to find a solution, be prepared to deal with it and move on. That survival instinct so characteristic of his. Maybe it's the one good thing the Dixon family was able to teach him. Even if it sometimes came to blows. You take a deep breath walking faster to be almost glued to his back, even though you are holding hands, you still fear you might lose sight of him.

You don't know how long you walk or where to, for you the landscape doesn't seem to change, however, Daryl seems totally focused, with this rain the dead are the least threat, they too suffer the consequences on themselves, the hunter's mind is more concerned about yourselves, clothes soaked to the bone, no food, nothing to build a fire with. He fears you may relapse from your flu and now have nothing to save yourself with. He lost you for a few minutes, confident that you were right behind him, he picked up the pace wanting to find a safe place when he came upon that hut. At first his stomach clenched, it reminded him too much of where he came from, but it was all you had now. He turned to tell you that you would hang out there until the storm stopped and then he discovered he was alone.

Panic became a huge stone in his stomach. He looked around expecting to see you appear at any moment, perhaps protesting that he had gone too fast, that you had almost lost track of him.

Nothing.

His pulse quickened suddenly, breathing agitatedly like a cornered animal, trying to see you through the rain. Suddenly the sensation of the water falling on him chilled, even his skin tingled as if touched by acid. He shouted your name several times hoping for an answer not too far away. But you still did not appear.

Without further thought he entered the forest again, following your footsteps, trying to follow them. He felt stupid for a few seconds because he had never had problems in the forest. It was his best ally. Fuck at eight years old he had gotten lost in the woods and he knew how to get back home by himself, no one noticed his absence. The only person who cared was your sister when she came back to school and asked him how he had spent the weekend. Nothing else.

But at that moment he was not able to think clearly, his mind was divided, wanting to remember the way, and on the other hand just screaming at him:

Find her.

The anxiety and tension was building by the minute, feeling like he had lost himself.

"Daryl!"

Your voice sounds in the distance, he raises his head like a coyote in search of its prey, not far away, he distinguishes your silhouette not far from where he is, so he runs and grabs your shoulder. He must admit he feels a certain pang of pride when you turn around with your knife raised and he has to hold you by the wrist.

"Come on, I've found a place." He tells you and holds your hand to lead you back towards the hut.

You enter quietly and carefully, in case there is someone or some Walker inside that might truncate your plans, but you are strong, it is abandoned and there is nothing dangerous in it, except for all the dirt that surrounds it, but you are not going to get fussy about that. Daryl secures the doors and windows so that neither water nor cold can get in, also to protect you in case any Walkers show up. You clean the chimney and light a fire to keep warm as well as being able to dry your clothes.

"Look what I found." You say to him entering back into the hut with a box with several jars in it.

"Alcohol?" he smiles seeing the surprise on your face. "I would have been surprised if this place didn't have an illegal distillery," he says.

"Why do you say that?" You look at him curiously putting the box down on the table.

"This shack is exactly like my old man's. He distilled his own alcohol too, in a place like the shed you found."

"Oh..." You whisper suddenly feeling somewhat uncomfortable and sad to make him remember that. "We can wait out the storm a bit and be on our way."

"Nah, the weather's too rough, we'd better stay here until tomorrow. Make sure the storm passes completely."

You nod, crossing your arms not quite sure what to do. Daryl puts his crossbow aside, no longer worried that something might happen to you, everything is secure, the weather will calm down and the dead aren't going to come in. You see him heading down the corridor, curiously you follow him as he enters the different rooms, he seems to be looking for something, he takes several blankets out of the closets and you understand what he is doing, he is looking for dry clothes and something to cover you both and avoid the cold, so you decide to help him, between the two of you, you take out two thick blankets that will protect you from the change of weather due to the rain and some clothes. It's all men's clothing, but you find something that fits your shape, plus a thick, loose-fitting jacket.

"Do you mind if I keep it?" You say to Daryl showing him the jacket.

"Nah, keep it." He shrugs looking sideways at you.

You nod smiling and grab the rest of your clothes to head back towards the fireplace Daryl has lit and decide to undress before your partner returns so you don't put yourselves in an awkward situation. When Daryl returns to the main room where you are buttoning your temporary pants, he too has changed clothes, he is wearing a somewhat tight shirt over his biceps and jeans ripped at the knees, he walks barefoot, leaves his boots by the fire and sits down next to you.

"Do you want me to trim your sleeves?" you offer grabbing a pair of scissors you've found among the kitchen drawers, seeing that he nods.

You stand next to him giving the fabric a little snip before carefully cutting around his shoulder. Daryl's eyes are fixed on the fire, on the line of rope you've made between two chairs in front of the fireplace to place your clothes there, you've even left a hole for the archer's clothes, but he's left them in the other room. His saliva catches in his throat as his eyes search through all your clothes and discover your bra hanging next to your shirt. He tries to quickly avert his eyes from there, but curiosity gets the better of him; it's a basic, flesh colored, thin strapped bra, nothing flashy, which Daryl wants to understand, you're in the freaking apocalypse, who cares what your bra looks like or what color it is? Possibly your thought in looking for it is for comfort to hold your... he needs a second, he shakes his head wiping those thoughts from his mind because if he's honest, he thinks that bra is small for the size of your....

"Fuck..." He growls low and you jump up beside him.

"I'm sorry, did I cut you?"

"What?" He turns his head to discover you still sitting next to him.

"With the scissors... Did I cut you?" You ask him again pointing to the cut sleeve in your hand and the scissors. You wonder where his mind was to be so distracted.

"N-no... sorry, it wasn't that, just..." He shrugs, not sure what to say, he doesn't want to make you feel uncomfortable or have you think he's a pervert.

"Do you want me to cut your hair too?" you joke hearing him huff and turn away from you.

"Drop those scissors, woman." He warns you and a giggle escapes you.

You sit back down next to him and allow yourself to lean against his shoulder as you pick up two vials of the illegal alcohol and offer him one. Daryl is tempted to turn it down, alcohol has never been his best ally and he can be a real dick sometimes, but after everything that has happened to you guys in the last few days, he definitely needs a drink. You clink your flask against his in a toast and take a long swig.

"Shit..." You gasp grimace and cough a little.

"Too strong for you, princess?" he teases giving you the second swig.

"How can you just drink it like it's nothing?" You protest in a thread of a voice that makes him smile.

"I tell you, this place is like my father's old cabin, I'm used to it."

"Show-off." You stick your tongue out at him and go back to drinking. "God, I think my nose hairs are on fire." You confess after holding back a burp.

Daryl can't contain himself and lets out a long, loud laugh at your comment, you mimic him laughing heartily as well. Your body feels relaxed and your head feels a little dizzy, it's possible that the alcohol is taking its toll on your body. You stay like that for a few minutes, without saying anything, just drinking and eating some cans you found in the house, you leaning on his shoulder, he without moving an inch.

"Do you think we'll find them?" you say suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Who?" he asks, disoriented for a moment.

"Rick and the others..." You shrug. "I'm sure they escaped... I'm sure... maybe they went back to the prison..."

"What for? The Governor destroyed everything, it was full of Walkers, plus you don't know who else got out alive... it's stupid to want to go back..."

"But it was... our home, we can't think there's nothing left..."

"It's that there's nothing left! That...drone showed up with a tank and reduced everything to shit, captured Michonne, and Beth..." He bites his lip clenching the vial in his hand.

Daryl and Beth didn't have a great relationship, like with Carl and Sophia, Daryl cared and looked out for her, like the rest, but they didn't usually engage in great conversation, the archer had always had more affinity with Maggie, more trust with Hershel, but that didn't mean he didn't feel for the young woman's death, at the end of the day she was part of the group, she was family.

"I know, she didn't deserve what happened to her... she still had a lot to live for." You feel your voice shake a little and you sniffle through your nose, you're a little drunk, and the alcohol is making you sensitive. "Hey, did you finally tell them what you were working on?" you ask curiously.

Beth's boyfriend Zach was having a game with several other young men inside the prison, since Daryl didn't talk too much about his past life, they were trying to guess things about him, the last time she was attentive to their speculation, Zach was trying to figure out what the archer had worked on. Daryl smiles and shakes his head.

"There wasn't much to tell, I was never anything." He shrugs.

"That's not true..." You set your flask down on the table, Daryl mimics you and you settle back to look at him, he sits up better too and gives you a sidelong glance.

"Yes it is... my whole life I depended on Merle." He shrugs. "I followed him around like a dog looking for his approval." he sighed, beating and biting his lip. "When I met your sister, you, your family, I thought I could change, that I could leave the Dixon stigma behind and be someone, do something, but... then your sister died and I didn't..." He swallows hard, you continue to stare at him, letting him vent. "So I went back to where I thought I was supposed to be, in that crappy cabin with my dad, with Merle, being a Dixon..."

"Daryl that's not true, you're not...like your father. You never will be." You shake your head. "You're a good man Daryl, just because you're a Dixon doesn't mean you won't be, I think that stigma was lost on your father." Try to make him see. "Even Merle, his last will, although stupid and suicidal, was to take care of you and protect you...I never saw him that way because he always seemed willing to drag you into the bad stuff, but I think Merle always tried to take care of you, in his own way, but...I think he was trying." You try to smile to cheer him up a little more. "We all have our bad moments, our dark side, but the important thing is to come out of it and move on and you've done that, Daryl. You need to be proud of who you are."

Daryl needs a moment to process it, he feels a little overwhelmed by your words, but at the same time he feels his heart pounding, that you think that about him, it makes him feel good about himself, it makes him feel different, like he really is somebody. He smiles and stretches his arms towards you, you accept his invitation instantly and hug him giving you permission to kiss him on the cheek, you can feel his skin stretch under your lips in a smile.

"Zach thought I had been a homicide cop." He tells you again, changing the conversation and a laugh escapes you. "What, you think I don't look like one?"

"Yes, of course." You laugh again. "Homicide cop for squirrels." You joke again.

Daryl opens his eyes wide, pretending to be offended by your words, unfortunately you're unaware of the disadvantage you're at right now until Daryl catches your wrists with one hand and starts tickling you with the other. A squeak escapes your mouth, you squirm in his arms, but it's impossible to let go, the archer's grip is firm, though not intended to hurt you, as his fingers slide and sting across your belly and over your ribs sending cramps throughout your body making you giggle and squirm.

"Daryl, stop!" you laugh smacking yourself against his chest.

"Be a good girl and apologize for what you said." He orders you raising his voice a little over your laughter.

"Come on! I just don't..." But another chuckle nips your words in the bud. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry! Zach's right, homicide cop looks good on you!" you laugh and move around trying to run from his hands, Daryl stops his torture and you take a shaky breath.

"Such a good girl." He smiles, voice turning to a growl.

You stare at each other, one hand clinging to your waist as his grip on your wrists loosens. You feel your heart beat a single hard beat before it begins to pound. You see Daryl's eyes dilate but you're sure yours are too. Your hair stands on end as his fingers brush against the bare skin of your waist, his thumb very slowly caressing your side. Daryl releases your wrists completely as he leans into you, you stretch your neck towards him, your noses brushing.

CRACK!

You both jump in place, skin crawling with shock, your eyes looking around you, alert. Daryl gets up like a spring, running away from the situation, making sure everything is all right. You follow shortly after, grabbing his crossbow in case he needs it, using it as a prop to hide the trembling in your knees. Daryl is looking out the window, but seems calm.

"Walkers?" You ask with concern.

"Nah, the storm has increased the wind speed and snapped off a branch, but it didn't break the glass." He shrugs. "The branch strengthens the crystal for us, no problem."

"Well, then..." You rub your lips nervously. "Maybe we should try to sleep?"

"Yes, if the storm has passed tomorrow we'll go out and look for the others." He mutters and you look at him in surprise, then smile.

"Great... good thing we'll be able to sleep in a decent bed for a day." You smile again, but Daryl shakes his head once more.

"Nah, you go and sleep, I'll take first watch."

"But... you said there's no danger... we can both sleep."

"There's no danger, but I don't want to let my guard down either, go and rest." He insists taking his crossbow from between your hands.

"Okay, but let me know to change shifts, you need to sleep too." He warns you. "If you don't wake me up I'll kick you in the balls." You threaten him.

"Okay, now go to bed."

"Well... good night, Daryl."

"Good night, little girl."

You wander down the small hallway to enter one of the bedrooms, the sheets and mattress don't look very hygienic but after spending time sleeping on the floor or in a poorly made tent, that's like heaven. You sigh and lie down on the bed trying to sleep, but your heart is pounding so hard you're afraid you won't be able to fall asleep.

Daryl in the main room sits back down on the floor, leaning against the old worn out couch, closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face. what the hell just happened?

"Shit..." He grunts as he squeezes his crotch with his other hand and feels a cramp of pleasure run up and down his spine.

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r-memberme · 16 hours ago

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ever yours, ever mine | k.m part IV

⎯⎯"You're real." It was a whisper, a breath, a plea.

warnings: none I think

The year was 1720, and the world had grown colder in more ways than one. Snow stretched across the Italian countryside like an unbroken canvas, white and u nyielding, muffling the sounds of the world beneath it. It was a winter that bit deep, that settled in the bones, that made even the stars seem more distant.

And she had been searching.

For years now, she had followed whispers, traced shadows, pursued ghosts of his presence across Europe. The nights blurred together, marked only by the names of places she had passed through—villages tucked into the mountains, cities bustling with life and laughter that she no longer recognized as her own. Each town brought the same routine: quiet inquiries, casual conversations laced with hidden desperation, eyes scanning the crowds for something—someone—that had been lost to her.

They spoke of him in fragments. A man with golden curls and a temper like fire. A traveler who never seemed to belong anywhere. A ghost in his own right, always leaving before his name could settle into the bones of a place.

She had followed him like a story unraveling before her, a thread she could not let go of. Until now.

Now, she was close. She felt it in the marrow of her bones, in the pull of something unspoken, something that had bound them together long before the first taste of immortality.

༊*·˚

The courtyard was abandoned, swallowed by the cold. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and ice, the lanterns casting a soft, amber glow on the snow. There, in the distance, stood Klaus. His back was to her, his silhouette dark against the pale landscape, but there was no mistaking him. She had searched for him long enough to recognize the shape of his presence in the world.

For a long moment, she simply stood there, the cold sinking into her skin, her heart thundering. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Then, slowly, he turned.

His eyes caught hers before he even saw her face, and it was as if time itself snapped to a halt. For a beat, his expression faltered—eyes widening, a tremor in his breath, a brief flash of disbelief that shattered whatever walls had been built in the years between them. His lips parted, but no words came.

He had changed, and yet—he hadn’t. The years had carved something sharper into his face, an edge to his features that hadn’t been there before. His hair was longer, curling unruly against the collar of his coat, and there was a weight in his stance, as if he had spent too many years carrying something too heavy to set down.

Her heart echoed in the empty space between them, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Not yet.

His gaze locked onto her, and the world between them seemed to narrow, shrinking until there was only the two of them, suspended in the heavy silence. His breath, shallow and erratic, curled in the air, a storm inside him he could not calm.

His body tensed, as if he was fighting to keep himself tethered to the earth, to the moment. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, as if reaching for something to hold onto, to anchor himself.

She felt it then—felt the weight of everything between them, the centuries of pain and separation, the burning desire to reach out and bridge the gap that had torn them apart. The snow fell around them in thick, soft flurries, but it couldn’t numb the sharp intensity of the moment.

And then, a breath—his first full one—shuddered from his chest, and he took a step forward, tentative, as if afraid that if he moved too quickly, she would vanish, a ghost carried away on the wind.

But she didn’t move. She stayed. She was here.

Another step. And then another, until he was standing before her, close enough to feel the heat of his body, to see the way his eyes—those same eyes, the ones that had haunted her every night—widened in disbelief. His gaze flitted over her face, her hair, as though trying to piece her together like a memory too precious to lose again.

A breath—sharp, unsteady—left his lips, half a laugh, half something else. He looked away for only a second, as if grounding himself, as if convincing himself she was real. And then, when his gaze met hers again, there was something in it—something raw, something unspoken, something that had lived in the spaces between them for far too long.

His chest heaved with the effort to speak, but no sound came. He reached out then, hands trembling, as though testing the air around her, as though afraid to touch her, afraid to break whatever fragile reality this was.

The only sound in the air was the crunch of the snow beneath his boots, a stark contrast to the aching silence that settled between them.

And then, finally, his voice broke through, hoarse and raw, like a man on the edge of something too powerful to name.

"You're real." It was a whisper, a breath, a plea.

His eyes never left hers as his hand reached for her, fingers trembling. He paused, just shy of her skin, as if his touch might undo everything, might shatter this fragile moment of reunion.

And she stayed still, let him touch her sleeve, the fabric cold beneath his fingers. He exhaled sharply, a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and in that moment, she felt it—everything he had buried, every emotion he had suppressed, all crashing to the surface. His walls, once so ironclad, crumbled at her feet.

She could see it now, the raw, desperate yearning in his gaze, the disbelief that she could be standing here, in front of him, real and alive. And as she met his gaze, all the words that had been left unsaid between them hung in the air, thick and heavy, impossible to ignore.

And then, finally, his voice broke again, this time steadying, but still haunted.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, his voice like the rustle of leaves in the dead of night, filled with something impossible to decipher.

Her breath hitched. He was right. She should have been gone, lost to the past, to death.

But she wasn’t. She was here.

“I always knew I’d find you,” she whispered.

Klaus’s hand finally closed around her sleeve, gripping it as though it were a lifeline. His thumb brushed against the fabric as if to reassure himself that she was real, that she was here. And then, slowly, he dragged her into his arms, pulling her against him with a force that almost took her breath away.

The moment they touched, everything seemed to shift. All the years, the endless searching, the silence of the past—they melted away in the heat of his embrace. His hands roamed over her back, pulling her closer, grounding himself in the feel of her presence, as if afraid that if he let go, she would slip away like a dream.

Her breath caught in her throat as his lips brushed against her hair, a wordless plea for her to stay.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered against her skin, the tremor in his voice sending shivers down her spine.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into him, her own hands pressing into his coat, trying to steady the frantic pulse in her chest. "I never left," she murmured, her voice soft, her lips brushing against his neck.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. It was as if the world had disappeared entirely, leaving only the two of them, the cold snow swirling around them like a dream.

Klaus pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his hands gently cradling her face, as though she might slip away at any moment. His touch was so tender, it carved a new ache into her heart. His gaze lingered on her, dark with something unspoken, as if he was trying to imprint this moment into his very soul.

She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing the fabric of his coat. The touch was light, almost hesitant, as if testing if he would disappear again. But he didn’t. He stood solid, as if he had been waiting for her all this time.

Klaus stood before her, his chest rising and falling as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. His gaze never left hers, a mixture of disbelief and raw emotion flickering in his eyes.

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved, as though the world itself had paused, holding its breath along with them.

Her heart beat in time with his, each moment stretching out between them, thick with everything that had passed, everything that had been lost. And yet, here they were, together.

She pressed her forehead to his, the cold air mingling with the warmth between them. “I’m here,” she whispered again, a vow in her tone, though no words were truly needed.

Klaus’ eyes searched hers, as if he were trying to convince himself this was real, that she hadn’t been a dream, a vision born from the longing that had consumed him for centuries. He didn’t speak—couldn’t—his lips parting in silent reverence.

༊*·˚

The night was still, suffocating in its quiet, the air cold and sharp as they walked through the winding, snow-covered path. The weight of the world seemed to settle between them, but no words were exchanged. The mansion loomed in the distance—a shadow against the pale light of the moon. Klaus’s figure was a silhouette beside her, the cloak of the night wrapping around them both like a second skin.

The trees creaked in the wind, their limbs like twisted fingers reaching out for the heavens, but all that existed for her was the sound of her own breath, shallow and uneven. She could still feel the tremors in her chest, the magic stirring beneath her skin, tugging her in strange directions, and Klaus’s presence beside her seemed to amplify it.

They walked in silence, the crunch of their boots against the snow the only sound that seemed real. She could feel the pull of his gaze, his eyes constantly scanning her face, yet he never said a word. The distance between them stretched, but the air between them crackled, thick with things left unsaid.

Finally, they reached the gates of the mansion—an imposing structure, dark and ancient, the ivy creeping up its stone walls like an old, forgotten memory. The mansion looked as though it had been standing for centuries, its windows dark and lifeless, its doors silent.

Klaus stopped in front of the massive door, his hand hovering over the handle for a moment. He turned to her, the weight of something unspeakable in his gaze. But before she could speak, before either of them could say anything to shatter the silence, he opened the door with a creak, leading them into the vast, dimly lit foyer.

Inside, the mansion felt alive in its stillness—its grand halls, adorned with portraits of people long gone, the cold stone floors beneath their feet. The flickering glow of candlelight cast shadows on the walls, dancing with a strange grace. It was a place suspended in time, a place where everything seemed to exist in a haunting, forgotten moment.

And as Klaus stepped across the threshold, she couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was happening to her, whatever was changing, would only escalate in this place

Her heart pounded in her chest, a steady rhythm that she couldn’t seem to escape. She had come back to him, to Klaus, but there was something in the air that felt different—darker, heavier, as if the very atmosphere trembled with the weight of secrets long buried.

What she didn’t know, what Klaus hadn't told her, was that his hands were stained deeper than she could ever imagine. His mother—Esther—had fallen at his own hands, a betrayal she would never understand. His siblings, too. He had killed them, each one, and the monster that now resided in him was born from their blood. His soul was haunted by their screams, by the weight of the deaths he had caused. And every night, he was reminded, the guilt pulling him deeper into madness.

But she had no idea.

As for her—something was happening to her body. The spell, the magic that had twisted her fate, was tearing through her from the inside. Her veins burned, her breath came in quick, shallow gasps. She felt a hunger, a gnawing need she couldn't understand. Bloodlust. It surged through her like a fire, hot and uncontrollable, and the world around her shifted, colors becoming sharper, smells becoming unbearable. She could feel something new in her—something dangerous.

Her vision blurred as her senses exploded, her body fighting against the magic coursing through her veins, and for the first time in centuries, she felt like she was alive… too alive. Desperation clawed at her, and she looked to Klaus, her chest tight, but there was nothing in his eyes that could help her.

Before she could speak, a sudden roar of pain tore through her, her skin scorching, and she fell to her knees, the world spinning. And then, as her vision swam with darkness, she realized—she had no idea what she had become.

its no secret that I listened to "would you fall in love with me again" by Jorge Rivera-Herrans and Anna lea over and over again while writing this 🥹

Sorry for the long wait on this one! it has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for a while and I kept going back to it almost everyday, but now im done with this part and satisfied with the final product! I hope you guys enjoy this part of ever yours, ever mine.

taglist: Taglist: @heretic-gf @myworldrightnow @deactiveblogx @witch-of-letters

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