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THE NIGHT WAS PEACEFUL, tranquility permeating the comfortable atmosphere. It was silent, yes; but it radiated an air of serenity throughout the vast stretch of the compound. Well, until the raging crimson blur that is Rosalie Monet came bounding out of the Mikaelson mansion.
The brunette held a cellphone to her ear, nearly barking out orders to the device. Frustration seeped through her features, the red gown she wore intensifying the angry expression on her face. It was frightening how someone could seem like an angel one moment, then turn into something that could make the devil run for his money the next. Her straight posture, her confident strides, and the aura of authority she held was something else.
She looked like the embodiment of power.
"I swear to God, Jacob," she snarled, "If you don't find my Fiji before I return, I'm gonna do things that will give you nightmares."
Rosalie was having a good time with Nik. They had just finished dancing, and Alaska had excused her to talk to some townsfolk. It was a very lovely time for them to catch up and tell each other stories. The brunette received a phone call amidst it all, so here she was. The youngest Monet had just called in the middle of the night, telling her that he brought the puppy to the Gilbert's, but was now nowhere to be found. It was still unknown as to how exactly it happened, but Rosalie was no doubt furious.
"Why didn't you close all the doors?" she asked, palming her forehead at the reply her brother gave her. "Okay, Jake? Just, I don't know, search the street? He probably didn't go far. I'm sure he'll return."
After a few more exchanges, Rosalie hung up. She walked along the concrete path for a bit, sighing to herself as she allowed her mind to drown in her own thoughts.
The concept itself was ridiculous. It was preposterous, really! But she could not, for the life of her, stop thinking about him. How can someone, who has been used to doing things with laser focus and incredible attention, have fallen so far? Everything she didㅡeating, conversing with friends, even the act reading a bookㅡit was all infiltrated with the ineffable beauty and mystery of Nik Mikaelson.
It's not like she wants to think about him. For some perplexing cause, an odd voice at the back of her mind frequently hummed with the deafening whisper of his name, begging for recognition. It drove her crazy, of course, for she was ever so accustomed to being freely engrossed in her daily musings.
Rosalie huffed softly and rubbed her hands repetitively along her exposed arms. She was extremely grateful that her knuckles were no longer injured. Her mother had also cheered that she would be able to play the piano again after removing the bandages. Although this was the case, the brunette knew that she would punch that psychopathic idiot all over again. Shaking her head, Rosalie tried to rid her mind of the negativity that came with Stefan Salvatore.
