metanoia ; [ n.mikaelson]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀an understanding of sorts

o. an understanding of sorts
" 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 "

The car drums unobtrusively in the dark night, Niklaus's red convertible glistens like slickwater off alabaster and gleams in the gloaming light of the obscure luna and drizzle shower skies.

⠀⠀Old indie music resounds mellow harmonies from the automobile aux and I find the abandoned highway smooth and quiet.

⠀⠀Everything seems louder at night, I think morosely, the pitter-patter of rain mist frolicking deftly with the cloudbursts and pavements, each tinge of sorrow a child feels as their masterpiece on the chalked side-walks obliterates, the way the sun sets far too late on the horizon, how it barely caresses the moon and instead engulfs it, not a bit of fragility in the proficient routine they continuously dance.

⠀⠀Despite this, I adore the twilight, the feeling of luminescence against her skin, penetrating her flesh with specks of planetoid dust and lumps of twinkler pigment.⠀It's captivating, the luna washing your hair in its cool gales, undoing the must and rust one gathers on the usual summer's day.

"It seems as though we've found our first," He hums, looking over from the driver's side with a smirk - it should unsettle me. But it doesn't.

"Huh?" I ask, eyes never leaving the stars as I try to trace shapes and constellations with my finger.

"The night, you've found something to live for." He's far too proud of himself.

"I love the twilight, but that is no reason to suffer alive." Placing my hands in my lap I stare ahead at the empty road, lost in thought.

It has been a few hours driving since I was sat in that lake, happily drifting into the world unknown. Yet now all I see is road and patches of thick forest and dewy grass. This was most definitely a bad idea, getting in a car with a strange man with curly hair and mischevious eyes, but I couldn't help myself. Truth be told perhaps I wanted to live - all I needed was a reason to do so. And this man promised me that. It had to be fate.

I turn back towards him when silence follows, he's gripping the wheel tightly.

"Where are we going Nklaus?"

A smirk overtakes his face and a malevolent glint in his eye makes me sit up straighter, back pressed against the black leather seat, his jacket still laying simple over my shoulders and the wet nightgown at my feet.

"Do you believe in vampires, Henrietta?" Niklaus's eyes lock eyes with mine and bile rises to my throat, but I don't back down. I won't. He decides my silence is an invitation for him to continue, "The creatures that haunt the night and lurk on unassuming innocents? They live of blood and the fear they put in others, live off the high of draining a human until they're limp and lifeless on the ground."

My heart pounds, his ears perk, my cheeks drain of color.

"Does that scare you?"

"Yes."

The car slows and my hand snatches at the handle, eyes locked with his.

To be at peace is an anomalous thing, it leaves you both relaxed and agitated; an unusual blend of sensations for one to be feeling concurrently. Despite these discordant emotions you still strive to be at peace, to be disencumbered of whatever trepidations plague your senses and infect your sanity. But peace isn't invariably a good thing, no it can be more detrimental than the perturbations themselves. Peace puts you into a false sense of security, promising you all the phenomena in which it cannot provide. It leaves you wanting more, craving its fabricated safety more than anything else in the world. That is why it's more perilous than any other thing, it takes away your guard and leaves you vulnerable. Vulnerable to the world's clandestine atrocities, the veiled monsters that don't just reside in your closet, but among you.

I guess it's my fault this is happening.

Tonight was peaceful, this man and his calm voice and promising words made it peaceful.

Now I was the sucker.

The door unlocks with a quick flick of Niklaus's wrist and I snap my head to him.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you a choice."

I don't ask what. His eyes give it all away.

Will I stay with him? Will I trust him despite what he's told me? Or will I run?

I stay seated, clicking the lock back and place and buckling my seatbelt.

A beat passes before I talk.

"Tell me more."

And he does.

Every grimy detail of his past, every supernatural he's ever slaughtered for no reason other than own his sick enjoyment. Every time his father beat and battered him. Every time he daggered his own siblings. His paranoia and fear of abandonment.

"I'm sorry." I say flatly, not knowing what to say as I process all things original and supernatural, "but thank you for telling me."

"Quite frankly I don't know why I did." His cheeks dust a rosey color, "perhaps after a thousand years of being alone, finding someone just as broken as me makes me wants to share these things."

I smile, 'Did you just call me broken?"

"I-I what? No!" He stutters out, "I just - I just meant we're similar."

Rolling my eyes I place my hand on his, "I know."