Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
(𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗢𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝘀; 1x6)
..••°°°°••..
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more."
Emery Aeureus Ambrosius was no stranger to night terrors; no stranger to death and destruction, nor to torture. She had seen it all, the good, the bad, and the ugly that the world had to offer. She had sat beside notorious poets, writers, kings, and queens and watched as they worked, wallowed, and chuckled. She had smiled, so bright and wide that it made her jaw ache all while sipping on a goblet of mulled wine and fraternizing with all sorts. No-one ever questioned her. She never wanted them to, but when the doors closed and the candles went out, she allowed for the bitterness to swallow her whole, for the envy that bled in her heart to have its time. It left her crippling, trying to find anything at the bottom of a bottle only for the inevitable disappointment and anger.
It was way past midnight, nearing the early hours of the morning, and she hadn't slept other than when she involuntarily passed out. She sat, curled up on the sofa in the living room, an untouched cold tea on the table and an abandoned leather book beside it while her golden eyes bore at the hailstorm courtesy of her magic. She didn't bother to stop it but instead welcomed the shivers trailing up her spine.
It had come to the point that she feared closing her eyes, knowing what awaited her. It had become that time when she felt utterly hopeless, overtired, and heavy-hearted that she was ready to drown in a bottle of the closest booze until she was falling, falling, falling. It was technically sleeping in a way, and she always woke with a pounding migraine. She welcomed it, relished in the aches that tore her away from the sorrow, even if it was for a little while.
As it was, she'd enforced the rule that if she couldn't drink, neither could anyone else in the household. Klaus had actually pouted, but nonetheless agreed and thrown out every bottle. Right now, she hated herself for it. Hated that she found herself caught up in this bullshit too. Every part of her wanted to run, to scream her fucking lungs out, just to drown but not before decimating a forest with a scream that made ears from the other side of the world bleed.
