Dancing After Death: Kol Mikaelson

01: And The Ghost Smiled In Return

001. AND THE GHOST SMILED IN RETURN
there are wounds that never show on the body / that are deeper and more hurtful / than anything that bleeds — ʟᴀᴜʀᴇʟʟ ᴋ. ʜᴀᴍɪʟᴛᴏɴ, ᴍɪsᴛʀᴀʟs ᴋɪss

*

I never have been able to clearly distinguish the moment that my mind abandoned complete rationality in favour for a decent into a boundless pit of perpetual derangement. I think perhaps I have always been this way; stuck floating endlessly in a void wherein if at any moment the mechanics faulted I would plummet into the infinite unknown, into an everlasting state of insanity.

The first memory that comes to mind when discussing the topic of the fragility of the mind, is sharp and invades my senses as I'm transported back into the moment. The friction from the slide burning my elbow, the sun so piercing it felt as if my eyes were evaporating, the blood running down my knee from broken glass, the rush of adrenaline as the snake three feet in front of me would not stop its advancement. The way that its fangs elongated into knives, its body was revealed to be ten times my height and just as thick, its scales as thick as pennies, shining gold and sparkling blood, and its jaw unhinged to reveal it could swallow me whole. I remember it slithered through the glass, through the mulch, through the bushes, as if I were the only thing that existed to it, as if there were no one else, as if I were fated to be the prey, forever haunted by its poisoned existence.

It disappeared a few moments after I'd felt its fangs sink into my flesh, and the tears had been running down my face (and my throat had been hoarse from screaming) for a few moments before Sheila had determined that something was wrong. She had wrapped me up in her arms and rocked me side to side until I had fallen into a deep sleep with my cheeks still wet from the tears that wouldn't stop. I don't remember anything after that, except I had woken up in the hospital chair of the waiting room, consciousness greeting me as William (Billy, as I'd come to know him- my adopted brother) relentlessly shook my shoulder with a bright grin. Sammy, the son of my adoptive parents -despite being born premature, had come into the world with little to no complications.

Despite Belladonna and Griffin not being my true blood, nothing would ever stop me from considering Sammy as my younger brother. Everything that we'd been through – the drunken oblivion that Griffin had sunken into after his accident at the factory that had left him retiring early, the abandonment we'd experienced on behalf of Donna and Billy when they'd left our family for a quieter life by an unspecified shore after they couldn't take his neglect and abuse, resulted in me being left to raise him. Not that I had nor ever would complain – Sammy was my life, my whole reason of living. I took on the responsibility and became the unannounced head of the household. Sammy was my best friend, and though looking after him was easier than I initially thought it would be,  I was also tasked with the job of hiding Griffin's incompetence, which made life far more difficult. If it was discovered what had become of him... there was no telling what would happen to Sammy and I. I didn't even want to think about it.

Despite this, despite the many tragic circumstances that I could use to open this story, the true beginning of this story starts, I suppose; on the night that our good friend, the Sheriff, arrived on the doorsteps of our home.

The sky was dark, with the shadowed clouds such a deep grey that it almost seemed like it was night, despite it being only four o'clock in the afternoon. The thunder rumbled, angry and ferocious, with an intensity that shook the house. The rain had been falling in sheets, and had been consistent for the entire day. Areas of Mystic Falls had flooded, with the empty solo cups and broken glass bottles blocking the drainage system that would have otherwise kept the streets drivable.