Aaron Salvatore and Hope Mikaelson. They were a force that should never be challenged. They were the best of friends since their dads were best friends. After Hope's dad died, Hope pushed everyone away. Except Aaron.
All Aaron had wanted was to fol...
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
Inside a worn down house that lived in a dense forest, the silhouette of a hooded figure was sat in front of a fireplace as an old school, beaten up record player had I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire playing, the song playing at a slightly deeper and slower pace. The figure held up their hand to show an arrow held in their grasp. The sharp arrowhead pointed up towards the ceiling as the figure twirled the arrow slowly. Long, black raven feathers sat at the base of the arrow, attached with a scrap piece of twine. The figure flipped the arrow around before picking up a small wooden bowl holding a thick black mixture.
The figure dipped the arrowhead into the mixture before stirring it around, coating the metal point well. The figure pulled the arrow out of the mixture and watched as it sizzled into the metal, turning the silver colour into an obsidian black. A twig snapping outside caused the figure's head to snap towards the front door. The front door had scratches running down the wood from top the bottom, some deeper than others and some longer than others.
Blood stains were blotted around the wood with different runic symbols carved into the wood. As the music continued to play, the hooded figure stood up from the worn out couch they were sat on before grabbing a bow and a quiver of arrows all identical to the one they were holding. The figure made their way to the front door as they placed the arrow they were holding onto their bow. Once they reached the door, they looked out the window towards the dark surroundings and watched a blur run through the bushes. The figure's jaw clenched before slowly backing away from the door, placing the arrow back into the quiver and walking back towards the couch.
Once they sat down, they stared at the orange flames dancing on top of the charred wooden logs. They stared into the bright light and titled their head to the side and watched the fire become a vibrant hue of purple. The figure let out a quiet sigh before looking back over at the front door and seeing it wide open, letting a bone chilling breeze sweep through the house. The figure reached under the couch cushion they were sat on and pulled out a Colt M1911A1. The figure pulled back the hammer of the gun before standing up, walking towards the door and closing it quickly. The thing was the door's lock didn't work. So, the figure had to carve different barrier runes into the wood. The only downside to them was that it only kept things out that existed in that plane of existence. The figure cocked their gun slightly before quickly spinning around and shooting their last bullet.
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
