❝︎︎ the witch, the hybrid, and the vampire. what is this, narnia? ❞︎︎
────── 𝙄𝙉 𝙒𝙃𝙄𝘾𝙃,
her soulmates are brothers,
and the very two she's
supposed to hate.
【︎︎ niklaus mikaelson x fem!oc 】︎︎
【︎︎ elijah mikaelson x fem!oc 】︎︎
【︎︎ soulmate bo...
TRIGGER WARNING: depression, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, panic attacks, and overall terrible mental health, please be careful besties.
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note: jenna finding out about isobel happened PRIOR to girl's night. <3
—
Pain was so much worse than Eden remembered. She'd forgotten what it felt like to wake up catatonic. To cry herself to sleep and wish she'd died halfway through the night.
She'd forgotten how it grappled her bones and constrained her veins in a noose, hanging her in her own despair.
In a horrible sort of way, she missed it.
The dependability of pain was surer than that of pleasure.
Pleasure had come and gone through Eden's life. It slithered and snaked through her heart and sent it pulsating before the pain would come and stop the heartbeat entirely.
Pleasure was the preface of pain. The prologue to her own anguish. Pleasure longed for comfort but it never stayed long enough to find any. It scratched and clawed and beat down every possible sense of stability.
Pain comforted Eden.
It was a blanket. Cold and covered in holes, but there, nonetheless. Pleasure swooped in and patched up the holes but tore them bigger when it departed.
Pleasure was fleeting.
Pain never left.
Perhaps Eden was always meant to live in pain.
And loving Elijah was too pleasurable for her to keep.
—
Harry's face was deathly calm as she explained through her tears what happened.
After showing up in the middle of the night, sobbing into the floo and falling to the floor, Harry and Ginny pulled her between them and held her. They offered a calming drought and she cuddled between her friends as her heart ached.
They listened to her retelling and Ginny swore loudly, ranting about how she'd learned a particularly effective castration charm, but Harry was quiet.
Too quiet.
Eden understood the different levels to Harry's silence.
The first level was the most painful. He would drown out his loved ones and focus solely on his own self-hatred and grief. He'd lock himself in a room and let anger become him until the silence left and the pain quelled.
The second level was the quietest. It was an acceptance to the inevitability of his own self-sacrifice. A heroic escape to find peace in the raging world around him. A strong silence that loomed over his loved ones and quieted their own fears. It was the calm in the storm, the intelligent, observant, accepting silence. It was comforting and gentle and needed no words to fill the space.
