Blue ▹ The Originals [2]

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
BEIGE DREAMLAND

"There is no sinner like a young saint."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     The only thing Henrik could hear was shouting.

The thing about their predicament was that they were bound to the house and the surrounding property, but nothing existed after that. If any of them dared to step even an inch across the property line, they ended up back in that garden in front of the house, transported back there by the magic keeping their souls and minds trapped in the place. Henrik couldn't escape from the shouting no matter how much he tried—and he had tried many, many times. Henrik had counted three days—going by the clock mounted on the wall, since night didn't exist inside Freya's pastel dreamland—before the arguing and shouting started. Henrik had been part of the arguing at first. It was always over petty things—Kol knocked into him, or Rebekah complained about something small—but once Kol and Rebekah started fighting, Henrik found himself more annoyed at how loud they were. Eventually, the fighting went from being about petty things to being about bad blood between the siblings that had never been resolved.

Henrik didn't know how long they had been in the Chambre de Chasse, as he had stopped keeping track of the hours a week into their stay, but considering he had the urge to bang his head against the wall, he figured they had been inside of it for a very long time. He didn't know what Freya was thinking, putting them all in a house together with no possible escape, but he supposed that wasn't her fault. She had been running low on time and Henrik hadn't been any help in the matter, too busy going in and out of consciousness on the couch.

He rolled out of his bed and threw his bedroom door open so hard it banged loudly against the wall. Kol and Rebekah's shouting didn't even pause. Rubbing at his temples, he leapt down the stairs, intent on telling Rebekah and Kol to shut the hell up. Judging from where the yelling was coming from, they were in the useless kitchen ( as there was no food where they were ) but as Henrik started making his way toward it, he saw that the music room's door was closed. It was usually wide open, as all of his siblings came and went. He turned on his heel and changed his direction, choosing to slide the double doors open. Elijah was there, sitting at the piano with an open bottle of bourbon on the shiny surface. Elijah was pressing keys randomly, like he was trying to decide which song to play. There was sheet music and a pencil beside the bourbon, so Henrik could only assume he was trying to write a song and was coming up unsuccessful. Henrik, personally, blamed the two siblings who always argued the most.

He stepped into the room, finally making Elijah glance up at him. Henrik smiled at him, though it went away quickly. Letting out a small tired sigh, Henrik closed the door to the music room and walked toward Elijah, plopping down on the piano bench beside Elijah and reaching for the bourbon, taking a long gulp and wincing as it went down. Elijah clicked his tongue in disapproval. Drinking alcohol did absolutely nothing in their imaginary world, but Henrik liked the burn of it as it slid down his throat, despite knowing that it was fake.

"Don't judge," Henrik mumbled as he put the bottle down. "You're tired of hearing them argue, too." Elijah hummed under his breath and pressed a random key on the piano. The note did very little to drown out the yelling, and Elijah's following sigh echoed Henrik's own.

"They truly are testing my patience," Elijah drawled, shifting on the bench and straightening his spine. Henrik saw him stretch out his fingers before he worked to roll the sleeves of his shirt up his arms. He was going to play. Henrik hoped it wasn't anything exciting, as loud, fast music would do nothing but annoy him further. To his relief, when Elijah pressed the first note, he recognized it as a soft lullaby and quickly relaxed.