mercy <<>> the originals

seven

| enamor (v): to fill or inflame with love; to captivate |

   MERCY FOLLOWED NOAH through the trees, finding Elijah's silent, brooding presence behind them both calming and annoying. She understood why he had to come, she had been the one to offer it to him in the first place after all, but that didn't mean that she was elated by Noah's lack of speech. She wasn't sure whether or not it was because of her, or because of Elijah, but either way, she could feel her palms sweating.

She tried to focus on the nature around them, feeling the spirits of the wolf ancestors everywhere she looked. It seemed like the bayou had once been a werewolf kingdom, and now, as she looked around at the barren civilization, she knew that they had dwindled into nothing but broken pieces of what was once a prosperous community. She wished that she could've been able to see it, but she was only reminded of what once was by those who had ruled before.

She didn't understand her role in the werewolf community, especially when the wolf ancestors constantly reminded her that, as she got older, her role would eventually change. What she would change into, she wasn't sure, but she tried to focus on the present instead of worrying about the future. She knew that would only get her more frustrated than the lack of answers.

So, she focused on Noah, on the way that he stepped so cautiously between sticks and patches of grass. She saw the way that he would brush the leaves away from bushes and trees so that Mercy could step through, unscathed. She watched as, every so often, when it felt like the quietness was deafening, Noah would look over his shoulder from where he walked, and he would smile at her.

She wondered what her Uncle Elijah thought about all of these things, because she knew that he had caught onto them as well.

She shook her head, and just when she was about to open her mouth to ask Noah how much longer they would need to walk, he spoke up.

"We're here," he said, gesturing to the cabin in front of them. It was almost completely covered with vines, using the trees to blend in. She could see the top of the house peek through the leaves above them, and a small, circular window that showed nothing of the inside. Should she have stumbled upon the house, she wouldn't have thought anyone still lived there. In all honesty, it looked rather run down.

But, she ignored this and focused on the small details that provided a sense of life to the otherwise desolate house. There was a porch that wrapped around the side of the house, and she could see some sort of swinging bed there, pillows askew from the wind or other harsh weather. She also saw flowers in the windowsill, the yellow color signaling that there had once been love there as well.

She wondered why they had let the outside be overtaken by nature, but she reminded herself that they, as werewolves, were outnumbered in the wars that seemed to always plague New Orleans. This facade was the only way to stay hidden and by extension, stay safe. She reminded herself that Noah was the same age as her, so it wouldn't be too farfetched to say that his uncle came here of all places to keep him protected.