Birds Of A Feather || N. Mikaelson

⊳⊳4⊲⊲

❝And that's when she put her book down. And looked at me. And said it: "Life isn't fair, Bill. we tell our children that it is, but it's a terrible thing to do. It's not only a lie, it's a cruel lie. Life is not fair, and it never has been, and it's never going to be.❞
— William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

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Romania, 1491

"The Ghostess," Niklaus spoke, leaning back in his wooden chair with a cup of wine in his hand, "is supposedly here."

Elijah leaned against the table, looking at the maps and notes his brother had scrawled. The clean script that swirled across the pages. "So we've heard, Niklaus."

The bastard sighed, running his hand through his long hair as he placed his cup down. The wine swished dangerously and a droplet flew out, landing on the desk. "She could just be a myth. We've been hearing about her since we turned and that . . . that is impossible. Mother made vampyrs, they didn't exist before us."

Elijah agreed, sitting down in his own seat. "I'm aware, brother. Yet, the bodies and gore say that she exists. She could be something else." He tilted his head, studying Klaus who looked angry. He always looked angry when they spoke of the famed murderer that seemed at least as old as them.

It was impossible, though.

"There's nothing else. Witches, vampyrs, dopplegangers, and werewolves. That is the list. That is what exists." Klaus threw his hands up, staring up at the ceiling of the manor they had taken over. "How have we never ran into her?"

Elijah paused and stared at the wall, his eyebrows knitted together. "There may be more than that list, we may just not know it yet. Maybe we have ran into her. Maybe we didn't realize?"

Klaus shook his head, standing up to examine his notes, his maps. There were dots on the map for all the places she had been sighted and stars for all the places she had killed. Lots of dots and stars overlapped.

"I want to meet this immortal murderess. I want to meet the one who's name brings fear to one's eyes." Klaus looked at Elijah, his lip curling slightly as he barked the next words, "And I want to either kill her or," he chuckled vaguely, "court her. She is impressive, dangerous, and a threat to our family."

Elijah stayed silent. He'd heard this talk so many times over the years. The Ghostess was a psychopath the likes of Klaus Mikaelson. She was vicious, brutal, and incredibly deadly. Towns she visited rarely remained standing; Elijah had seen the bodies himself.

"She must be eradicated or controlled." 

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Roxanne lounged on a chaise in the Salvatore boarding house, her gray eyes watching the two vampires who stared at her. They had invited her over after seeing the spat she'd had with the Mikaelson boys during lunch.

Damon was tall and fit, with raven black hair and piercing blue eyes. He didn't look Italian, he was pale and very American. Stefan, on the other hand, showed more of his heritage. His skin was a soft tan and he had hazel eyes and perfectly coiffed, dirty blonde hair.

They were attractive, but too young for Roxanne's taste. Baby vampires in comparison to the Mikaelsons.

She examined her nails, painted a baby blue to contrast the usually dark colors she wore. She studied them for cracks or chips, her long legs crossed over the arm of the chaise.

Feeling Damon's eyes on her, Roxanne sighed and looked up at him. "You invite a girl over and don't even have the manners to speak. Talk, Salvatores." She stretched across the couch, her gray tanktop lifting to reveal a sliver of skin above her shorts.