CHAPTER SEVEN. IF I KILLED YOU

"Does it feel good?"

Anastasia furrows her brows, unsure of where this is going. She sits up on the bed, cranes her head to look at Rebekah who stands by the mirror, and says, "What does?"

          Rebekah turns away from the mirror and towards Anastasia. She models the dress she's put on. "Going behind your fiancé's back."

          Anastasia can't tell if her words are meant to be taken as apprehensive or congratulatory, so she doesn't say anything.

          Rebekah presses on. "What is it that my brother tells you?"

          "I am not leaving my fiancé for your brother if it is that what you fret."

          "It is not actually. Do you think I constantly keep watch over who my brother's entertaining?"

          "Entertaining?"

          "Seducing."

          The slam of a book being shut is heard. Rhiannon, who had been quietly sitting by the corner of the room but listening nonetheless, makes a disruptive sound.

          "Rebekah," she says, "I think you should go for the plum dress."

          It's why Rebekah had initially invited them to her chambers: to help her pick a dress for a date with the Lord she is seeing.

          Her affair is a secret kept between them, like a locket only they have the key to.

          Anastasia glances at Rhiannon, recognizing what she's doing. Rhiannon thinks her so fickle as to have an outburst with Rebekah's words and most annoyingly, Rhiannon goes out of her way to help her.

          Rebekah sees her sister's intrusiveness too but doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, she tells Rhiannon, "All right. Thank you."

          Anastasia picks their conversation back up and says to Rebekah with a pointed look. "Seducing? Are you suggesting he's toying with me?"

          Rebekah makes a face, thinking it's obvious that he is. "It's my brother, it's what he does. Truthfully, I can't remember the last time he had something genuine."

          "Good. It's the last thing I want," Anastasia lies.

          But this is helpful to her. As long as they're playing each other, feelings won't get in the way. She can't care for him; they can't care for each other if she wants her plan to work out.

          "I reckon he ought to be careful then if you are this heartless," Rebekah teases.

          A little shy, Anastasia glances sideways and laughs. She doesn't know what to say to that.

While Rhiannon has gone back to her book, she tells her sister, "Won't you be late?"

It's true, Rebekah would probably be late to her date by now. But she likes best being with her friend.

"Then he'll wait."

Anastasia gazes at her friend, seeing how the luscious fabric sits perfectly on her and how her blonde hair falls over her shoulders, she thinks, it must be nice to be this free and beautiful.

A little in awe, Anastasia says, "Rebekah?"

Rebekah hums.

"You look beautiful."

Rebekah smiles, brighter than she has in a while.

Rhiannon observes them. She's never felt close to her sister, other than for the fact they are the only women in their family. It's strange, to see her being close to someone. Rhiannon can't remember the last time her sister was allowed to have a friend.

It's nice, this new beginning. She hopes it lasts.

Rebekah sits beside Anastasia on the bed, her hand rests near Anastasia's on the mattress. "So, will you indulge Nik?"

"I mean, as long as it remains secretive, it can't hurt, can it? I'll have my fun till the wedding comes. Then, I swear I'll be reformed and do what must be done."

Anastasia doesn't realize how much she lives by her desires and wants, she thinks duty is something she can take on when she's older.

          "Please, I haven't known you for long and it's hard to picture you following the rules." Rebekah glances down at their laps and smiles a bit. "It's what I like best about you."

          Anastasia gasps, pretending to be offended. "That is ever so not true."

"As long as my brother Elijah, thinks you are a nosy bitch, it is true."

"Did he say that?" He hadn't. "I suppose I can look past it, seeing as my judgment of him is poorer than that."

"What is it that you think of Elijah?" asks Rhiannon, joining their conversation.

"Well, I certainly don't like him," Anastasia says bluntly. "I don't understand why he cares so much about what I do."

          "He understands that you can change our stay here—as long as Klaus continues to pursue you and you continue to accept his advances, it risks your betrothed finding out about it. If he does, it's foreseeable my family will no longer be welcomed."

          With that, Anastasia learns she does have some form of agency, the decisions she makes matter. It makes her feel a little giddy, knowing what she could cause. But she doesn't care for seeing the Mikaelsons thrive, she turns to Rebekah, "But you want me to meet your family, don't you? For me to be with your brother?"

          Rebekah is taken aback. "What?"

          Anastasia thinks she can hear Rhiannon draw a chuckle. Still, she persists, "You took me with you the other day. Out in the garden, remember?"

          "Yes, yes. I remember," says Rebekah, a bit chiding. She doesn't like Anastasia getting smart with her, even less so by the way Anastasia raises her brows for Rebekah to go on.

          "Fair point, I suppose. Well, contrary to I, Klaus does like to keep track of who I'm with—and I think I may fancy Felix. As long as you keep him busy, I don't see why he should be all on my business."

          "You want me to be with your brother, so you can be with Felix?"

          "Isn't it genius?"

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

Anastasia is not sure why she always wants to act out; why she needs to be against everything she must do and the more she goes against her duties, the better she likes it. Perhaps, that is the way she is wired: to defy everything she has to stand for.

But her mother thinks that to be her flaw. The more Anastasia lashes out, the more protective she has to be of her. It all comes back to one thing in both of their persons. If Anastasia were simply a rebellious girl, maybe this would all be easier.

And yet, Anastasia is a witch because her mother is one.

          She can afford fewer mistakes than most people because of it.

          Witches are haunted for their magic, and her mother wants to save her from that fate.

          Anastasia can't remember the last time she did magic. It had never been intentional. Her mother always seemed to know when she did it anyway.

          However, Anastasia knows her mother does use her magic. From the way the cuts from her girlhood used to fade so easily to the way her colds didn't last more than a day. But Lucia doesn't allow Anastasia to do the same. It makes her a hypocrite, and maybe Anastasia is a hypocrite because her mother is one. Aren't daughters mirrors of their mothers?

          Anastasia has gone to the garden Rebekah led her to the other day—when she took her to the Mikaelsons. As much as she doesn't like spending time by herself, she finds herself doing it often and so she sits on a marble bench, a blank book on her lap, and a quill in her hand. She writes about everything she hates in this castle.

          But then, she glances over her shoulder when she thinks she hears someone come in. No one has. She returns to her book.

          Yet the moment she tilts her head back, she thinks she sees a silhouette beside her.

          Anastasia jumps, deeply startled. Her mouth is gaping as she stares at the man sitting next to her. It's one of the Mikaelsons.

          Kol.

          "How—"

          "Can I see that?" Kol points to her book. He doesn't wait for her answer and snatches it from her. She's too startled to notice.

          Kol hums, doesn't bother reading, then tosses the book to the ground. Hearing the book collide with the grass below makes Anastasia break out of it.

"Hey—!"

She tries to reach down for it, but Kol stops her. "Don't bother."

He's come here with a task. Now, he knows there's the no-killing rule Elijah has set, but this plan Kol has concocted is justifiable, at least to him. Some killings can better their stakes, it's something he has come to know.

Although there's not much sensible reasoning behind his motives other than the resentment he holds for his brother. Why should Klaus get rewarded for the things he gets away with? As much as Kol can yearn for his family's love, he'd do anything to sabotage that, such as killing the girl his brother has set his eyes on.

          The Duke can just find another girl to marry.

          Seeing her bleed yesterday made him think of how mortal she is. As easily as she could bleed from a nosebleed, she could bleed from getting her throat ripped out.

          "I really think am doing my brother a favor, you know, before all the attachments and compromises."

          Anastasia can't tell where this is going—what he could want from her or why he would go after her.

          He tilts his head towards her. "So, why don't you do me a favor, darling?"

          Uncomfortable, Anastasia scoots away and tries to push herself off the bench when Kol grips her arm. "Uh, uh, no leaving yet."

          Anastasia writhes her arm. "Let go."

          Kol does let go but only to take her by surprise and grasp her chin, pulling her head close to him, specifically her neck. His hold hollows her cheeks, it throbs.

          "Be a lamb and don't make a sound." His eyes pierce into hers.

          Anastasia is still trying to make sense of everything when she feels something on her neck. Then, it only hurts from there and she screams.

          He's biting her.

          Biting.

          And it hurts. A lot.

          But then, Kol pulls away, confusion drawn on his face, which quickly contorts into a scowl. "I thought I told you not to scream."

          Anastasia breathes heavily. Kol doesn't look quite like Kol anymore. His eyes are red, there are red veins beneath them and his mouth. God, his mouth. It's like he's grown fangs. Anastasia realizes they are fangs.

          So, her neck...

          Her neck feels wet where he bit her, and most of all, it hurts. She tries to put her hand over the wound but Kol gets ahold of her wrist. Anastasia whimpers.

          "Please, don't," she begs. She doesn't think she's ever felt this much fear in her life. Her eyes water and her heart hammers. "Please, don't kill me."

          "Oh, it seems like you've already messed that up for me."

          "Don't," she sobs. "Don't kill me. I won't tell anyone."

          As much as Anastasia wants to call out for help, she knows it'll probably get her killed. So, she doesn't, she stays there, quivering and crying.

          Kol grabs her by the shoulders, he can't stand her uncontrolled weeping. "Stop crying," he seethes as he tries once again to compel her.

          Anastasia doesn't stop.

          "Why isn't it working?" Kol exclaims, angered, ever so that he shoves Anastasia off the bench.

          Anastasia quiets down, then she notices he's gotten her away from him. Although she struggles to stand, stumbling a bit and pressing down on her neck wound, she tries to make a run for it—as fast as her legs can take her, the adrenaline churned by her fear helps her.

          But she isn't fast enough.

          Suddenly, she's grabbed from behind and turned around, and she screams. She tries to punch him away with her free arm, but it's like he's made of steel and he's invulnerable. Still, she doesn't give up, punch after punch—till Kol gets ahold of that wrist too.

          "Had enough?" Kol says, taunting her like he enjoys this. She knows he does. She's giving him what he wants: to see her struggle when he knows he can easily beat her.

          Anastasia scowls. She dares to scowl in the face of danger, Kol sees why Klaus has taken a liking to her.

          "I don't understand," Kol flicks her wrist around as if looking for something on her. "I don't sense any of that bloody-awful vervain on you, yet you're mortal."

          "W- what?" the word quivers in her mouth.

          Kol looks down at the punctures he's made on her neck, it fills him with pride. He barely got to take any blood from her, but it'd be an understatement to simply say she was delicious. He's always had a fancy for young maidens.

          Kol lets go of her wrists, he knows she won't run when he can easily catch up. She's not that stupid.

          Trying to decipher her, his brows furrow together. "Just what are you?"

          Anastasia doesn't say anything. She takes advantage of her free hands, lifts one at him, and tries to focus. But her hands shake. It's nearly impossible to do with the fear that clouds her head.

          This is life or death, surely the use of her magic could be excusable.

          Her lips purse and her eyes squint. She doesn't know any spells, so she hopes that her willful mind can be enough.

          Nothing happens. She doesn't even feel her magic.

          But it makes Kol understand what she is. Witch, he's always loved witches. He grasps the back of her neck, it makes her crane her head. A tiny squeak leaves her mouth. Her breath hitches and she tries to not let out a sound. Yet she's more shocked by the seemingly smile on Kol's lips.

          "Ah. A witch. It's what you are, isn't it?"

          Her eyes widen, this scares her more than losing her life. Somehow he's figured out her secret—her most guarded secret.

          Maybe it's all for the frightening creature that lurks inside him. Maybe that's how he knows. His features had gone back to normal. No more red eyes, no more deathly fangs.

          "Bloody hell. Speak."

          "I...I am a witch." Anastasia immediately regrets saying those four words, her voice quiets when she says witch. She doesn't know if she's ever it aloud before.

          "That," he smirks then, "changes things."

          It is this, having this bit of information on her—that far outweighs anything he would've gotten from killing her. He sees now that he had been clouded by the grudge he has against his brother. But this, this is something that no one else knows but him. 

          For once, Kol feels he has the upper hand—he isn't going to let this slip away.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

          But if there is one thing she knows, it's manipulation.

          Anastasia lifts her head to appear braver than she is, but her jaw quakes and there's a sting in the back of her eyes. She feels like she might cry again.

          "What does it change?" she asks.

          He lets go of her. "You've taken a fancy to my brother, have secret meetings with him that you'd prefer no one else find out about."

          Anastasia gulps. What is it with this family using everything she does against her?

          Kol smiles, he feels like he's being nice. "Well, I have a proposal for you. I know what I nearly did to you. But I don't want to kill you—not anymore. Although, you do have to promise not to tell anyone of this."

          "What do you want?"

          "You keep my secret, I keep yours."

          "I wouldn't dare tell anyone," she speaks with honesty, yet her heart is hammering.

          "There's a good girl."

Kol has come up with a new plan—one that he needs her alive for. He'll heal her, that'll make her less uneasy of him, and then he'll share his offer.

He eyes her neck wound, there's a little trail of blood. He resists the urge of sinking back his fangs till he tears her throat. Instead, he says, "Allow me to fix that for you."

Her eyes widen. She can't foretell his tactics anymore. What could've gotten him to change his mind? One thing is to say that he won't kill her—that could've easily been a lie, but to say that he wants to tend her wound, that's a whole different thing. She decides then that killers are odd in nature.

But she won't be the one to argue with a killer. "H- how?"

          What he does next, surprises her most, he hurts himself by biting roughly into his wrist till he draws blood, his fangs shortly coming out. She wonders what he's doing.

          Her wonder is quickly answered when Kol presses his open wrist to her mouth without any warning, the action is violating and sickening. Anastasia nearly gags but his touch is gone as soon as it comes. Yet drops of the viscous, red liquid reside on her tongue. She wants to spit it out.

          "Drink it. It'll heal you."

          She hates how serious he sounds about it—as if this isn't some twisted serial killer tactic and his blood would actually save her. What are the odds of him telling the truth? She is not sure if she should risk not listening to him, maybe that'll only anger him. It's clear that his anger sets him off. So, she pushes all disgusting thoughts aside and swallows. She feels herself getting sick.

          "You're insane."

The wound heals. He didn't lie.

          "I rather expected a thank you, but I'll take it."

          Then, he tells her his plan.

          "Now, what do you say of becoming a better witch? With my guidance, you could be great."

          Her heartbeat races. He's proven he can easily hurt her, she can't say no. "What will you make me do for you?"

          "Nothing unspeakable. I assure you."

          "Would you kill me if I don't?" she asked, her voice shaky and unsure.

          Kol smiled as if thinking they were finally on the same page.

          He had never mentored a witch so closely, but because of her—because of Anastasia, he will come to enjoy keeping close company of witches.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

He let her go. He actually let her go. She's coming to learn that as long as you indulge a killer, you could be safe from them.

          But still, Anastasia keeps glancing over her shoulder, fearing Kol—or something, whatever he is, would pop out of nowhere.

And so, she doesn't notice when she runs into her sister, Anastasia jumps out of startle. Concern is written over Penelope's face. "Are you okay? You look like..."

"Like, what?"

Penelope reaches her hand. Anastasia thinks she might want to touch her neck, she recoils. "Don't touch me."

Penelope frowns, she was only going to brush her arm. "What is it with you?"

Anastasia avoids the questions and says bitingly, "What do you want?"

Penelope is unaware of what her sister went through—or how bad it was. "I found something in mother's chambers." It's a white cloth, but rather than that, it seems to be wrapped around something. Penelope reveals a tiny green plant. It has purple flowers on its end. "I think it might be, you know..." she leans close to Anastasia's ear, "magic."

Anastasia scoffs. Though she's wary of the plant, she doesn't show it. "Not everything of hers is cursed. Don't be stupid."

"I'm not stupid, you are stupid."

Anastasia rolls her eyes, uninterested in sisters quarrels and intent on walking away when Penelope latches her arm. Anastasia looks back at her with a scowl on her face. "What?"

"Aren't you curious?" Penelope knows her sister well, this behavior is unlike her. "She keeps a stash in her jewelry box."

Anastasia cares more about her sister going through her mother's belongings. "Look at you, confessing you're dirty-handed. Mama would love to hear this."

"And I'm sure she'll love to hear how you kissed that—"

Anastasia presses her palm over her sister's mouth, hushing her. "You can't say that!"

When Anastasia uncovers her mouth, Penelope insists, "Then, help me."

"Don't blackmail me. What is wrong with you?"

It could be said that Penelope was taking a page out of her sister's book. "Don't do things that make it so easy."

Anastasia glares at her, she really should stop being so careless and start being more helpful. Today made her learn that. It gets her to concede as she extends out her hand. "Give it to me."

Penelope furrows her brows and retrieves the little plant from her sister's reach. "No."

"Give it. I'll find out what it is for you."

Although hesitant, Penelope hands it to her sister.

This is exactly what Anastasia needs—something to get her mind off from nearly being murdered.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

Penelope is not the only person she encounters on her way to her chambers. Anastasia is running her hand through her hair in distress and she's still too ruffled from earlier events that she doesn't realize she's dropped what her sister's given her, especially not who sees it.

The Duke's mother, Contessa, had been on her way through the castle's halls to get to the courtroom when she stops to alert the girl.

It makes Anastasia wish to be invisible, she just wants to be left alone.

"Lady Anastasia," calls Contessa. "You dropped something."

Anastasia curses under her breath at the sound of her voice, she really can't stand that woman. Though she faces her with a polite smile, she doesn't want to give another reason to grow the animosity between them.

Anastasia keeps quiet, she glances to where she's dropped the little plant. It has come unwind from the white cloth because she had been gripping it too hard in her distress. The plant had come apart, tiny green leaves sprawled over the concrete flooring.

What lie would she tell her sister?

There's a certain shame she feels at the aspect of kneeling in front of Contessa to reach down for the clothed plant. Her pride makes Anastasia want to forget about the favor her sister asked of her.

She knows Contessa would delight in seeing her sink down to her knees in front of her, delight in her humiliation—or, perhaps, Anastasia is projecting what she'd feel if Contessa were in her position.

For her sister, Anastasia swallows her pride. It leaves a bitter aftertaste. She picks up the cloth along with what she could scoop up of the plant.

Contessa observes impassively. It's like she couldn't care less.

Anastasia doesn't meet her eyes and hides the plant in her palm, fingers pressing too hard on it.

"Chasteberry," notes Contessa. "I see you are taking the right measures for bearing an heir."

It makes her eyes dart to Contessa. Anastasia is about to deny the statement when she thinks better of it. "No, I mean, yes, but I- I won't use it till the wedding's passed. I am pure, extremely pure, my Lady."

Contessa shows distaste at her rambling, feels something close to second-hand embarrassment. "Perhaps that is a matter between you and God."

Anastasia nervously blurts, "I love God."

"My son may have chosen you, but he wasn't made to marry the likes of you. Someone bred outside of nobility. You'll have to prove yourself to be the rightful fit for the title by showing you're honorable and loyal to him."

Out of feigned sincerity, Anastasia says, "It is truly the greatest honor what your son has offered me."

The truth: Anastasia feels like swinging her fist.

do i know how to set up a book? obv not.