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elsac2 · 3 years

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gothic klonnie day I: white

something about one’s nature can be a matter of inquisition or barbarism

Bonnie stands before the iron gate with the majestic engraved initials. One now stood for her name. An hour ago, she had lost her name to a stranger. The carriage who keeps her from falling slightly moves, and she looks over her shoulder.

“You should put a smile on your face,” the voice came in before the step came to an halt. “Brides are usually happy, but here, you wear a frown. You do wear it prettily, but a frown is an ugly thing.” She finishes cheerily. “Cheers up, you have escaped a cruel fate. marriage should not frighten you.” Bonnie makes a callous attempt to smile. Pearly white teeth stand defiantly on a crooked jaw, and her unusually bold lipstick frames her fading smirk. “Maybe, you should only frown, child.” She retakes her suggestion to suggest something rather insulting. "You are at your prettiest, frightened. He might prefer you that way,“ She sighs.

Bonnie looks at the woman who she met two days ago. Her headache has not dulled since their odd encounter. She speaks too much when Bonnie’s comfort is silence.

"I am assuredly older than you are, Rebekah.” Bonnie clings to the odd detail.

Rebekah chuckles, and she takes Bonnie’s hand. She looks at the pale and drained of blood fingers, which she took her time to paint white.

“My experience of life is not a reflection of the years I lived, and I do not wear my age on my skin. You will learn soon enough,” Rebekah states with a gleeful tone that Bonnie can only allocate to youth.

"Anyways, my age is not the heart of your preoccupation.“ She adds as she picks Bonnie’s hand, and she pries it away from the white lace of her gown.

"He must be in the garden. He is not too happy with the idea of a wife. The one before you was disappointing to say the least, and Klaus detests disappointment."

Bonnie blanches before the implication of the comment. Her fingers close around Rebekah’s palms while the nails of her other hand become prisoners of her corset, as she steals a breath and begs her heart to hold still. "Klaus?” She becomes aware of the name of her husband.

“Silly me, I must have forgotten to tell you his name amongst the pointless details.” Rebekah softly says. “Well, you cannot blame me. I have never arranged a wedding on such short notice. What an idea to pick a bride from a cage. The brothel would have been more sensible I believe, but even the whores have people, who care about their whereabouts.” She finishes without any concern for the harshness of what she implies. “It could have been worse. you could have been worthless. You could have burned for your sins.”

Bonnie swallows the air and her emotions with it. She looks at Rebekah and her oddly white skin in the raging heat of European summer. There is no redness to her cheek. Bonnie wonders if her husband is one who looks sickeningly white despite spending hours under the sun. It is an odd sight because even her immaculate wedding dress borrows the reflection from the sun.

“Do not look so thoughtful. He might believe you are one to complot.” Rebekah warns. “And it is an unforgivable flaw.” Bonnie nods, and it feels as if her head will slip off her neck for being too big and heavy for the bone sticking out of her skin.

“You should not worry, dove,” Rebekah says after a glance at Bonnie’s closed expression. “If he does not like what he sees, it will end swiftly.” Bonnie thinks of asking what should end. Is it her marital life which has yet to start? From the groom, she knows nothing. She has never met him, and she has not met anyone in the last days or even weeks.

“We should hurry,” Rebekah mentions as she pulls on Bonnie’s arm, and the girl, because she happens to be a frail girl, winces. “Your wounds will heal.” She says with a comforting tone. “He is waiting, and he sounds impatient.” Rebekah groans. “Time to meet your spouse.”

… Bonnie does not immediately meet Klaus. He is not in the garden like Rebekah predicted. She strolls around the crowded space. Bonnie has never seen flowers growing on top of each other. It seems as if they feed off each other until one blossoms into beauty.

For a garden, there is almost no green. The flowers and orchids are a translucent shade of white. They are so white that they burn her cornea, and the sights become nauseating as too potent and psychedelic. Bonnie looks away, and her eyes draw the silhouette of the imposing castle. She cannot stand what her senses predict.

Rebekah has gone and left her without a chaperon. The wait of loneliness still heavy on her mind, Bonnie is nothing but tense as she explores the small path amongst the flowers. There is mud, and she has not bothered to draw up her skirt. The hem of her skirt has become grayish, and lost its immaculate nature. She finds some joy in the act of desecrating her wedding gown.

The dress poorly hangs on her shoulder while bones protrude. Bonnie’s stomach growls as if to mock her emaciated appearance. Her throat is dry, and she cannot tell if it is from hunger, thirst, or the fear that held her from demanding a meal.

Bonnie looks at her priceless dress, and it is not the richness of the fabric that makes it an item of luxury. She would not know how to tell fine material, but she is thankful that it does not scratch her skin cover of red plaques. Again, Bonnie winces after moving too fast. She draws in a breath, and it is too hard to hold. Her vision blurs, and the sight of flowers worsens her condition. White fills her vision until there is nothing.

… Bonnie awakens in a bed, and her gown lies not too far. Below her, she feels coldness, and it is familiar. She trembles while her guts twist around themselves. Her mouth is bitter, but not from bile, it is as pungent.

Water hits her skin, and the drops break on her forehead. Bonnie grabs what lies below her hand, and it is crisped fabric that frees a scent when she holds it so desperately. She withholds her breath and the sobs grow loud as the drops become water pouring. She whimpers when her skin burns under warm water. “Please no,” Bonnie pleads.

There is noise that comes with the swift arrest of a hand. “I have no intention to drown you,” the voice is deep and posh. She would not know the difference, but Bonnie knows to recognize a man. She struggles to escape. Her feet tangle on fabric, and today, she has not woken on the floor. A hand closes around her legs, and Bonnie cannot move. “I am no man of god. You fear me for the wrong reasons.”

Bonnie goes still, and his words are reassuring. She opens her eyes, and the white lights assault her eyes. She blinks until she finds focus. In a few seconds, her eyes find a visage, and it is not one of the most attractive. It is a hard face molded by apathy. His look is plain and disinterested. His eyes are intensely green while contrasted against a powder white skin. Bonnie looks a way growing sick at the sight. There is almost a sensation of dizziness.

“You are more bone than flesh,” He judges with a look. “And those bones are broken.” He sighs before the evidence. Bonnie waits for the pity to kick in, and it does not. He looks at her through a curtain of blonde eyelashes.

“There is a meal.” He announces and waits for her to speak. “Which awaits you.” Bonnie does not utter a word. She is intuitive enough to know who he is. He looks in her eyes, and she draws a breath waiting for what should happen. Her muscles ache from the memory embedded in their fibers.

He does not react how she expects. He crouches to be at high level with her, and Bonnie moves further up on the bed. His hand closes on her legs, and Bonnie finds him surprisingly strong. She can no longer move.

“I have one interest in you,” He says with emotions that he holds on a leash. “It should not worry you unless you cannot fulfill the request.” He continues. “In the hypothesis that you fail, I could be cruel and return you to the council, or I could be clement and…” There is no ambiguity in his statement despite his reluctance to finish. “That being said there is no need to rush. Have your meal so you don’t suffer another absence.” He extends his hand, and the tips of his finger collect the drop of her cold sweat. “There are less peculiar ways to meet a wife.” The fabric of his white shirt sticks to her cheeks.

When he removes his hand, Bonnie’s dry blood stains his sleeve. She looks at him with aghast eyes, and Bonnie wonders if he cut her or opened an old wound. He pulls his sleeves over his palm, and he wipes the bleeding corner of her lips. She chewed the rosy flesh until she made a dent. The wound is new but lays next to an old one. He has no curiosity for the fading scars but appears taken by the trail of blood down her chin. He looks at her with a small smile.

“There is an orchid in the garden that has the rottenly sweet scent of your blood. I think I will have to cut them for both our sake. Their leaves are gorgeous and red. A sight to behold. If you can, have a look at them before they are gone.” He stands, and Bonnie only notices that he has been on his knee to appear less frightening.

He makes his exit before Bonnie suffers the anxiety of his presence. “Wait,” Bonnie breathes a thought, which he hears. He halts at the door and waits for her voice to gain strength after many breaths. “You are my husband,” Bonnie pretends to inquire. “Klaus,” He replies as he closes the door. …. When she finds the orchid tree, and Bonnie is certain it is the one, which smells like her blood. There is something magical and heavy underlying the air. However, she does not understand the intricate detail nor knows what her blood smells like. It is more peculiar that she does not question how Klaus can be aware of such things.

Perhaps, her worries about who she is makes her reluctant to question other’s nature. Bonnie focuses on the tree, and butchered, it is. Klaus has held on his promise.

Butchered is the word, and Bonnie refuses to sense it. She curiously looks around her, and she is afraid someone might misinterpret her care for a tree for evil. Bonnie shivers, and she remembers the finger pointing at her. Bonnie looks away from the tree, and her eyes fall on the garden surrounding her. Although, the tree is far from it. Another similarity with something, which is now dead, and it is where the real difference arises. Klaus happens to both of them.

Bonnie turns around, and she faces the sea of white. Her stomach lurks, and her blood boils. Bonnie’s mind whistles, and she shamefully looks away. There is something about that mare whiteness, which unsettles her. It infuriates her beyond what she can express. Drawing a breath, she walks away. …

Bonnie finds Klaus strolling in her room or the space, which he allows her to occupy without his intrusion, and that was until now. Bonnie finds Klaus’ presence overwhelming, and it is perhaps because of its sacrosanct nature. There is nothing holier than a savior, and Bonnie has a legitimate fear of holiness. She stands below the frame of the door, which he has left open in hope to meet her. Klaus looks over his shoulder, and his eyes encounter Bonnie’s ones.

He says nothing to an intense stare peculiarly empty. Bonnie fidgets, and she averts her eyes to her wedding gown, which lies neatly placed on the vanity chair.

“It is gone,” Bonnie speaks to crack an electrifying silence. She does not bother to clarify, and he does not strain to explain that he understands. Klaus halts, and he lowers himself in her bed. To Bonnie, it appears like the most sensible thing that Klaus has done since she met him. As her husband, her bed is his haven.

He seems to share that thought. Klaus closes his eyes, and he draws a breath filled with tension. Her steps hesitantly echo into the walls, and she merely dares to cross the door.

“It was for the best,” Klaus declares. “And I was wrong,” He adds. “Your scent is more subtle or subdued. Subdued is the words. Somehow held in chains or denied. It is a pity.” Klaus finishes.

Bonnie takes a few steps, and his words have teased her curiosity. She is sinfully curious, and she has grown accustomed to paying for her sins before she commits them. Castigation is enough to ruin one’s prudence. Bonnie drags the collar of her dress to her nose, and she takes in the smell.

“I missed the scent of soap.” Bonnie declares. “Or the idea of clean and unblemished. Maybe pure.” She confides in him without necessarily wanting her words to mean anything to him.

Klaus opens his eyes and renounces the acuity of his other senses. He looks at Bonnie, and some of her scars have faded completely. “Pure?” Klaus questions with dull surprise. "Should you not have the word in horror?“ He knowingly declares. "Purity,” Klaus enunciates. “A high standard to meet. If I trust your previous predicament, you did not pass that test.” Bonnie tenses, and she is compacted muscles curling into them as a carapace meant to withstand assault. He peers at her, and he is the least concerned by her state of absence. Klaus watches Bonnie go through the avalanche of thoughts.

"I did not have the money to pay for my release,“ Bonnie replied. "And so they searched my skin for the mark of evil. Something not pure, and it was the curl of the hair on my…” she stops as she clings on her decency despite how violated it has been the last months.

Klaus sits, and he undoes the button of his collar. She looks at his neck that is too pale, and she thinks that what many believe purity looks like. However, it is so pale that the white of his shirt looks yellowish laying on his flesh. “A bag of gold for your crime of heresy and a few pounds for the effort of the ecclesiastical authority.” He announces how much her freedom cost. The information is not news to Bonnie, and she knows when a debt should be repaid.

“Wives are cheaper,” Bonnie retorts in a timid tone. " and they come with a dowry.“ "I have no use of a wife,” Klaus replies. Bonnie fully stands in her room, and she notices the vase by the window. There is a bouquet, which Klaus brought. Bonnie recognizes the orchid even if she never saw them before now. “What of me?” Bonnie replies. “I am your wife.” She reaffirms. “And you could cease to be in a breath,” He retorts. “And you enjoy my name and the protection that comes with it. I am indeed your husband, but does that make you my wife.”

Bonnie shakes her head. She heads toward the vase, and her fingers graze the orchid. They are red, and they did not belong to the white garden. Klaus rightfully cut them off the garden. They ruined the purity.

“Why did you take me for a wife if you had no use of one?” Bonnie dares to ask. “Because it was the only way to sink my claws in you,” Klaus sincerely replies, and only the most deceitful person tells the truth to birth lies. “Your debts are your husband’s ones. Your sins are the result of your husband’s failure to guide you. Your life depended on it.” He finishes.

The petal melts between her fingers, and from her palms, life threatens to rise. Bonnie panics, and she promptly let’s go of the orchid. He watches her struggle with what is indolent to her.

“Why did you wed me?” Bonnie insists. She can break apart the truth to fish out the lie. He blames his second of naivety. Bonnie has been through too much to accept a truth without arguing it. “For the exact reason why you married me.” Klaus gives up all pretense. “ Were you to burn or drown?” Bonnie asks. “Was it after the torture? Did they break your bone and waited for some to heal.” She pushes up the sleeves of her dress to reveal a scar, which is white because the skin has grown and died too many times at the same place and now it is a thin layer of collagen barely covering the bone. “Barbarism requires a victim of lesser strength.” Klaus replies, and he undoes his collar to reveal his neck. “My skin is unblemished and as alabaster as the day I entered the world. My bones break to heal as if the rupture never happened. There is no pleasure to take from my pain, and it is not worth the barbarism.” He explains. “I’m hunted,” His hand brushes the collar of her dress. “it is not persecution, but it is oddly similar when a man of evil does it.” Klaus takes a step away, but Bonnie follows him. “So my reasons to marry you are the same as yours.” “I should rescue you,” Bonnie confusedly replies. “How?” She asks when reason resurfaces. Klaus smirks, and he places a kiss on her forehead. “From whom, should be the question.” He corrects her. “From the evil man,” Bonnie quotes klaus.

He chuckles in the face of her naivety. Klaus takes the hand where she wears her scar. His finger draws the contours of it. Bonnie shivers, and she does not dare to look at him.

Klaus’s thumb grazes her jawline that has healed into something crooked. It is an oddity, and so it is beautiful. His attention lingers on it, and Bonnie has never suffered such scrutiny.

“Were they evil?” His lips brush her neck. “Those who dragged you into a cell,” Klaus questions. “No,” He replies because her mind has other preoccupations. “They were holy,” He reminds her. “Godly,” Klaus emphasizes. “It gave them the right to burn you because you were evil.” Klaus finishes.

“I’m no witch,” Bonnie retorts. “I’m no witch,” she repeats with fear. “I’m no witch.” She stubbornly repeats as if her old jailers are present in the room. Klaus frames Bonnie’s face, and he presses his lips to hers. He pulls away before she knows what to do.

“It is not a question I have asked yet, wife,” Klaus retorts and he straightens the collar of her gown. “I hope you enjoy the orchids. They are fast to wither once cut from the tree unless… Goodnight.” … Bonnie has waited for the orchid to wither, but they appeared shielded from the work of time. They are impure and unnatural. Her window gives onto the garden, and so she avoids looking through it unless Klaus is strolling in the white hell, as she likes to think of the magnificent landscape.

Bonnie adores her orchid, and how abnormal it is that they grow despite being dead and pulled from their roots. She adores that sickeningly sweet scent, and she finds it consoling. What she loves more about those orchids is the company, which it affords her.

Klaus stands at her door with a jar of water and cubes of sugar. He waits for her to invite him, and she never does because an invitation is an opening to a conversation, which leads to frightening questions. How does she breathe life to the orchids?

“Does it crawl out of you?” Klaus asks when he comes to stand next to her. “They are taller today,” He says as he throws the cubes of sugar in the water. The white particles melt and ultimately disappear.

Bonnie stares at the garden, and she becomes restless. She knows that she should feel different while facing the beauty of that white garden. It is holy. However, she feels different as if sensing what must happen. She looks away afraid to face that future, and above all, her reflection unwitting of such holiness frightens her.

“I wonder what you wish from me?” Bonnie inquires. Bonnie understands that beyond Klaus’ overbearing presence, hidden motives exist. Klaus certainly does not pretend to have her well being in mind nor does he deny carrying for her.

“To have what I bargain for,” Klaus retorts, and he undoes a few buttons of his collar and sleeves.

Bonnie sighs, and she knows what he implies. Her hand ceases to move, and she closes her fists around the fabric of her squirt.

“There must be a bit of lunacy in your insistence,” Bonnie argues. “What torture has disproved how do you intend to convince me that it exists."

Klaus hooks his finger below Bonnie’s cheek. His fingers sink in her flesh, and she believes he has the intent to consume her. She is frightened because so many have attempted to eat her alive. Her bones continue to remember, and they wince beneath his caress. The fabric of his shirt, as soft as it might be, oddly scraps her bare palm. Bonnie breathes and it is a lot of his perfume.

"Barbarism,” Klaus declares. “Something like a sharp knife caving into your flesh until I mold what I desire."

Bonnie looks at him, and she lacks fear perhaps because she has exhausted her mind through the terror of months. "You will mold nothing but a wife out of me,” Bonnie declares. “If the church cannot make a witch out of me. Who are you to succeed.” Klaus smirks, and he takes hold of her hand. He drags her toward the bed, and he carefully lies her on it. He pulls up the layers of her skirt, and Bonnie looks at him with her breath hitching.

“If you will have me as husband,” Klaus pulls on the lace of his briefs. “I have no reason to deny you.” He replies, “but Am I a man who you wish to have?” He asks. His hand holds her corset, and he begins to undo it. “I have told you and hoped you will come to the right conclusion.” He pulls on the fabric of her undergarment until she is naked beneath him. “ I do not wish that you denounce yourself.”

It is different from when she was in her cell. Her skin does not suffer from the roughness of the granite. She is not bare because she awaits humiliation. There is no one promoting her to confess to what she knows nothing of, and there is no torture that follows her stubbornness. There is no cry to lament on her faith. She does not silently curse the name of the Gilbert girl who saw her care for nature. It is a quiet moment full of hesitations despites Klaus sure hand tearing through the layer of her garments to part her legs.

Klaus is half-dressed. He shows no sign of impatience. Bonnie does not know if the intensity of his look is for desire or for plot. She has never been with a man, and those who have seen her naked only did so to tear through her flesh. Her scars have faded. Without the ghost of a pain, the memory of torture is distant. It might have happened. Bonnie knows, and yet she is glad her body wishes to forget.

Bonnie looks at Klaus, and she waits for what must transpire. Violence, torture or something more frightening like care and tenderness, she does not know what she expects nor does she knows what terrifies her more at the moment. Klaus is her calm haven. In his absence and presence, he is the little Bonnie has. He is unholy for trying to ruin her purity, and he is heavenly for being the force driving her breath. It is an odd companionship. She does not know if she bores him. Bonnie is uncertain what faith he reserves her. Her vulnerability before him goes beyond the moment.

She cradles his face and kisses him. It is gauche and hesitant. Bonnie clings to nothing, and she attempts to prompt everything. Klaus places his hand on her shoulder, and he pins her to the bed.

Bonnie watches his eyes begin to glow a shade of golden, and her blood runs cold. His face morphs into one of a beast, and his teeth elongate into fangs. She panics, and her blood boils. She feels as her skin burns. “You’re no man?” Her voice trembles. “Is it that my soul is damned?” She crawls away from Klaus. “The devil has me in his bed.”

Klaus watches her curl into herself, and yet she refuses to run despite having the space to do so. She peers at him, terrorized. However, there is more to her curious look. Somehow, she is consoled by his impure nature. Bonnie halts her escape. She stares too long because she is moved by emotions.

“I’m nothing but the husband who you married in the desperation to escape the purging fire.” Klaus replies. “How you judge me is your choice.” He says as he stands to his full height, and he becomes more intimidating. “The devil maybe,” He replies. “If you want to believe those who skinned you while you wailed as a newborn,” He adds as he approaches her.

“Does it crawl out of you?” She repeats his words. “Does it come out when you are angry? Does it burn when you’re joyful? Does it always beg to come out? Is it unholy?” She crawls to him desperate to know the answer. “ Do you control it?” Her hand quickly brushes Klaus’ cheek. “Is it heresy?” Bonnie presses her lips to Klaus’ ones. “How do you control it?” …. To think that many do not recognize her, they swarm around her as if she was not the woman, which they tortured. She is a little different in her appearance, and her name has a certain weight.

The gown from her wedding day suits her, and Klaus is a sound of a distinctive laugh. She looks over her shoulders, and he smiles at her. Bonnie stares at the garden of white flowers. It no longer scares her as much. She moves through it with ease.

The wives are playing games meant for springs. The crown of flowers are made to fit on heads. Bonnie draws a breath, and she recognizes one of the judges. Salvatore was his name, and his eyes empty of recognition falls on her. “Mrs Mikaelson,” He bows in courtesy. “It is a pleasure to meet you. ” He approaches Bonnie. “Your husband has been promising to take you to our church, but he has yet to hold his words. ”

Bonnie smiles, and she bows too. Her smile is one who cannot stretch. “The church,” Bonnie declares. “ is weary of people like me.” She says. He looks at her with an air of absent disdain. Father Salvatore judges her difference acceptable.

“It is true women of your… lineage,” He correctly says. “Do not occupy positions when they are distinguished members of the church, but we are before excusable circumstances.”

“Women of my lineage,” Bonnie repeats. “I will tell you about the lineage. I will make a long overdue confession father. I, Bonnie Mikaelson, born Bennett agree upon the accusations of sorcery and witchcraft. So forth I should be judged before the rule of the church because I have sinned.” She finishes with glee. “And I confess burning father Damon Salvatore to purge his soul,” Bonnie finishes, and she barely enjoys the look of confusion on Damon’s face as he quickly turns into horror when the word leaves Bonnie’s lips. “ Incendia…”

The flames erupt, and they shall consume more than the rotting flesh of the church. They crawl upon the flowers, and those who cannot run burns. Klaus stands where he can see the carnage. He smiles and raises his voice to call upon his wife. “Witch.”

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