Four days.

Suiteheart had been gone for four days.

The bond was off.

And Margaery was numb.

There was no warmth, no love, no sly remarks or witty comments... Suiteheart had willingly decided to sever herself from Margaery and then disappear and that absolutely killed the Lunar Lieutenant. History had the nasty tendency to repeat itself - especially when it came to she and Suite - and the chocolate point couldn’t sleep unless she knew that her wife was safe and out of danger’s way. But without the bond... well, it was impossible to tell if Suite was even alive. Her only option was to practically drink herself into such a state that nothing mattered except for blood and alcohol. She felt nothing, experienced nothing, wanted nothing. All she cared about for those four days was her wine and her blood and the way that the monster tempted her with promises of power.

Despite her perpetual drunken state, she was still troubled. It was her fault that Suite had to leave... her fault that she was plagued with nightmares of a time that history forgot... her fault that her wife was being forced to witness a life that wasn’t exactly hers. She wanted to tell Suiteheart everything. She wanted to make things right. But she couldn’t. Not if she wished to keep not only Suite, but herself protected. If her wife were to truly wake up... Margaery might actually cease to be- an outcome that she was sure nobody wanted.

Poor Maarit. The pearl who’s innocence was ripped from her too soon. She could have lived and died without touching another soul, her smiles and charm getting her much farther than her teeth and claws. It was the loss of her siblings and one of her uncles that drove her grandmother into cursing them. All of them. It was her wretched, awful grandmother who made the words “always and forever” a bitter reminder of their eternal damnation. Stronger. Smarter. Immortal. But at what price? But at what price? Maarit died the day that her father murdered Erlend. Margaery was born from the blood and tears of her sorrow.

Maarit Mikaelson. Margaery Mikaelson. They were once two sides of the same coin- a happy girl who led a happy life with a happy family. How could she have fallen so low?

Surprisingly, Margaery was not drunk today. She had merely resorted to existing, her copper stare cold and empty as she stared at the blank page of a hundred year old journal. She longed for some semblance of feeling, for Suite, but nothing was there except for-

And suddenly, everything hit her, heart skipping a beat as the bond was reignited and she was once more connected to her wife. Margaery’s first instinct was to be angry, her rage - cold and bitter - rising like a poison in her chest. She swallowed it down though, an unexpected wave of calm washing over her only as she heard Suite’s words. As tired and desperate as they sounded, they still originated from her wife. She was okay. She was okay.

But Suite wanted answers.

And Margaery.... she didn’t know if she could give her answers.

But she couldn’t ignore her, not again. Every time Suite has brought up the nightmares, Margaery had found a way to avoid the truth, offering her silence or worse- an excuse. She couldn’t tell her. It’d destroy Suite. It’d make her question everything. But what then could she do? Suite wasn’t going to be appeased by silence forever and soon enough, Nik would be here to start the cycle anew.

In a way, she supposed it was now or never.

[color=#b14767]”Mea vita,” Was all she breathed upon arrival, entering their shared room and making sure that the door was properly locked. She briefly looked around, noting their pictures and decor and feeling a pang of hurt over the fact that soon, all this would be a terrible memory when her father came to collect what was his. [color=#b14767]”I... look, I can’t tell you. I want to. I want to with my entire heart.... but some secrets are best left buried. I will ask you this though: do the names Maarit and Erlend sound familiar, love?”

It was all she could afford to give her without ruining the delicate balance of things. If the names managed to spur some memory in Suite, then she would call it a day and work to pick up what surely would be the remnants of her wife. If they didn’t... she supposed she was out of options then.

Margaery knew that she was a hypocrite, a bad person. She clung to Suiteheart and the bond possessively and snipped and severed their connection whenever it was convenient for her. She never once asked Suite. She never once apologized. But the moment Suite even thought to do the same, she grew defensive and angry and bitter. She hated that about herself. Hated that she could not so easily grant her wife her same freedoms. Maybe it was because, without Suiteheart, Margaery could not generate a spark or any emotion save apathy. After three years of being bonded, her soul was too closely intertwined with Suiteheart’s and some complications ensued the moment that they were disconnected. Even for a moment. She wished it didn’t have to be that way, that she and her wife could just turn the bond on and off at their own discretion and not rob one another of comfort, security, companionship, feeling.  But things weren’t easy like that. In over a millennia, things had never been easy for them.

She could feel her wife’s sadness, her anger. She wanted to make it go away, shooing the nightmares back into the dark recesses of Suite’s mind and promising that they would never return to haunt her. But she couldn’t do that. She had to either continue to play dumb and pretend as if she didn’t see the forest -big and looming and full of danger... no, she was the danger - or tell the truth. But both outcomes... Suite would reject her. They’d fall apart just as they had fallen together and Margaery would watch as her last source of happiness fell between her fingers. Again. She didn’t want that. Couldn’t deal with that. But Suite was falling apart and while the truth would surely be a death sentence for Margaery, she couldn’t stand to watch the only girl she had loved over the course of her long life be destroyed into unrepairable pieces.

Her words cut through the air like a knife, causing something to twist inside Margaery, her own monsters stirring at their harsh sound. She felt dizzy suddenly, the ground rushing up to meet her as she slid onto her stomach, unable to stand any longer. Gray eyes would blink, once, twice, three times, and they were gray no longer, but she was not the monster. Far from it actually. Far from it. An ancient sadness seemed to radiate from her now and, feeling significantly better, she stood and neared Suite only to pull her into an embrace.

Her wife was a shell of the being she once was and it was not Margaery’s fault, but Maarit’s. She could see the visions, see Suite desperately attempting to make the connection between herself and that ragdoll. She wanted to yell, to tell her lover that she was Maarit, that they had a history splattered with love and blood, brief happiness and terrible loss. But she couldn’t. Not until she started yelling and that calm presence - Maarit - was drowned out by the monster.

See, the innocent girl that Margaery was at her core could not remain out to play for very long. Unlike her modern day counterpart, she didn’t realize how much control one needed to exert over the monster to keep it chained and shackled in the back of her mind. All three of them were the same, yes, but Margaery had repressed those two sides of herself so entirely that they had formed different entities in and of themselves.  Maarit made few appearances, her tenderness not often appreciated by Margaery. The monster saw that shift as its chance to take control and so here it was.

Ready to right all the terrible wrongs of Margaery and Maarit combined.

She watched as Suite covered her ears with both paws. She refused to break the embrace though, refused to release her even as the terrible monster she was. [color=#b14767]”Love,” She began, that single word drenched in ancient power, [color=#b14767]”I can’t tell you... but I can show you.”

And with that, she sent everything down the bond. Every memory. Every death. Every conversation that they had shared and every time they had been ripped apart. Maarit and Erlend. The originals. But there were more too, more versions of themselves than they could count. Margaery could never had done this, neither could painfully sweet Maarit. It had to be the beast and all her lack of care, it had to be the being that so closely resembled Suite’s murderer.

She saw the forest. Fields of flowers. Streets. Village squares. Castles. She saw everything. She could feel that too-long history engulfing her, threatening to swallow her whole. She couldn’t imagine what Suite might be seeing. What she might be experiencing. It had to be tenfold this. Everything that she knew... it had been a lie.

Surely, she’d hate Margaery for that.

And once the deed was done, the monster permitted the Lunar Lieutenant to assume control, those blood-colored eyes fading back to stormy blues. She was crying, shuddering like a leaf in the wind as she held her wife.

[color=#b14767]”I’m sorry, Erlend...” She whispered, wondering how many times the name had nearly slipped off her tongue. It felt right to use now... Suite knew the truth. She knew who she was. What she was made to do. [color=#b14767]”It’s my family’s fault that you were damned... You should have been able to live and die in that village but we couldn’t let you go. We turned you into a monster too, and my grandfather helped you become something who’s only goal was to kill us. My father once loved you, sweet Erlend, he once loved the idea of us together. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’ve had to live a millennia of pain and suffering because of me.”

“Because of Maarit.”

One thousand years of Margaery stumbling upon her counterpart by mere chance and relishing in the few years they shared together.

Or, if you wanted to call it by what it really was: one thousand years of heartbreak.

She was suddenly painfully aware of every bittersweet moment she spent with Bristol. Sybil. Asa. Damiana. Griffin. Hyacinth. Lorelei. Aerona. Suiteheart. She could see those baby blues, beautiful eyes that remained the same even as her sweet, sweet Erlend changed and became an entirely new person - entirely new people; strangers that she found herself falling for despite the world - her father - telling her not to. Maarit and Genevieve felt it as well, overwhelmed by a past that they had tried so desperately to escape. There was something else too, an ancientness that was not evil, just dormant. She felt it stir inside of her, disturbed by Suiteheart’s own agony. It seized control for but a moment, stormy gray eyes turning the same shade of green that presently haunted her wife. [color=#b14767]”Sybil,” She croaked, voice heavy with an accent that was far from Margaery’s own.

Luckily, the creature was far from strong enough to remain in control and soon Margaery was back, her embrace only tightening. Suiteheart was a sobbing mess and in spite of herself, her own tears flowed fast and heavy from her gray eyes. The bond felt as if it was straining under the sheer volume of emotion that the pair was exerting upon it and Margaery suddenly grew worried that it would snap lest one of them calmed down. But she couldn’t, not with Suite crying and mouthing silent words and breathing so irregularly. Not with her screaming. Not with her telling Margaery’s father to go away. To get away from her. It had been so long since she had seen Niklaus and yet, his image presented itself crystal clear to her, that arrogant smirk curving a ginger and white hued maw. ”It had to be done love,” His voice rang in her ears, ”How many times do I have to tell you that? I’m simply doing my job as a good father and protecting you. Now, run along, go see what your uncle Elijah has to say.”

What was she supposed to do?

How was she supposed to help?

Genevieve had opened the floodgates and then relinquished control as if it had been nothing, leaving Margaery to reassemble the shattered pieces of her wife. Maarit was silent once more, returning to her state of quiet compliancy. And then there was that new version of herself, the one that had not surfaced in what Margaery believed to be eight hundred years. Sybil. She wanted Sybil. Was it Ingrid? Had she somehow been made into her own entity just as Maarit and Genevieve had been? There were so many questions and then there was the matter of Suiteheart still crying and Margaery... well, Margaery felt as if her world was about to implode.

She saw forests again, and castles, and fields of wildflowers, and wanted posters. She saw ten different versions of Suiteheart - eight who had loved her fiercely, one that had betrayed her, and one that had been her partner in crime. But all that mattered as Suiteheart returned to herself was that rigid posture, that smile that was too unlike her wife, those words.

Let me talk to her. Please. I need to.

The voice of course belonged to Maarit, desperation clinging to it. Margaery was not so willing to simply hand over control but in this situation, as she stared face to face with the being that could only be Erlend, she knew she had to. Besides, she couldn’t handle the physical pain of being tethered to Suiteheart as she relived a millennia of lives, even as things began to grow quiet once more.

So she gave Maarit what she wanted.

[color=#b14767]”Erlend... You remember me right? It’s Maarit, it’s me. I’ve missed you more than you know, dulcis. I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry that you were doomed to live this life-“

She was suddenly cut off, Genevieve seeing her moment and taking it by once more seizing control when poor, weak Maarit was present. Gray eyes would flicker copper and she would grin, her entire demeanor changing as well. [color=#b14767]”Give me Aerona. I need her. Give her to me now or I’ll kill you before my father gets the chance to,” She hissed, voice low and venomous.

Genevieve had been denied Aerona for close to a hundred years. She needed her partner in crime, needed the one being that understood her only slightly. She knew that Aerona didn’t care about anyone but herself but that didn’t matter to Genevieve. Not when her presence was enough to remind the monster that she was not as completely and utterly alone as she believed herself to be.

”Genevieve, stop!”

Maarit.

”Genevieve, you are in no position to be handling this situation. Allow myself or Maarit to take back over. Please.”

Margaery.

”Sybil. Unde amans est?

Oh, how interesting. This must be Ingrid.

It seemed like Genevieve wasn’t the only one with special requests.

Huffing a bit, Genevieve rocked back and forth on a heel, deciding to at least see if Aerona would surface before humoring Margaery or Maarit or even the elusive Ingrid.

Suiteheart... if you can hear me, don’t let Aerona out. Don’t humor Genevieve. I love you, I’m so sorry that this is happening.

Ah yes, all of this was so terribly fascinating to the chocolate hued huntress. Margaery’s struggle for power was not nearly as elaborate or pain inducing as Suiteheart’s and, admittedly, Genevieve delighted in watched her wife suffer. She knew good and well what the cost of her imbalance was and though Margaery was appalled by even the thought of it, felt herself absolutely anticipating the moment that her soul shattered into irreparable pieces. Certainly that was Suiteheart’s fate, correct? Ten centuries of different lives had just been balanced precariously upon her pale shoulders, each different being fighting tooth and claw for their chance at consciousness again. There was no other result to this discourse than such a tragic end, Genny was sure of it. All it was now was a tedious and time-consuming waiting game.

It was a good thing that Genevieve was immortal then- she could watch each facet of Suiteheart fight and bicker for control for the rest of her numbered days if she had to. She just hoped that the one and only individual that she wished to speak to surfaced. She didn’t care for Aerona, per say, but there something about her previous partner in crime that had successfully managed to slide under her skin and remain there. Indefinitely. She felt perpetually haunted by the bitch’s presence and fierce resentment had eventually become muted and reluctant endearment. No. That was wrong. She felt nothing positive towards Aerona; she simply tolerated her more than the rest of the different Suiteheart’s. She wouldn’t stand for accepting anything else.

A surge of ancient, archaic power suddenly consumed her, dragging her from her intrigue laced thoughts and back to the real world. Harshly. So Ingrid hadn’t resigned to silently watching this ordeal? She actually believed that she was right to attempt to surface and communicate with Sybil? How dum-

Or perhaps it was Genevieve that was the dumb one, her copper visionaries becoming a bright jade green as Ingrid made another rare appearance. [color=#b14767]”Sybil. Sybil,” She extended, concern lacing her tone. Something was wrong with her love but Ingrid could not figure out what. This new world terrified her. There was none of that olden feel to anything anymore, even the individual that sat before her devoid of that timelessness Ingrid had once adored. She didn’t want to be here then, not when everything around her was so vastly unfamiliar. Genevieve could have control of this vessel, Ingrid decided, she would much rather retreat to the recesses of Margaery’s mind and watch and adjust and then strike again. She would save Sybil.

Not today.

But one day.

Genevieve blinked a few times as her senses were restored to her, a venomous giggle trickling from smirking lips. It seemed as if she had returned just as the show began and oh, a show it was. There was no harmony between any facet of Suiteheart and Genevieve, in spite of herself, inclined forward, that dangerous gleam that danced within her eyes only brightening. Yes. Yes. Yes. She was so close to breaking, she could feel it, sense it through the bond that was about to shatter. As much as she’d like to see that tiresome little thing evaporate like Suiteheart was about to, she respected Margaery enough to shut it down herself, effectively preserving its shredded remains. Consider it the only kindness she would ever extend to Suiteheart. A funeral present.

The warmth that Margaery once radiated so strongly in the back of her mind exstinguished in that moment, rendering the charming girl wholly and completely free of emotion. Without the bond, Margaery and Genevieve were practically the same entity, each with a certain loss of feeling. The only difference between the pair was Genevieve’s hatred towards the world. That was going nowhere anytime soon, bond in place or not.

Laughing once more (as, what wasn’t there to laugh at? Suiteheart was crumbling and Margaery no longer provided any challenge or resistance), Genevieve watched Erlend and Sybil and Suite argue amongst themselves. How delicious... how delightful. She could feel the clock ticking, each second bringing her closer and closer to the moment that this little chapter was finished and shut. They didn’t need Nik, not this time around.

Suite would be her own undoing.

[color=#b14767]”You and I both know that Aerona won’t truly die. The cycle will just repeat itself and we’ll find you just as we have so many times before. You’re the oldest, Erlend, but I have a feeling that a warrior such as yourself was all brawn, no brain. What a shame. You are, after all, why we’re in this mess in the first place, are you not? No matter, I’ll be rid of your annoying presence soon enough.” The words were said casually, an afterthought to their incessant fighting. She really didn’t care if any facet of Suiteheart picked up on what she was saying or not, it just felt god to so utterly insult Suite without feeling a wave of repercussion from Margaery.

But right before anything could happen - could snap - Suiteheart’s entire demeanor changed and Genevieve knew that she wasn’t looking at Suite at all but rather, somebody else. Somebody better. [color=#b14767]”Hello, sugar. I’d ask if you missed me but we both know that you only care about yourself. How’ve you been, pumpkin? Being chained up to some goodie-two-shoes is no fun, wouldn’t you agree?”