Katerina Petrova, Katerina Petrova... if you say her name often enough it transforms, goes temptress from innocent and then back to Katherine Pierce. In a way Rebekah admires her, such a capacity for reinvention, such persistent survival. Such force, clinging and clawing her way out of death; it can only mean a childhood fear of darkness, the same question Rebekah used to ask herself before she realized she was truly immortal: what does Hell look like for monsters?
But still, Rebekah can't quite forgive her. She's thankful for the curse, this rigged illness that keeps Klaus from turning into a god, but the girl hurts, has razor skin and fascinates her men with disturbing ease. From the beginning, the peasant, maroon-wearing Bulgarian girl standing on their doorstep with coy eyes, Rebekah saw right through her. But she couldn't do anything; she should have learned from her, tasted villainy on her tongue and taken it from her, but that's Rebekah's biggest flaw, she's impatient, she wants to touch and she wants to touch now.
So instead of winning, that time, she saw Elijah fall for Katerina Petrova, she saw Klaus hover on the edge of fascination, and she took to disdain. The weak, she decided, can't make it out alive.
It's for her own safety.
*
There is a convergence point, Rebekah realizes. She had that idea that life would just go on forever, and she could keep hovering between possibilities, eternally wavering - but it won't. And she can't.
She hears Klaus talk to the blonde girl, Caroline. He's telling her he only regrets one thing about being human, and Rebekah can't believe it, he doesn't, he doesn't regret anything. If he regrets something, what does she regret? What has she lost? Now she wants life. She loved the twentieth century, and she missed more than half of it, she wants her money back. She asks Klaus how it was but he can't remember, or if he does he won't tell, keeps his teeth clamped shut on it, maybe to punish her.
In the meantime there are more and more dopplegängers, which is seriously getting old, Klaus should forget about his army and kill them all so they could this over with. The Elena girl is infuriating and Stefan's gone mushy for her, which Rebekah disapproves of. Klaus laughs at her, mocks her. She knows what it means: he gets to keep her. Before, she would've have thought, I don't want to leave but now she's not so sure.
*
"I don't know why you like this place so much," Klaus tells her once as they walk in the corridors of Mystic Falls High, leaving a trail of gasoline in their wake. He brushes a finger against a doorjamb, grimaces. "It's so... crummy."
Rebekah shrugs. She thinks about high school dances, puppy love, the smell of uncapped highlighters, the sunlight soaking your pores while you lounge in the yard. "You wouldn't understand."
In any other circumstance, Klaus would argue that yes, he can - he can do everything -, but fire makes him skittish and distracted. He licks his lips, his eyes full of unlit flames. Oh, but he's beautiful. He's so beautiful. If he wasn't, Rebekah would be either long gone or dead.
They walk outside with linked hands, she doesn't resist, she doesn't yield -- just like he likes it she raises an unimpressed eyebrow and watches him drop the match. But she can't hold back the breathy gasp as the fire swallows the school. The horizon becomes ablaze, the wind is ripe with the scent of charred flesh. The night, around them, shakes with silent laughter.
"Oh," Klaus says, absent wonder. He's only ever awed by himself, but his hand creeps to the back of her neck, fingers closing over the undead flesh, spelling, sister.
But still, Rebekah can't quite forgive her. She's thankful for the curse, this rigged illness that keeps Klaus from turning into a god, but the girl hurts, has razor skin and fascinates her men with disturbing ease. From the beginning, the peasant, maroon-wearing Bulgarian girl standing on their doorstep with coy eyes, Rebekah saw right through her. But she couldn't do anything; she should have learned from her, tasted villainy on her tongue and taken it from her, but that's Rebekah's biggest flaw, she's impatient, she wants to touch and she wants to touch now.
So instead of winning, that time, she saw Elijah fall for Katerina Petrova, she saw Klaus hover on the edge of fascination, and she took to disdain. The weak, she decided, can't make it out alive.
It's for her own safety.
*
There is a convergence point, Rebekah realizes. She had that idea that life would just go on forever, and she could keep hovering between possibilities, eternally wavering - but it won't. And she can't.
She hears Klaus talk to the blonde girl, Caroline. He's telling her he only regrets one thing about being human, and Rebekah can't believe it, he doesn't, he doesn't regret anything. If he regrets something, what does she regret? What has she lost? Now she wants life. She loved the twentieth century, and she missed more than half of it, she wants her money back. She asks Klaus how it was but he can't remember, or if he does he won't tell, keeps his teeth clamped shut on it, maybe to punish her.
In the meantime there are more and more dopplegängers, which is seriously getting old, Klaus should forget about his army and kill them all so they could this over with. The Elena girl is infuriating and Stefan's gone mushy for her, which Rebekah disapproves of. Klaus laughs at her, mocks her. She knows what it means: he gets to keep her. Before, she would've have thought, I don't want to leave but now she's not so sure.
*
"I don't know why you like this place so much," Klaus tells her once as they walk in the corridors of Mystic Falls High, leaving a trail of gasoline in their wake. He brushes a finger against a doorjamb, grimaces. "It's so... crummy."
Rebekah shrugs. She thinks about high school dances, puppy love, the smell of uncapped highlighters, the sunlight soaking your pores while you lounge in the yard. "You wouldn't understand."
In any other circumstance, Klaus would argue that yes, he can - he can do everything -, but fire makes him skittish and distracted. He licks his lips, his eyes full of unlit flames. Oh, but he's beautiful. He's so beautiful. If he wasn't, Rebekah would be either long gone or dead.
They walk outside with linked hands, she doesn't resist, she doesn't yield -- just like he likes it she raises an unimpressed eyebrow and watches him drop the match. But she can't hold back the breathy gasp as the fire swallows the school. The horizon becomes ablaze, the wind is ripe with the scent of charred flesh. The night, around them, shakes with silent laughter.
"Oh," Klaus says, absent wonder. He's only ever awed by himself, but his hand creeps to the back of her neck, fingers closing over the undead flesh, spelling, sister.
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