"Thanks, genius. I’ll wear a bib next time.”
"Oh, sweetheart, how about you wear a sign upon your forehead that spells out 'attitude' and ‘vampire’ with neon lights instead? Jut so everyone could know that not only you’re a sanguine, but a smartass as well.”
"You’ve got a little blood on your… everything.”
like for a starter!
Damon Salvatore’s journey through his 173 years on this Earth.
i’m in desperate need for more plots on effy to keep her alive. so, hit me up!
The Moulin Rouge; beauty incarnated within a designed anarchy; a delineated performance, effervescently breathing life through the place—and by doing so, leaving the poet in reach utterly and wholly mesmerized by the entire sight. Regardless, it’s nothing new; when stripped off of her fangs, Effy was nothing but a poet craving passion, longing for a scenery to break into graceful words and a thousand stanzas trying to capture the artistry of it all. And when you’re someone who’s always on the look out for an exotic experience, such a place leaves you stunned and breathless; intoxicated by the fresh breeze of something new.
Nevertheless, she was here on a mission; the poet had to be tamed, for the vampire was in desperate need of finding someone who probably didn’t even want to be found in the first place. And thus, no matter how fascinating and alluring the courtesans were as they swayed to the beat of the music on top of the stage, smiles just as breathtaking as their movement, she was not going to give in to distractions. And no matter how amusing it was to watch the ‘gentlemen’ drool, hues following the fluttering legs as if hypnotized, dazzled by lust, or even listen tothe emphatic chatter that echoed through the room, she was not to be distracted.
After all, all this meant nothing next to the homesickness that bit through her chest; she could write a million unfinished poems about her sister, her past--the guilt that rose with each taken breath, the hollowness of the bitter loneliness that resided within her shadow. But Paris? The infatuation will end, just like everything else; it’s the unwritten endings that mattered. And so, when she heard that her little sister was spotted here, she just couldn’t resist but follow the hopeful spark that shimmered at the given opportunity—with a compelled gentleman that was pretty easy on the eyes tucked by her side, of course; chocolate brown hair and emerald irises lighting up with a smile, before you could even avert your gaze to the curl of his lips.
Ocean blues leisurely scanned the crowd before her as she held her breath, trying to point out the only person who was of significance in the whole scenery; a room drenched in drunk silhouettes, and not one person even resembled the tiniest bit of Katherine. Not even someone that she could link to a mistaken identity. That is—
That is, of course, until her eyes fell upon golden waves whisking the noise away from the room (at least away from Effy’s hearing, for she could still see everything moving in the stillness of the atmosphere; like a movie lacking the soundtrack), until her gaze wandered after the effortlessly bewitching characteristics drawn upon her face, a curl of her lips so enticing that you’d almost think she was mocking the seductresses on stage for trying so hard.
"I’ll be right back, darlin’.” She whispered, grateful that the excitement that suddenly electrified her being wasn’t capable of turning a hushed phrase into a child’s yell on Christmas-eve. She tore her way through, lower lip sucked in between her teeth as her pace involuntarily accelerated with each passing second. She’s here, she’s really here. Upon her approach, she gently tapped her shoulder, oblivious to the fact that all this time her breath was held, and only when her voice broke the silence did she finally breathe. "You certainly know where to throw a party, Katherine."