𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 - the parched stag

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐃 her ground, a step in front of Davina. Her stance was ridged even though she knew that he wouldn't make a move against them but she didn't care. The originals were dangerous, beyond dangerous as a matter of fact ,and an original vampire with greying skin and a craving for even a single drop of blood?

Ophelia wasn't taking the chance.

It was in that small moment that she realized, that even though she had promised she wouldn't allow herself to care for another the way she did her brother, she would throw herself in front of Davina without hesitation, even if it meant that fangs would pierce her neck and drain her blood.

Opposite her, Elijah did his best to concentrate. His veins felt like sandpaper, his gums ached, begging him to allow his fangs to shine through and drain the bodies in the room. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Ophelia's neck. He could hear and see the thudding of her carotid artery and desired nothing more than to dig in. His dark and hungry eyes slowly moved from the pulsating skin to the women's eyes.

She didn't seem frightened. Her stare was intense and her eyes followed his every movement. He could easily see the care she held for the young witch behind her. It struck him as strange; Davina was a powerful witch and yet there Ophelia was, guarding her with her life. His eyes moved across her face; her features were soft and contrasted the look that most would presume to be intimidating.

Her face was more rounded and baby-like, freckles dusted her bare skin and her eyes reminded him of the whiskey he and Klaus would drink after solving a disagreement. But they looked old, much wiser than the years displayed through her face. Her eyes, though fierce, held an underlying tone of sadness. In his mind, she was beautiful; her curled hair flowed down her back in long, messy waves and he could see the small splatters of mud on the hem of her light dress.

The scent of her blood, however. It broke through everything, especially in his present state. His throat felt as dry as a desert and he could feel the veins beneath his eyes become more prominent as the sweet scent was breathed in.

"You're the one they call honorable." Davina's small yet strong voice chimed from behind Ophelia, peering around the woman just slightly.

"Yes, that's they call me. And yet, I followed my brother here to New Orleans to engage in a war." Elijah briefly looked towards Davina before his eye line settled back on the older woman, his lips twitching into a small smile as he took a step and settled into a seat, "So, I ask you-does that sound honorable to you?"

Ophelia rose a brow, her head cocking slightly, "Depends on what you're fighting for." she could see that the original was surprised by her answer, probably having expected her agreeance. But Ophelia could understand, mildly. His family was in New Orleans to protect Hayley and her child, they were protecting their family.

Ophelia could understand that perfectly.

Davina said nothing about the statement, she was with Ophelia. If you were fighting for something you believed in, it was worth it. Instead, her eyes took in his grey features, her lips twitching as she recalled Ophelia saying he looked rotten, "You don't look well."

"Well, only this morning, I had a mystical dagger embedded in my chest, so I'd say I'm holding myself together quite well." He paused for a small beat as he directed a small, amused smile towards the older brunette before moving his gaze to Davina who fiddled with the hem of her dress. "Davina, I believe that you and I have the power to end a war between witches and vampires before it truly begins. I, by keeping my brother in line; you, by behaving like your true self-- not some tool for Marcel or the witches."

"And why, exactly, are you to be trusted?" Ophelia questioned the original.

Yes, she may have aligned herself with Rebekah and by extension, Klaus. But neither of them had spoken of Davina, she had made it clear that whilst she helped, she would spill nothing about the young witch. Elijah was the one to look out for.

Yes, having strength and toxic teeth was to be feared; but with Klaus, you knew where you stood.

Elijah was an intelligent man. He could manipulate with his words and twist them in a way that seemed appealing. Ophelia knew how to do that better than anyone, she had been doing it for the past eight months.

"Well, for one thing, in spite of a ravenous hunger, I have not tried to take your blood."

"You wouldn't even get the chance." Ophelia slowly smiled as she took a few steps closer until she had to lower her gaze to meet his eyes. She pointed over her shoulder, "This one tossed Rebekah around like a rag-doll... and I could bring you to your knees in a matter of seconds."

Elijah rose a brow, mildly impressed at the woman's attitude. It wasn't often that one opposed him. "Is that so?"

Ophelia hummed, her expression fading to the stoic one she often wore. She turned her back on the man and retrieved the hat pin that rested on the table next to Davina's easel. "D? Mind grabbing me a band-aid?"

The young witch nodded in compliance, her loose curls bouncing as she carefully maneuvered around the pair and padded her way to the bathroom. Elijah couldn't quite tear his eyes away from the woman in front of him as she rose the pin to her finger and pricked her skin. His nostrils flared and his mouth immediately watered at the scent of fresh blood.

The siphon stared him in the eyes, two shades of brown meeting as she slowly pulled the pin away from her reddened finger, a bubble of blood clinging to the pin. A droplet or two fell to the ground and yet his eyes remained on hers, determined to keep control of the animal inside, the one trapped behind the crimson door.

Ophelia knew what she was doing was dangerous, and yet the was that small tugging feeling of a thrill inside of her. She had power over the original and just watching his face as she slowly leaned forward made the corner of her lips rise further. Ever so slowly she moved the pin closer to the originals parted lips. The pin made contact and the room almost buzzed with electricity as she slowly dragged the pin back to her, his lips following just slightly as his tongue swiped the blood away.

She stood to her full height and placed the pin back where she had found it, her eyes glancing back to the original as she watched his grey complexion fade away, his eyes still locked on her figure. She had been correct in her assumption; he was the more attractive Mikaelson. "Better?"

Elijah nodded curtly as she stared down at him, he could see the amusement on her face and he couldn't help but wonder who and what she was, where she came from. Why did Marcel allow her to know of Davina; some of his most trusted day walkers didn't even know of the young witch. He needed to know.

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Davina had returned shortly after and quickly moved towards Ophelia, holding the small, dinosaur-print covered band-aid out. Ophelia had risen a brow at the design before plucking it from the little witch's fingers and securing it on before nudging Davina, "Maybe I should get this printed on a dress?"

"The annoying this is; you'd suit it."

Elijah watched the two with mild curiosity; the two could have been sisters; they acted as if they were. Ophelia didn't look much older than Davina, though she certainly sounded much older, and the way she carried herself; she was definitely brave. The way the young woman's face and expression changed in the presence of the witch caught his calculative eyes too; she would look bored, nonchalant, or mildly irritated, but for Davina, there was almost always at least a small smile.

Ophelia could feel his eyes on them and so she looked towards him, a single brow raised as he turned his head and picked up the broken violin, examining it for a moment before his eyes once again met Ophelia's, "Do you play?"

"Somewhat, I'm better with a piano."

"As am I."

"Well, you've had a thousand years."

His lips quirked at the woman as she rolled her eyes. Davina had giggled at the older woman before making her way over to her canvas, keeping an ear on their conversation as Elijah spoke again, "And how many have you had?"

"And here I thought it was rude to ask for a women's age."

"I had an inkling that you wouldn't mind, forgive me if I was mistaken."

Ophelia once again rolled her eyes and a small, amused scoff left her slightly chapped lips. The siphon stood, feeling his eyes on her as she retrieved one of the many tins of rose-tinted lip balm she had stashed around.

"I'm twenty-two."

It wasn't necessarily a lie; she was sent to the prison world as her twenty-two-year-old self and she couldn't exactly get away with telling people that she was actually forty-one. She smeared a hefty amount of balm onto her lips as she peeked over Davina's shoulder to see that she was drawing Elijah.

She leaned closer to the young witch, whispering in her ear, "Perhaps some more grey." She let out a light laugh as Davina giggled and moved back towards the bed.

Elijah rose a brow, catching Ophelia's comment and his lips pulled upwards at her blatant comment. His mind also couldn't comprehend that she was only twenty-two. Yes, she looked young, but her actions told an entirely different story.

All heads snapped towards the door as they heard approaching footsteps and creaking wooden planks. Before either of the girls could utter a word, Elijah sped into the shadows and out of sight.

Marcel strolled inside, that air of ever present cockiness following him like a bad smell. As much as Ophelia got along with the man, there was no denying that he was rather arrogant when he wanted to be. "Good news, Little D. I'm moving you out this pile of dust."

"Are you serious? When?" Davina spoke, her voice filled with excitement that she could finally leave the attic after eight months of sleeping and living in the dusty abode.

"Tonight. I just need to lock in the arrangements. How's our Original?"

Marcel moved closer to the coffin, a hand reaching out and ready to open the ornate lid, but before he could, Ophelia's bored tone rang out, "Oh, I wouldn't, Davina has a spell in progress, Sabrina the tweenage witch almost smacked me about for trying to take a peek."

Marcel let out a chuckle, he could definitely see Davina doing just that, "Better you than me. D? Pack up, 'kay? Only what you wanna take. I'll buy you anything else you need."

The young witch nodded and shared a quick glance with Ophelia before Marcel took his leave. The door slammed shut, disturbing some of the dust and the girls were plunged in silence for just a moment until Elijah stepped back out of the shadows with a small look of shock written in features that it had been the older brunette who had kept his return to the land of the living a secret.

Ophelia gave the suited original a brief smirk as she laid down on Davina's bed, picking up whichever book the witch had been reading last. She scoffed, "Hamlet? Really, Davina?"

"What? You said your name was a character from the book, I wanted to know what happened to her!" The little witch grinned before she parted her lips, "Oh! But I haven't finished!"

"Well, I won't spoil, but you won't like it," Ophelia muttered as she flicked to the page she had memorized; the page of Ophelia's demise. Her eyes moved from the poetic and tragic words and flickered to look over the book and towards Elijah, "I thought you had a proposal for Davina?"

Elijah had been watching the scene with curious eyes; not only were the pair close to one another, but he could tell that they were both close with Marcel, or seemed to be at least. His gaze remained on the cover of the book Ophelia held in her small, pastel-painted hands.

He'd read the book, of course, and knew how it ended, how the character who shared the young women's name had died rather tragically, "You both seem close to Marcel."

Davina hummed as she continued to scribble away, her hands were smudged with black, "Marcel's my family..." Her voice became small and sheepish as if she were embarrassed, "So is Lia."

Ophelia's attention was immediately on the young witch, the words she had read fading from her mind as she stared in shock. Elijah narrowed his eyes at the old of the two; it seemed as if she were surprised that Davina considered her family, surprised that she cared so much.

He swallowed his curiosity as he spared another glance towards Ophelia, taking in the small yet fond look she gave to Davina; it wasn't one he wouldn't soon forget, "And yet Marcel is someone who delights in harming the witches. Those people, I would think, you would consider family. This doesn't trouble you?"

His brows rose as the girls scoffed in unison. Davina placed down the charcoal in her hand with a sigh and moved towards the bed. Ophelia quickly sat up and made space for the young girl; taking to sitting at the foot of the bed, "No. They deserve it."

"Why would you say that?"

"The witches are liars. They do everything for their own gain." Ophelia spoke in disgust as her hand rose to reveal and clutch the locket that had been tucked beneath her dress. The siphon moved her gaze to the side of Davina's face. The young witch's eyes were downcast and unshed tears were building up.

Davina took a breath and exhaled deeply as she looked towards the original vampire who had been sat, patiently waiting for an explanation. The witch delved into an explanation, telling the original why she hated the witches of New Orleans and her pent-up sadness and anger shone through.

Tears spilled over her cheeks as she recalled the Harvest, how her mother had been so proud that she had been chosen to participate, how the little witches that participated would bring strength and health, and the community would celebrate the girls as saviors of their community.

"But all they really wanted was more power. So, I left before they could get it. Now, they're running out of time, because after the Harvest, comes the Reaping. And if they don't complete the Harvest, there won't be a Reaping. Soon, all the witches in the Quarter will start to lose their power." Davina sniffed, her hands flying to her face to wipe away the tears. "Eventually, they will cease to be witches altogether."

"So what does it take to complete this ritual?" Elijah questioned, his eyes darting between the two as Ophelia reached out a hand to grasp Davina's.

Ophelia had known about the Harvest before even being sent to New Orleans; it had been a myth passed through every coven of witches. Each coven had some variation to gain power and as awful as it sounded. Well, the Harvest was better than the Merge. But even so, nobody could be sure that it worked, nobody could be sure that the girls would live. The siphon stared into his dark and waiting eyes.

"Davina has to die."

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15-08-2020