Desiresiwant - DESIRES

𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 4.2k~

warnings: violence/mild gore, war, death, prostitution (living at a brothel), strong vulgar language, Targaryen/Dornish mixed bastard, mentions of sexual themes, and overall mature setting for mature (18+) audience.

a/n: this is the 2nd chapter of my AU HOTD longfic featuring my Black!OC. If there’s a warning I forgot to add let me know.

<-PREVIOUS | NEXT->

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝘄𝗼 | 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲

"𝑺𝒀𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑨 𝑹𝑼𝑵!"

        The world stopped moving. Screams of those running for their lives muted, only her shallow breath was heard. The metallic taste of his blood sunk between her gums as Sylvia sat there. Unable to process, unable to move, unable to breathe.

        "Sylvia! What are you doing? We are under attack!" A pair of hands violently shook the girl from her stiffened position. It's Brianne again. "Here, let's put on your scarf and draw less attention. We must—"

        Sylvia pushed Brianne to hold Yanis' lifeless body in her arms. Fire burned his flesh clean off his skull, made him unrecognizable and no longer beautiful. Tugging him free, she was jerked violently by a man on a horse with a fist full of Brianne's black curls. Because of her grip on Sylvia's arm, forced her over the wooden bench onto her back, wheezing out a breath. Yanis continued to burn and Brianne's screams grew distant before she was silenced.

        Another tugged Sylvia to her feet and saw it was her mother. Not a sound was heard from her moving lips until Sylvia forced herself to zone out of the chaos and focus on her voice. 

        “Sylvia, we must go now! We run for the woods until we reach the sand and then the sea. Just as planned. Do you hear me? Are you hurt?" She smeared the blood off her face and checked her body for visible wounds, relieved none were to be found.

        "N-no, I'm fine. But Yanis. . . "

        She followed her tearful gaze to the unrecognizable body. His clothes were partially recognizable though. 

        “I’m sorry,” her mother apologized, though she sounded far from it. At least for her daughter she pretended to care even if Sylvia saw through it. “He was good in many ways, but life must carry on. We are no longer safe here. They will burn us down with the city if we aren't quick."

        She took her mother's hand and ran.

        The blazing fire of screams trapped inside their homes burned bright and warm against their skin as they ran through the tight alleyway to avoid the main roads of death and terror. Her loose braids were thick of residue raining the sky, lungs thick of smoke and the rotten stench of men, women, and children gut down, given no chance to fight for their home or run to safety.

        Sylvia caught a glimpse of their invaders, but they wore the colors of Dorne. The colors of their home, attacking their people. She never grew an interest in politics as her mother had, but knew their lord was a big-mouth greed with plans to break faith with his allies for their enemies. It was only a matter of time before someone raised their blade at his neck.

        A knight rushed between their secure hold and swung his steel sword. Though his presence took them off guard, Sylvia's mother acted swiftly and pushed her against a horse-less wagon filled with ale crates, seconds from slicing her head clean off. He dared to swing again all while she swallowed the churn pushing up her throat and struggled to gain control of her double vision.

        She shouldn't have drunk as much as she did. She shouldn't have trusted Yanis the way she did. She should've known this would happen and been prepared from the start, but none of them did.

        With a gasp, Sylvia pushed off the wagon to the ground just in time. His sword got stuck in the crates leaking a puddle of ale. The knight then noticed her uncovered hair, but it didn't change the faith in his heart. "Fucking white-haired bitch." He spat, still struggling to pull out his sword.

        Sylvia's mother revealed a dagger hidden in the band around her exposed thigh and jammed it deep into the tissues of his neck. Blood spluttered like a river as the blade sliced across and he fell to his knees, suffocating on his own blood, then on his face as death met him. Sylvia was too stunned to speak.

        She knew her mother was stronger than others aside from her toned muscles and bones ceasing to age, but never knew how strong of a person she was until now.

        Wiping the dagger clean of blood, her mother chuckled at Sylvia's stunned expression. "What? Did you think you were the only who has killed a man before?" 

        Sylvia took her offered hand to her feet. "I hunt animals, not men."

        "Animals are no different. They just don't speak our language or pay to fuck."

        A herd of knights charged in their direction with bloodied spears and swords. There were too many to take and Sylvia's skill set wasn't prepared to fight against combative human beings. Her mother must have known her fears or shared the same sentiment because she demanded they split up for a better chance at survival, but so she could lure them away.

        Sylvia grabbed her hand before she took off running. "No. I don't want to split up. Just come with me." She begged. "Please, ma, let us run together."

        She eyed the knights gaining closer by the second, physically torn between her choices that may change their faiths forever. Any hope Sylvia had left dispersed itself when her mother removed her tight grip and caressed a sweaty palm against her cheeks. A tear was captured.

        "I will find you. I will always find you because you are my daughter. Mine. We’re forever bonded, don't forget that.” Her mother's smile faltered with thought. "And if I do not make it. . ."

        "Don't speak like that!"

        "We must be realistic! Here, take this. Keep it safe.” A heavy pouch was placed in Sylvia’s hand. She didn’t need to look through it to know it was money. Possibly more than enough to own land with working staff. “I’ve been saving toward your future behind Madam’s back. Thought if your father wouldn’t come then we go to him and demand his acknowledgment. But this is yours to have and more than enough to live comfortably, wherever in the world may you go.”

        Sylvia cried. “Just come with me. Let’s see my father and demand it together. Like we planned.”

        Instead of tears, her mother smiled as warmly as the first smile Sylvia ever recognized. Full of love and care, pure happiness and free of stress. “If I can’t find you and the Gods decide to take me as I am, I will wait for you afterward however long it takes. Now go.” She shouted. “GO!”

        Sylvia almost tripped over the corpse when her mother pushed at her. She staggered backward—refusing to leave her but to remember every detail of her face—before clutching the pouch to her chest and ran for her life. Away from her.

        She found the woods and realized she wasn’t the only one trying to escape or prevent others from escaping. Knights weren't in her view but their sharp blades ending the lives of innocent people and children who had yet grown in their shoes were heard silencing them. It seemed most were running to the nearest village for sanctuary, but Sylvia continued toward the sea not to stray from the original plan.

        She wished to help, but even she couldn’t help herself. Having drunk too much ale to navigate through the woods with a sober mindset; bumping into trees, scraping pointy bushes, and tripping over rocks and sand hills. There was this buzzing in her ears aside from her pounding heart. Sweat poured Yanis' blood down her face, and her eyes dashed from one tree to another casting dark shadows, losing importance of the mission.

        But she kept running.

        Through the woods, to the sand, then to the sea.

        "Through the woods, to the sand, to the sea." Sylvia chanted like a song to help redirect her focus.

        Tempted to wait for her mother to catch up, Sylvia pushed forward. No looking back. She mustn’t look back. Pushing through her tight dry lungs until the emptiness of sand awaited her arrival up ahead, ecstasy flourished. Through the woods, to the sand, to the sea.

        A nearby scream as terrifying as the next had startled Sylvia. Her feet started dancing all over the place being thrown off-tracked, and the one second she peered over her shoulder to the shriek of a child, a lowered branch up ahead, knocked her out cold.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

        𝑾𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑼𝑷, 𝑺𝒀𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑨.

        A prolonged groan rumbled through Sylvia’s chest upon her mother’s soothing voice calling to her. She gripped at her throbbing head and forced her eyes shut at a burning light like it was held to her face, a constant swaying created a sickening pit deep in her belly. 

        Wake up, my child.

        "She is up." Announced an unrecognizable voice.

        The wet pressing of a cloth dabbed her temple. "Ma?" Sylvia squinted at the figure of a woman leaning over with a face shaped like her mother's but with curly strands fitting above the ears, shorter and looser than her mother's.

        The longer Sylvia stared, the more her features transfigured from her high cheekbones and plump lips to an oval face with light freckles like someone flickered sand at her face and it stuck. Tannish skin and eyes of mixed green were filled with genuine concern, startled when her eyes shot open and wide.

       Sylvia sat up with a scream, her head instantly wavering as her brain shifted, so it felt like. The woman scattered back with a gasp, holding her pregnant belly, and hid behind her husband who sat protectively in front of her. They were the least of her problems when confirming the answer to motion sickness—they were at sea. Miles and miles away from land where everything appeared the same.

        Sylvia's heart dropped with panic. "Where am I? H-how did I get here? Who are—"

        She turned over the nearest edge of the boat to relieve herself of that churn choking up her throat. Living on land near water all her life and never once boarded a boat was ironic. There was never time or an opportunity to explore the option. Her mother didn't like her hanging around the dock, neither did Yanis, and it was unsafe with all kinds of grimy people lingering about. Had she been stubborn enough to seek her own opinion, she would’ve already seen the world. But to be surrounded by an enormous body of water with no chance of escaping having not learned how to swim was panicking too. Worse even.

        The woman handed her a wet cloth, the same that was cleansing her face. They were clearly no threat to her so Sylvia took it with a soft thanks and wiped her mouth clean. A deep reddish color stained the cloth and knew it wasn’t her blood.

        “I am Mar’kel. This my husband, Jorio.” She introduced while rubbing her belly big enough to burst. “And this, Malero if boy. Or Nilora if girl.”

        Jorio touched on the other questions asked earlier. “We sailed to Toland from the Free Cities for a new start, only days later to escape our new home in seek of another. That is how we found you.” He continued after a short beat, more fluent than his wife. “I wanted to leave you behind but my wife begged me to carry you. She believes your white hair signifies something special. You’re lucky to be alive.”

        My hair? That caught Sylvia off guard. She didn’t even want to think of the state of her hair.

        Mar'kel perked at the last sentence and scooted closer. "Yes, I hear stories of white-haired Gods. Never seen so close, but powerful people I know. And they ride dragons, yes? Do you have dragons?" Her eyes lit up like a child being told a bedtime story.

        Sylvia's mother spoke of Dragonriders. Said her father came in on one; bigger than the moon, a roar strong enough to shake one's organs. A terrifying day for small-minded people who never believed in such creatures existing.

        "I’ve never seen a dragon before," Sylvia told her honestly and Mar’kel frowned.

        "But your skin—it's dragon scales, yes? And hair is white, yes? And your eyes. . . "

        Sylvia grazed along her scales, out in the open to be viewed. She still heard her mother’s voice telling her to stay cover and keep her head down.

        "Yes. All true. I was born like this, but still. . . no dragons. I'm sorry to disappoint."

        Mar'kel offered a small smile and went shuffling in their things. It was then she remembered the pouch her mother gave her and almost had a panic attack until she discovered the bulky brown thing at her side. Aside from silver and gold coins, a beautifully crafted necklace with a red ruby pendant and gold bangles lay inside. Sylvia believed it was her mother’s, as were the bangles she used to play with on her arms, or that her father gifted the necklace, and wanted to feel close by slipping it on. 

        Jorio assured they hadn’t stolen a thing and weren’t thieves. For now, Sylvia believed his word.

        Dizzy from looking out into the endless sea, Sylvia struggled to fight the churn scratching up her throat again. The wet cloth was still clenched in her fist in case she threw up again. "How far are we from Toland?" She asked. The boat was so small that she could not fit in her space.

        "Quite far," said Jorio, navigating his compass to peddle in the right direction.

        "Where do you plan to go?"

        "Not back to The Free Cities. Yronwood, maybe. They have high valleys. Closer to sea, and I hear there is good work there. . ." Jorio noticed the frown painted on the girl's face and inquired further. "Do you have family in Yronwood? Or. . . back in Toland?"

        "My mother. She was there with me during the attack and promised she’d be right behind me. . .but she is not here.” She swallowed thickly, blinking away tears. “I am, though."

        Jorio nodded in understanding. "Sorry it was us who found you and not your mother. I can only carry so much at my old age." He said, not that Sylvia held it against him. "You think, if she made it out, she would know you were heading to Yronwood? She could meet us there."

        Sylvia’s gaze narrowed as she muttered, “I doubt it.”

        If her mother made it out alive, which Sylvia prayed she did, Yronwood wouldn’t cross her mind first. There was nothing there. It held no value to their lives. Since a young girl, all they ever spoke of was the great King’s Landing. It’s where Kings rule outside of Dorne and where her father resided. Or DragonStone, as mentioned countless times before. If she made it to either one of those places, the chances of her mother finding her there were greater. And she would wait for her.

        Sylvia cleaned herself of Yanis’ blood, seeped beneath her nails and used the ocean’s reflection to wash her face. The salty water dried her skin and felt as though the sun was slow-roasting her, but it was better than holding a constant reminder of a man she loved. She scrubbed at her clothes but it only made it worse, so she left it be. Mar’kel offered half a broken bread, smiling brightly. She didn’t take it at first so the woman placed it in her hand anyway and told her to eat and gain strength, that it should be enough to last until they landed in Yronwood. In the opposite direction from King’s Landing.

        Days seemed much longer traveling by sea and the sun made it even worse. It didn’t take long until Sylvia grew used to the wavering motion, especially on a somewhat full stomach. She rested along the boat’s edge, dancing her fingers along the current crashing against them. She could lose herself in the deep blue sea, almost black as the sun finally started to set in. It took her mind off her mother and left space to plan her next move in Yronwood. She had enough money to board another—and bigger—boat heading to King’s Landing.

        "There's a ship!" Jorio announced.

        Pulling back her hand being violently crashed upon, Sylvia sat up from her resting position to a large ship floating in their direction. She was quick to cover her hair and hid the brown pouch in her boot. Neither needed to flag their attention as they were spotted immediately being the only little boat in view. Even the current pulled them close.

        "State your house." A knight dressed in grey armor that was nearly white stated once the ship was close enough for him to be heard. Compared to their boat, it was taller than any structure with enough power to flip their boat by the waves it created.

        “We are just passing by.” Jorio said.

        “This far out? Should a storm come in the night, your boat will be shredded by the waves.”

        “We’ll make due.”

        Jorio tried paddling away but the current kept them stuck to the ship.

        “Looks like you need a ride. Real food and nice comfy sheets for the pregnant woman,” humor thick on the knight’s tongue. “State your house.” He asked with more demand as though their help would only be spared should their houses align.

        Mar'kel and Jorio grew silent, the same as Sylvia.

        They came from no house of a certain status, a kingdom that thrived on its own. Sylvia was raised in Dorne so she stood with them, but their armor was not of Dornish colors nor were their accent. And because her interest in politics was little, she didn’t know the kind of relationship outsiders had with Dorne. The last war fought was within the country against their own people as it’d been for a while after countless wars with other regions. 

        Sylvia lifted her head to identify the knight who spoke. The ship was too tall to view their banner and foggy to set their attire behind a kingdom with stories that had been told. Dorne was no friend to most, a region that could never be conquered no matter the treaties placed. Respected for their bravery, loved for their trades, but not as equally feared.

       Thinking carefully of her answer, Sylvia then foolishly went with the first thought on her mind. “House Targaryen.” She stated with confidence despite her nerves. Either it would get them killed or lend another day to live. Her chances were more certain than any house within Dorne, so she thought. 

        The knight’s expression widened with surprise and disappeared to inform whomever the ship belonged to. 

        Sylvia bit her tongue, feeling Jorio’s stare. Almost convinced her thoughtless statement had gotten them killed, a worn-out ladder was tossed over the ship. Jorio stabilized it before helping Mar’kel climb up first. Sylvia climbed up second with Jorio right behind, carrying the rest of what he could on his back. 

        A sword at her neck halted Sylvia once touching the wooden surface. Quite close the reflection wasn’t as appealing and one wrong move could have her bleeding out to death. Muffled cries came from Mar’kel being torn from her husband, forcing Jorio to react until a knight aimed his sword at her pregnant belly. Only then, he headed with caution. The closer knight holding Sylvia hostage against the edge tossed her to the ground, next to Jorio who pulled his wife protectively in his arms after she had been released.

        They were now surrounded by a bunch of white and few red armor. Fuck.

        The floor creaked beneath a short fat man with a head of black and grey hair long to his neck. A metal pin of a hand holding a crown glimmered against his dark clothing, and Syliva lowered her gaze when his presence stood before them.

        “There hasn’t been a Targaryen along the Sea of Dorne for years now. In fact, I am in close contact with their house, almost like family, aware of all their long and short travels. And yet,” his gruff voice held much authority and was gutter deep. “I don’t recall logging any recent travels this far out, nor can I say your faces regard familiarity. So, tell me, who was it? Unless you don’t wish to sleep with the fish for impersonating your king, speak.”

        Mar’kel and Jorio held no shame in turning their heads toward Sylvia without sparing a word. Blood could’ve spilled by how hard she bit her tongue.

        His boots stood before her. “So it was you. Who are you, boy? Or. . .girl in men’s clothing?” A hint of muse was found in his tone.

        Sylvia needed to be smart about this. The man seemed close to the crown and possibly her father, but she was no liar. Not entirely. She may not be full-blooded or raised in a lovely castle dressed in silk gowns and eating sweet cakes with high-born ladies, but her father’s blood was hers as she was his child. This might also be her golden ride to King’s Landing, or her last breath.

        Her pulse pounced through her fingertips as Sylvia removed her scarf, revealing her messy braided hair she once was taught to hide from the world. She then lifted her head to the old man with ocean blue eyes and a bushy beard shaping his face, exposing the scales along her skin and the color of her eyes.

        “I am Sylvia, born on the soils of Dorne, and my father is Daemon Targaryen." A collective of gossip flourished the ship, and the man only tilted his head with a calculative expression. "I have lived in Toland all my life until we were caught in the middle of a civil war. This kind family took me aboard their boat until you found us. I dare not impersonate your king or his house, but no lies have yet been spared. I only ask you let them go and allow me safe travels to King’s Landing and I’ll be out your hairs.”

        “Should I allow you safe travels, what is your next step when arriving at King's Landing?” He asked.

        The plan was simple. At least it sounded simple to Sylvia. She would buy land or a nice home with her own room and living space to reside in until her mother found her. 

        Unlike the original plan, she wasn’t sure if meeting her father was something she wanted. He was a stranger to her despite many stories told, and there’s a possibility he wouldn’t want her around. All the letters sent and not one response proved he wanted nothing to do with Syliva and her mother. Why ruin his peace now? 

        “That is for me to figure out when I get there,” Sylvia said, and the old man raised his brow with slightly parted lips and a soft huh.

        He appeared rather intrigued with information of her background, unable to deny her Targaryen-like features that were one of a kind, and said, “Well then, Sylvia, Sands of Dorne, said bastard daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, you are welcomed on my ship and your friends are free to go.” He motioned the guards to release Jorio and Mar’kel, his eyes never leaving Sylvia as he stepped closer. “King’s Landing isn’t safe for a woman of your youth and physical appearance as said bastard of Prince Daemon Targaryen. However, I do believe I can make the proper arrangements to ensure your living situation is. . .comfortable.”

        Sylvia eyed the man when she stood. He didn't look knocked on the head and was confident as he spoke. Given the ship, the authority he had to command knights and permit her company, he was a man of wealth. And with that came power, and a price for his kindness. 

        “What do you want?” She asked directly, assessing the greedy look in his eyes.

        He smiled with a wicked touch. “That is for me to decide when we arrive.”

        “Just who are you again?”

        “How nice of you to finally ask,” he said and then offered a short bow of his head. “I am Haron Baratheon and Lord Hand to King Aul Targaryen of the seven kingdoms. And I believe we will be of good use to one another quite soon.”

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

If you like what you read and wish to read more of this fic, you can read more here

MARIE MOREAU & JORDAN LI GEN V | S01E05, Welcome to the Monster Club

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌-𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐃

— Klaus Mikaelson and his somewhat mortal daughter, Deena Salée are finally the same age (21). He no longer physically passes as her father—he barely did before. And now it’s time he retains another family title to ward off suspicion …link below

Book Three of Warm-Blooded

(season 5 of the originals)

Chapter 3 | Your Sword And Shield

Black women have to do better by black girls.

Stop teaching black girls they have to be wonder woman to be worthy of a man but turn around and allow black boys to act a fool. Stop teaching these boys they are princes no matter how they act but our girls have to follow decades of misogynoir just to be label “a good woman”. Stop shaming us for how our male family members look at us. Stop stomping respectability politics in to us and telling us than if we don’t fit that mold “ain’t no man gonna want you”.

Start protecting black girls, start cherishing black girls, start teaching them they are worth more than just a decorative piece for some ain’t shit man, that they are people that deserve to be happy however they please.

Every time I see a twilight or tvd long x reader fic I get excited and then the name is like

" the other Swan"

" the forgotten Gilbert"

" the secret Mikaelson"

take your ass back to Wattpad because that shit is LAZY.

No adoption mentioned either, which could create such a nice explanation and allow us POC readers to feel like we're not immediately excluded.

And the lack of racial/ethnic diversity, where is your imagination? You could literally craft an entire plot about how your mc has come to be involved with these characters and that's what you go with?

And the mc doesn't have to somehow be more powerful than every other powerful character like, they can just be strong and powerful enough to hold their own y'know?

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦-𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 2.7k~

warnings: strong language, violence against witches, murder, attempted sacrifice

a/n: this is the 2nd chapter of my au longfic based off the The Originals (what if the child was a teenager/YA throughout the show duration and not at season 5?). This chapter features both my OC’s AND Klaus’s pov with a proper pov switch—where Rebekah and Elijah are introduced for the first time. It is also the first and last chapter dual pov will be featured in the same chapter throughout the series. If there’s a warning I skipped let me know.

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝘄𝗼 | 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗰𝘆

      𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒 surrounded Deena's unconscious body as she began to awaken slowly. It was the blazing heat of fire marked around her frame, skinning her flesh of salted sweat which woke her up. She was faced with a bright color of reddish-orange dancing in the sky. The tug of her wrist slammed back down onto the cold concrete bed. She lifted her other arm—slammed right back down. Her legs—back to the bed they went. Lifting her head, she saw her ligaments had been restricted, tied down by some magical force that kept her positioned like a snow angel without the snow.

        "Que ce passe t-il (What’s going on)??" She struggled to break free, her brain unable to comprehend the matter of force that has bound her body to the bed without physical ropes. Just like when Davina was thrown against the wall and how she fainted when she felt fine before. Her breathing heaved. "Help! Someone help me, please! I've been kidnapped!"

        No matter the amount of force she used, gravity pulled her right back down.

        But there could still be hope. As she took in her surroundings, met with the dark night of the clear moon illuminating her brown skin, she knew off bat she was in a cemetery. The grey stones and engraved names and burnt-out candles and freshly bloomed flowers gave it away. And through the flames, Deena spotted a shadow. Six shadows scattered around her. They stood still with their hands at the sky as if they were praying.

        "Hey," Deena called out to the nearest shadow. Though she noticed their eyes were closed, they could still hear her. "Hey, get me out of here! You got the wrong person! What are you doing?"

        A twig snapped behind Deena and one of the shadowed individuals revealed themselves to the panicked teenager.

          "I know you," Deena exclaimed. "You're the woman I met today, Zoeè. Please, if you let me go I'll pretend nothing happened. I'll say nothing I swear. I don't even know you."

        The woman, Zoeè, peered down at Deena, a glint in her eyes as they found comfort elsewhere. Maybe she did feel bad for Deena getting caught up in all this mess, for something she had no knowledge of, knowing she deserved none of the torture that was to come as she was just a child. And she has never harmed a child nor was it in her plan to do so, but her pleads weren't enough to free her. She was determined to go through with the tricky spell. It had to be done.

        With a small shoulder lift, "I'm sorry, hun. If I could do it any other way then I would, but you are the key to strengthening our coven and placing back the balance which your existence upsets. But I'll try to make it quick."

        Deena is riddled with fear at the sight of Zoeè's hands locked on the sides of her head. She kicked her feet, lifted herself from the chest in hopes of shifting her head from within her hold. Deena had no idea what was to come or the reasoning behind Zoeè's hand positioning; she just felt like something bad was going to happen and wanted to prevent that gut feeling eating her within.

        "No, no, no—" The haunting chants grew louder, words Zoeè began to repeat back. The flames intensified, and something unexplainable sent Deena into a surge of pain.

She screamed.

        It was as if her bones were merging into one and her heart was being squeezed by rusted nails. Like her nails were being ripped one-by-one or a giant soul-sucking monster blowing its hot air against her body draining Deena of life. Her body has never experienced anything like this before. A wet substance begins to leak from her nose, curved down the sides of her sweaty cheeks and painted Zoeè's hands. Which she didn't mind. She was expecting the mess plus more. Then from the corners of her eyes. Blood so thick it could form a river to drown in; unable to see nor hear as the blood continued to rip her from life.

       "ÇA FAIT MAL (IT HURTS) , STOP!" Deena's screams were cut short by a puddle of blood coughing violently out of her dry lungs, the metallic taste filled in every corner of her mouth, seized in between her gums and the hardest parts her toothbrush couldn't reach. She cried but it was hard to tell which were tears or blood. "P-please."

       And as her prayers were answered, a gust of wind blew through the dark air and a loud snap of a thick bone followed by a thud silenced the air, just after a slushing sound of blood leaves the flesh of a woman screaming in pain.

        The heat from the fire died out and Deena's left arm was lifted from the magical hold, but she was too weak to lift a muscle and the blood continued to pour, choking her to death.

        Another high-pitched scream filled her thick ears. A body drops. And finally, Deena was able to breathe when Zoeè removed her hands with a jolt, the scent of fear grew at the bloody scene unfolding before her. The excruciating suffering stopped integrating her insides and her body didn't feel bound to the concrete bed. And though Deena still had no will to move a muscle, she forced herself up enough to spit out the blood clogged in her throat and plopped right onto her back.

        The puddle of blood led Zoeè to the dark blond man with raging golden almost yellow eyes. His pink lips drenched in dark blood, curled into a devilish grin. "I heard there was a party without me. Or did I ruin it already?" The lifeless body of a witch Zoeè knew plopped to the ground. He placed his finger between his lips after wiping the stained blood around his mouth, savoring the last taste of the witch he drained within seconds.

        Hitched breath, Zoeè stumbled back in fear at the presence of the hybrid. She almost tripped off the stand that held up the concrete bed, but held her position immediately. "K-Klaus," She swallowed hard, eyes frantic at her dead coven sisters who lie with their throats ripped out.

      Deena's head twitched. She could've sworn she heard the name which her father possessed, but the thick blood in her ears prevented her from hearing much but low vibrations. Her body has been through too much. And frankly, she's exhausted. As she clawed for air drenched in cold sweat, darkness comforted her body and her eyes slowly began to shut.

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      𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 with pride in his work of the dead. He quite missed the thrill back when there were no restrictions and he could feed his cravings by going on a little witch hunt—well, it's not as easy now as it was before. Witches had tasteful blood apart from muggles. He could almost taste their magic being absorbed into his bloodstream though magic had no use in his bones. Who knew all it took was Davina's cry for help from the witches again to allow Klaus to experience the good old days.

        Zoeè, the annoying witch who has had it out for Klaus since the treaty had been placed, followed the silent footsteps of his brother, the noble Elijah Mikaelson who appeared a few seconds late to the feast. "Now, now, Niklaus. We have a deal with the witches; we leave them in peace with their practices if the favor toward us is extended."

        Klaus saw how Zoeè's presence calmed upon Elijah's arrival, though fear was brooding beneath her skin. Feared blood was the best. His nobility title made Klaus nervous as he knew his brother had a tendency to seek sympathy for the opposing team if a door was led open, especially when he was faced with a witch Klaus caught sneaking out his bedroom the past few mornings. He must be done with the wolf girl in the Bayou. He just needs to make sure it stays closed and the plan doesn't crumble. Though there wasn't much planning put into this surprise attack.

        "But there is a problem," Klaus looked to his brother for support. Testing his loyalty. "Right, brother?"

        "Indeed, there is,"

        Klaus's grin broadened.

        1 Mikaelson is a warning. 2 Mikaelsons was a threat. Zoeè felt uneasy in the presence of Klaus Mikaelson alone. He was unreasonable and his actions were too unpredictable. Maybe with the Noble Elijah here to control his brother's impulse, she may be spared.

        "This got nothing to do with either of you." Zoeè dismissed the problem with a shrug. Her thudded heartbeat in Klaus's ear told him otherwise.

        Elijah crossed the dead witch and revealed his clean-shaven face and pale skin illuminating under the moonlight, his brown eyes trained on Zoeè while smoothing down the creases on his suit. "Actually, it does. You see, we received a message that the girl you intend on sacrificing tonight is a child miraculously born of Mikaelson blood. And Klaus is to be the father." Elijah cocked his head upon Zoeè's uncomfortable expression. "Of which you already knew seeing how you are not surprised. Now, we know it is impossible for my brother to reproduce any biological life-form as he has been technically dead for the last millennium. But because it is simply a rumor, we must investigate. And to do that, we need the child. Alive."

         Elijah followed the scent of blood to the child who currently lay unconscious. He could sense the torture her body has been through by the clogged air forcing itself from her lungs. He felt for the girl. As opposed to Klaus who's afraid of the possibility of this child being his which he knew sounded ridiculous, but it was something he couldn't ignore. Therefore, he was terrified. He refused to look at the child, but he could hear her faded heartbeat losing its strength.

        "This is witch business and the Mikaelsons are not allowed on sacred grounds. Nothing personal."

       "This is very personal," Klaus growled. It could create thunder alone and rumbled in Zoeè's bones. "Seeing how you and your little witchy friends would go through great lengths to tear down my empire and conspire against me again, when I have granted you your very freedom to do as the witches please as long as they stay in their lane and be of use when I need them. You have even brought in some girl off the streets, claim she is my child, to lure me here and kill me! Pray now to your god, because I cannot be killed!"

        "There is no lie or conspire against you, Klaus! The child is yours by blood. But why does it matter what we do with her when none of you knew she existed?"

        "Because whether she is Klaus's child or not, she is presumed to be a Mikaelson. And if she is, you have already broken your treaty with us. Therefore, you hold no upper ground and you are merely a snack." Klaus rolled his eyes upon his little sister's arrival. Of course, she had to make her entrance the best of all.

        Zoeè jumped at Rebekah's tall figure sneaking up behind the frightened witch. She lifted her hand to cast out a spell when she saw Rebekah reeling too closely to the unconscious girl, but before Zoeè was able to speak her first syllable, Rebekah was at her side within seconds and tossed her against the concrete wall before she had time to react.

        Rebekah slung her hair confidently over her shoulder. "Nice try, but that was cute."

        Klaus peered from the corner of his eyes, watching silently as his sister rushed to check on the girl. She checked her pulse though all of them could hear her faded heartbeats. But just like him, they were unsure if the child was going to make it given her current condition.

        It was making them nervous. Rebekah even more.

        She did what she thought was right at the moment and fed the child her blood. While doing so, her free hand lifted the girl's head as she slowly began to awaken and was forced to swallow down her blood so that she wouldn't choke. "Take your time, love,  drink slowly," She sung.

        "Yes, I agree." Elijah agreed with Rebekah's point. "And how do you presume we should handle this information?"

        Zoeè somehow managed to her feet with a limp. She was surrounded by the Mikaelsons and that was making her nervous. Her only hope was Elijah though he failed to call off his siblings. She still had hoped what they shared was real enough to save her.

        Klaus stepped forward, next to Elijah with his fangs piercing out his gums. His mouth filled with blood from the previous witch he fed on. "I say we kill them all. Each and every one of them. May their sacrificed blood teach the witches a lesson or two about going against us." He encouraged.

        Zoeè never imagined dying this way but if she did, then so be it. She will die willfully for her coven and her ancestors and her beliefs, but she will not go out without a warning. "Even if you kill me, it won't end here! The coven is aware of the prophecy and the power that lies in her blood. And as more discovers her danger, they gone keep coming until she's dead." She pressed her hand against her bruised side, a metallic taste of blood slipping between her lips.

        "Simple. Then we kill the whole coven. Poof—" Klaus emphasized his hands as if he were blowing up mini bombs. "Problem solved."

        "Niklaus," Elijah sent his brother an unspoken glare. Klaus lifted his shoulders with a shrug as if he should consider the proposition. Klaus's irrational actions will lead to much more than a coven on their heads and they don't need any of that. "We don't want a bloodbath on our hands, we just want the child. Once we have her in a safe place, we will be out your hair. And if the rumor is false, she will be sent back. How does that sound? Do we have ourselves a deal?"

        Suddenly—

        Rebekah's body flew back as she was feeding the child by the force of Zoeè's magic. She then snapped her neck. Klaus wasted no time and went in for the kill, but was thrown back into someone's grave and pinned to the wall where he could not move, bound by a magical force restraining him. Elijah was brought to his knees writhing in pain.

        Zoeè rushed in front of the child to keep them away from having her. "I'm sorry, but you can't have her. I will complete the spell if it means saving my coven, and then I will sacrifice the child while you all watch." Zoeè stretched her hands over Deena's unconscious body and began the spell all by herself. She didn't care if it was taking too much of her or if it was killing her from inside. She needed to complete the spell no matter what.

        Despite the pain, Elijah rose to his feet. He saw it was up to him since his siblings were unable to fight back. "Then forgive me," Within seconds, Elijah's brown eyes were coated licorice black. Black veins shrouded beneath his skin around his eyes. He was a demon. His true nature. "I have tried to reason with you but it seems reasoning isn't your thing. And one thing you should know of me is that I am not patient. And my patience runs out faster than my temper."

        With a swift movement, he took Zoeè's neck into his mouth and ran her dry, releasing Klaus who fell to the ground. Her screams filled their ears like sweet music. Dead with a snap of her neck.

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

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