𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 - the legalities

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𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 and truly adjusted to life back in the real world. She still didn't quite have the patience for people who wasted her time and more often than not, her anger still controlled her. The forty-one-year-old still in her twenty-two-year-old body still missed her brother with all that remained of her cold and numb heart, but she had to get used to life without her other half.

She was a siphon, an abomination to all witches and due to her connection to magic, vampires and wolves were not particularly fond of her either. Unless she made alliances and friends with the right people, she would have a permanent target on her back from all factions of the supernatural.

This is exactly why, on that night when the magic of the Harvest pulled her from the prison world, she saved Marcel Gerard and the tween witch he had tried to shield, Davina Claire.

Marcel and Davina held looks of shock when they witnessed the woman drain a witch of their magic and use it to save the pair. That's exactly what the siphon needed.

It had certainly worked in her favor, Marcel had approached her, Davina clutching his hand tightly, and thanked her. Davina, who eventually found her voice, choked out her own thanks as she blinked away the tears that had clouded her vision.

From that day onward, Ophelia had stayed with Marcel. Davina Claire was the only Harvest witch to survive that night, and so, all the magic that should have gone back into the earth, the magic that had saved Ophelia, stayed with Davina. Making the sixteen-year-old the most powerful witch in New Orleans.

It was perfect for Ophelia; the tweenaged witch owed Ophelia, as did Marcel, and Ophelia couldn't help the smug smile that appeared on her plump lips at the fact that she had been back in the real world for less than five minutes and had already managed to secure herself an alliance with the vampire who had an all-powerful witch by his side.

It didn't take long for Marcel to gain control over the entire French Quarter; the vampires looked up to him, the humans couldn't mess with a vampire, let alone the siphon and witch by his side. Both Ophelia and Davina had instantly agreed to help Marcel gain control of the witches; Davina could sense when magic was being used and Marcel would arrive on the scene with Ophelia who would drain the witch's power and leave Marcel to deal with the rest. All that had been left were the wolves who occupied the swampland that was the Bayou; they weren't an issue at all; Marcel had managed to procure a spell that would reverse the wolves curse. Rather than turning into a wolf on the full moon; it was flipped, their natural state was to be the body of a wolf, only turning back into a human once a month, on the full moon.

Nobody could fight or stand up to Marcel. The witches were useless, the humans would get their throats torn out and the wolves wouldn't stand a chance.

Ophelia had never felt so strong, even without a steady source of magic she was on top; thanks to Marcel. Now, just because Marcel gave the woman everything she desired; a home at the Abattoir, a powerful position by his side, and an abundance of clothes and food. She still didn't entirely trust the man.

After all, her mind and heart had been damaged, she couldn't find it in herself to trust. But for the time she spent beside him, she offered her aid and her counsel; she was a lot older than she seemed after all. She played the part better than she could have ever imagined. Ophelia had to get reacquainted with the world, everything had progressed so much; technology was actually what she found easiest to get accustomed to, as well as learning the history of everything that had happened in her time in the prison world.

Surprisingly, Ophelia didn't mind Davina's presence all too much; the young witch had shared the story of the Harvest with the siphon, and Ophelia could relate. She told the young witch that her family had betrayed her too; though she didn't divulge in her past any further than that. Nobody really knew who Ophelia was; she was an enigma to most.

A siphon; a rare form of witch that Marcel knew almost nothing about, to say he was shocked at what she could do was certainly an understatement. Davina knew very little about siphons, after all, children in the coven were forbidden to learn about the abominations. But Davin had always been someone who craved to know more; she never saw Ophelia as an abomination, only a woman who, like her, had been cast aside by the witches. They were one and the same.

The witches of New Orleans came to fear the siphon. She walked around with her head held high, a glint in her dark eyes that frightened them. Even the vampires under Marcel's command never dared to challenge the woman whose fire had returned. Her mouth was fierce and it was as if she feared nothing; a reason why Marcel took a liking to the siphon. She fought hard and she proved time and time again that he could trust her.

The dark-skinned vampire had shared small parts of his past with the woman; he told her about his old family and about the original vampires he once knew, how they had thought of him as family, about how powerful they were. Marcel, no matter how hard he tried, no matter what silver-tongued questions he asked, he just couldn't get the siphon to speak of her own past.

All he and anyone else knew was that her name was Ophelia, she was twenty-two and her family had tossed her to the side after finding out what she was. That was it. It wasn't false information, but it definitely wasn't enough for any of them to truly know who she was. That was how she wanted it.

Within the time she spent parading around New Orleans with Marcel, she had never quite built a bond with any of the other vampires in Marcel's charge; she wasn't one for building connections, not anymore. But it didn't bother her, she played the part and offered them smiles that didn't reach her eyes and that was enough for them to deem her a 'friend' in their eyes, especially since Marcel trusted her.

They listened to her, each of them valued her opinion and her counsel; she was intelligent and knew of New Orleans history. She was also very aware and knowledgeable of the supernatural creatures that surrounded them.

One rule she had stuck to, however, was that she didn't touch anyone unless she aimed to drain their magical energy. It had been ingrained in her from her teenage years. She hadn't been allowed to touch her family, or anyone for that matter. Her parents feared that either she or Kai would steal magic and use it for their own gain. They weren't wrong, had either of them had the chance, they would have done exactly that.

Of course, there was also the abuse, something nobody knew about and she was going to keep it that way. But even the slightest touch filled her with a rage unlike any other, her mind flashed with images of her father's beast-like face from when he would 'punish' his two abominations. She would flinch, and she hated it. It was the one rule she had; everyone, no matter their age or gender, had to ask her before they ever laid a hand on her; even Marcel and Davina.

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Marcel had a long reign of relative peace; the time after the Harvest was smooth, they had no issues; after all, who would ever mess with them?

Ophelia spent most of her days either inside the Abattoir playing the piano, melodic notes flowing through the entire building as each of the vampires listened intently, their supernatural hearing taking in each note that drifted from the old instrument. Some days would be spent by Marcel's side, offering her advice and counsel to the vampire. Some days, Davina would ask for the siphon to keep her company and honestly, Ophelia rather enjoyed their quiet days together; Davina would sketch and paint whilst Ophelia would read until the day grew dark.

Other days, she would scour the city she knew so well, finding old shops and purchasing more clothes than anyone could ever need and once she had exhausted herself, she would fill her stomach with copious amounts of pastries and tea from her favorite café in the Quarter; Café Beignet.

The owners knew her so well that the minute they saw the woman, they knew what she would order; six beignets, a cup of earl grey tea and, as always, a frozen strawberry daiquiri.

The café was always her go-to place after wearing herself out; she would almost throw herself into a chair at one of the outside tables, fish out her laptop, and occupy her time whilst she ate her weight in beignets.

Her other go-to was most certainly Rousseau's bar. They offered the best, and strongest alcohol Ophelia could get her perfectly manicured hands on. It also helped that one of the workers, Camille, was under the watchful eye of Marcel who was trying to 'woo' the woman, though in Ophelia's opinion, he really wasn't doing all that well.

Ophelia, tired of watching the vampire stare from afar, would sit at the bar and chat with Camille, finding things out for the vampire to use in his attempts to make the blonde bartender swoon. Though in all honesty, Camille wasn't all that tiring to be around. Sure, the woman had tried to psychoanalyze Ophelia who had shut her down immediately but the blonde would keep a steady stream of alcohol coming for the siphon.

The first time Ophelia had gone to the bar, well to say Camille was impressed at how much the petit woman could drink without slurring her words was an understatement. The two had become... friends? Ophelia wasn't quite sure if that was the right word; after all, Cami knew nothing of the supernatural and next to nothing about the siphon herself.

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It had been eight months since the Harvest, eight months since Ophelia was granted -however unintentional- her freedom. And the woman had to give it to herself, she had accomplished a lot. Her time as a teenager was nothing short of a nightmare, she was pushed around every second of the day. Now, she had the ability to go anywhere and do anything; and the witches feared her all whilst doing so. She loved it.

On that particular night, Ophelia sat at one of the pianos inside the vast Abattoir. Music vibrated the entirety of New Orleans and Ophelia could hear the vampires partying as they did every night. The siphon herself wasn't one for joining in and mingling; she much preferred to play the piano whilst sipping mimosas.

The shrill sound of an incoming text broke the siphon out of her practice, the notes fading into silence as she moved away from the ancient instrument and scooped up her phone. She had received a text from none other than Marcel. 'Original vampires in town, be careful -M'

Ophelia was no stranger to the tales told of the originals. Her family had known about them and Marcel himself had mentioned them here and there and she knew to be wary of them. But Ophelia wouldn't allow herself to be treated how she once was, even by an original. She would regard them with the same energy they offered her, and she wouldn't back down.

Ophelia's manicured fingers quickly tapped away at the glass screen as she walked back to the piano, the hem of the short summer dress brushing against her thighs as she took her seat, 'I'll be careful. Don't worry.'

She tossed the phone onto the surface of the piano and continued to press on the keys, a steady rhythm of notes filling the air.

A short while passed, roughly thirty minutes or blissful uninterrupted playing. At this point, only alcohol, reading and playing the piano simmered her ever-bubbling anger.

Her hands balled into fists and slammed down on the keys as she huffed after another text signaled its delivery.

She snatched the phone back up, the screen illuminating her face in the dark, candle-lit room,

'Thierry has a werewolf bite, made a deal to give them Jane-Anne for the cure. They're asking about the witches, don't mention Davina -M'

The siphon rolled her eyes. As if she would ever mutter a single word about Davina to anyone; the teenager was the only thing keeping the witches in their place and Ophelia wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that; watching the witches suffer in their own city was one of her favorite pass-times.

Not only that, but Ophelia had to admit that she had grown rather fond of the young witch in their time together; the poor thing had only wanted to make her parents and coven proud and instead, she was forced to watch as her friend's necks were sliced open, knowing that she too, would suffer the same fate.

Ophelia could remember when Marcel had first brought the girls to the Church attic that Davina would stay in, the determination on the witch's face as she told Marcel that she would make the witches pay had made the siphon smile wickedly as she uttered to Harvest girl, 'And I'll help you.'

Ophelia took a large sip of the ice-cold and minty mimosa as her eyes narrowed in thought; the originals were most likely the only opponents that could take Marcel's crown and there was no way that she would allow herself to be on the losing side in the middle of a war.

She'd have to keep a keen eye on both Marcel and his old friends and make sure that she aligned herself accordingly. Though no matter her side, she would ensure that Davina would be out of the witches' grip, she deserved that much.

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The next day Ophelia had found herself dressed and ready by ten in the morning; she couldn't get her mind to shut off the night prior and so, when sleep finally embraced her, she of course had to deal with an early rising. She had huffed and with very little care, she had thrown on an oversized shirt, one that came mid-thigh, a jean jacket she had taken from Marcel that engulfed her frame, and a pair of clean white trainers that made her tanned legs look even darker.

Her long brown mess of knots was swiftly brushed out and was left dangling down her back. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, and out the door she went as she quickly typed away on her phone, letting Marcel know that she would be spending the day with Davina.

The young witch's head had snapped to the door when Ophelia entered, and despite everything she had promised herself, Ophelia couldn't quite stop the small smile that spread on her lips as Davina grinned at her.

"Lia, I didn't know you were coming today." The young witch spoke as she bounced on the balls of her bare feet.

The siphon shrugged off her jacket and tossed it on the teen's bed as she took a seat, one leg crossing over the other, "Well, I have no desire to get in between Marcel and his original vampire nonsense." she waved a hand as if brushing the idea away, "Plus, I'd much rather sit here and read, whilst you draw..." Ophelia eyes the mess of coal-colored scribbles on the young witch's canvas, "whatever that is."

Ophelia's eyes scanned the room; it was still covered in dust and cobwebs that made the siphons nose scrunch up in distaste. When her whiskey-colored eyes landed on a coffin her lips parted, "Davina, you're an odd little witch, but would you care to share why you have a coffin in your bedroom?"

Davina giggled, her melodic laugh filling the room at Ophelia's blunt question, "Marcel came by earlier. Apparently, Klaus gave his brother over as a sign of friendship."

"Well, I didn't know Marcel was taking corpses as a new form of currency, but to each their own." The siphon muttered as she pushed herself from the bed and over to the coffin, she knelt on the ground and pried the lid open, revealing a man. He was dressed in an impeccable and -from what Ophelia could tell- a very expensive suit.

The man's eyes were closed, making him look peaceful, though the siphon knew that he was almost certainly anything but. His brown hair was ruffled and his skin was a dark and dull grey, veins protruding out. Her eyes traveled to the dagger that was embedded within him, the dagger that had been used to desiccate him. He was the original brother Elijah Mikaelson; she knew from the descriptions Marcel had once given her; 'He's the one with a stick up his ass who always wears a damn suit.' and if that didn't sum it up, she didn't know what would.

Ophelia could most certainly appreciate his appearance; he was an attractive man indeed. Though the grey skin and vine-like veins weren't helping his case.

The siphon hummed to herself before speaking, "Well if he didn't look like he was rotting, I think he'd be quite cute."

Her head turned at the sound of Davina snorting. The young witch had an amused smile on her face as the siphon grinned at her. Davina rose a brow, the attitude she had developed from spending time around the Siphon shining through, "Huh, so you like dead men?"

Ophelia pursed her lips as she let the coffin lid fall shut with a bang. She rose to her feet and tapped her pointer finger on her lip in mock thought before pointing at the Harvest girl, "I think that's illegal."

"So is sacrificing four teenage girls."

"Touché."

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25-07-2020