Hope sat Marcel's old room, which he had let her look through, to see if anything caught her interest. She admired a painting on the wall, at the artistry and detail of it. She would have to paint something like it one day; it truly was beautiful. She snapped her gaze away from the portrait, and opened his closet, not really expecting to see anything besides outdated clothes. As she was about to close the door again, she glanced something in the corner of her eye.
It was a cardboard box, slightly mouldy from years of minimal use. It was neatly crammed into the corner, hidden by a pile of clothes. She frowned, and stood on her tiptoes in order to push away the clothes. The box was heavy, and made her arms protest. With a little effort, she managed to lift it up and out of the closet. Her foot nabbed the side of the closet, and her legs gave out.
She fell onto the floor, a grunt coming from the floorboards. Her knees chafed the ground. A tears ran down her face, and a small sob came out her mouth. Within seconds, Haley was at her side, lifting her up off the ground. "Honey, what are you doing in here? You could have gotten badly injured! Are you okay? Nothing hurts?" she fretted, looking for any signs of hurt on her daughter's body.
"I'm fine mom. I just tripped," Hope mumbled, looking over at the box, which had emptied its contents on the ground. She sighed and began picking the stuff up and neatly putting it in the box. Something, however, peaked her interest. It was a framed picture, which showed a girl in her late teens, with raven hair and blue eyes.
Hope picked it up, and studied it. "Who's this, mom?" she asked curiously. Haley distractedly looked over after she had assessed that Hope was alright. Her face froze when she recognised the picture. Hope could have detected a hint of guilt on her face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.
"That is- was, Davina Claire. She was Marcel's daughter," Haley said gravely, shoving down the memories that threatened to resurfaced.
"I didn't know Marcel had a daughter. She's pretty. What happened to her?" Hope inquired.
"She was a casualty of war. She was uncle Kol's girlfriend, as well," Haley mused.
"How did she die?"
"That's nothing that you need to know about. If you must know, ask Uncle Kol or Marcel. They would be able to- tell the story better. Anyway, let's go. It's lunchtime."
"Was she a witch?" Hope frowned. There was something familiar, powerful about the girl.
"Yes, as a matter of fact. Quite a powerful one, too. She was the regent of New Orleans, once. Before Vincent. Now, lunch is ready. Get up honey, and clean off your skirt."
"Okay," Hope said dazedly, ripping her gaze away from the picture, and put Davina to rest in the box.
Davina's spirit stood in the room thoughtfully, staring at the girl who could have been her niece. Hope Mikaelson would grow to become a great witch, one day. Davina only wished of a world where she mentored the girl, taught her of her knowledge. Hope would become great, alright. She may end up being the most powerful thing this world had ever seen. Davina smiled at the thought.