This is my new story for the acclaimed Originals! This is my take of the story and will be somewhat different to the TV show, as much as I like Daniel Sharman playing Kol, I'm afraid i'm reverting back to his original actor for this and his face claim will be Nathaniel Buzolic, but if you don't like it feel free to imagine either actors :)

I don't own The Originals or any of the characters, I only own my OC!

(If you're wondering what Sam looks like, imagine her like Adelaide Kane)

Fave, follow and feel free to review and comment :3

"This piece needs to be something from your heart, a true story that has been twisted to give the reader the feeling of mysticism, illusion, blissful ignorance to problems in an entertaining yet deep way."

I still remember the monotonous voice of the ever so bland college lecturer echoing its ways through a lecture hall that was uncommon for me to be seated in, some of the more harsher students that were familiar with the professor would quote her as a stick in the mud that for some reason lacked in any creative spirit whatsoever, but she however preferred the term 'lost soul whose creative ambition was lost in a sea of ignorant people that failed to see her true talent.' She like the rest of us seated in the lecture hall was a creative writing student that had the hope of being published one day, the acceptation of her being a writer that failed to get published but major editor and gave up her dream to be a lecturer in a college was most catered to online schooling of its subjects. To her we were the 'budding' young students ready to face what the world creative fiction and big time publishers have to offer us.

Her voice during the small briefing of our final assignment of our college lives somewhat lacked belief in us and more showed her complete and utter boredom for the students she very rarely saw. But none the less Professor James or Susan as she liked to be known as gave us the brief that would decide if we'd graduate next year or have to suffer the utter despair of knowing we wasted our money on a college course and failed. If you were to look into that class at that very moment you'd feast your eyes on a bunch of bored looking twenty year olds that barely got through last year's numerous assignments; some frown upon our choice of degree, I often remember hearing on my few times on campus over the course of the years that the creative writing students where a bunch of deadbeat kids whose writing wasn't even good enough to get published even with a degree under their belt.

I considered myself somewhat of a decent writer, seeing as I grew up in a very heavily influenced writing environment; my knack for writing mostly came from my father, George Coleman, who was himself a published and well-regarded writer in the non-fiction community. My mother Kathleen also joined that band wagon as she as well was a well-regarded writer for our town's local newspaper. From a young age I knew that I wanted to be like my parents and get published for something that my own mind created, I remember from the age of four just writing down the first thing that would attach itself to my adolescent mind; from stories of Delilah the boastful bunny to Margret the wondering duck, it was obvious to the people around from my early years that I had somewhat of a knack for writing. I grew up in the well-known place of Richmond, Virginia; it was a dense city to say the least, with the metropolitan area holding over one million people alone. With a city so large you'd think I'd of spent my childhood with copious friends that spent their summer by the lake doing childlike things, Somehow it wasn't like that for me, I'd often spend my summers in our family home with my two brothers; it was the same every year, I'd spent some time in solitude while watching from afar at my older brothers partying and doing everything that a teenager was supposed to do, my innocent nine-year old self saw life differently, they partied and I spent my time writing or reading, being a loner. My parents always tried to push me to make friends with the girls around me in the area but it was a contrast of two different types of people; they enjoyed their Barbie's and bubblegum pink lip gloss, and I enjoyed novels and sitting on my porch swing for hours on end with my nose planted firmly in a books, I was from a young age labelled as a freak with no friends, but their meaning tags didn't bother me.

It was safe to say that my childhood rubbed off on me in the later years in life, at the awkward age of fourteen I set my foot through what people the first step to be coming an adult but I somehow considered the most torturous and hellish 4 years of my life, the places that movies depicted as great and the stories told otherwise; high school. I attended Thomas Jefferson High School and for four constant years I tried to look for a way out of it, I still as to be expected lacked in the friend department with my lonesome self only gathering one friend to my name, someone of whom if you were to ask about know probably wouldn't even remember the face or the name. Through the time I spent there I managed to accumulate myself the titles frankly harsh and unneeded nicknames of 'English Geek' and 'Library Loner' it was shown by them that the people surrounding me at the school weren't the nicest of all to be around. Some could say I was bullied in high school but as my guidance councillor saw it, I was 'someone with dissimilar interests to the teen around me'. I still went through the stereotypical teen dramas of boys, crushes, and body image like every other girl above the age of 16, but somehow I reworked my insecurities into paper and laced a story that even now at the age of 20 would be glad to look back on and admire how I made my way through the still worst four years of my life.

With every horrible name and every waking moment spent with a collection of people that didn't talk to one another it was to be said that not only did I harshly lack in friends but I lacked in a social life; I missed all the parties that the people around me got to go to, I never bothered to attend my junior or senior prom, and the only social event I took part in was graduation at the end of it all knowing fine well I'd never see these people again.

High school came and went in a flourish of horrid memories and headaches for me, which for the most part of it all I spent it with my headphones in and my face ever so firmly planted in a book. I tried my best in the classes that were English and managed to pin my small intelligence together and graduate with a respectable 4.0 GPA and a letter of honours for English and Art. For me by the time senior year rolled around I knew exactly what I was going to apply to go to college for, it had been the same for years and continued to be the same now, when October came in my last year of high school I had applied to a college course I knew would benefit me greatly; I applied to major in Creative Writing. I took the slightly easier way of it all and decided to do online schooling as being tipped off by a careers advisor that it was easier than the standard course.

It was somewhat seen as strange that at eighteen I knew what I wanted my life to be like, I worked my fingers to the bone in the first two years of college to make sure that I got what I wanted out of this, I had a plan mapped in my mind that showed my success at the end of it all, at some points it was a working progress for me but I was making my way through it all. To me this last year of college was almost like a year off for the online students, I decided as soon as I received my brief that I was going to move away from home and use a city as an inspiration of my final piece, the process of actually picking somewhere to go was tedious and the amount of student loan I already had out I made sure that everything was within my reach.

So here I was, driving a thousand miles away from home in what I liked to label writers retreat, out of all the places I could pick to go in the broad spectrum that was the United States I picked somewhere were culture and people strived and history laced itself right into the streets; French Quarter, New Orleans.

~O~

I leave my memoirs in blood on the floor

And my fears with the nurse on the stairs

I'm only going where you'll be someday...

The drive down through the south was a long one and warm one, the crossing if state lines and the passing through of highway tolls set me back in time but I mustered up some patience through it all persevered through it with my music flowing out the speakers of my van and a painted look of stress and determination embroidered deep everywhere on my body. My half-brother Andrew considered and sought to label me a lunatic jokingly for driving to New Orleans from Richmond instead of doing what a level headed and reasonable person would do and take plane there, if it was any other time I would have taken a plane but considering my stubbornness to my situation it made this time different; the time I was transporting over three hundred books in the back of a rental car seeing as I didn't trust any aeroplane service with them and I sure as hell wasn't trusting or faith a postal service to make sure they got there undamaged, so grudgingly coughed up a nice sum of money for a rental van that I was returning to the dealer as so as I got to my destination, much to my dismay I was landed with a stereotypical soccer mom van. As outrageous as it was it done its job and had the required space to transport my babies and my personal items.

For the entirety of the drive I was running on pure will power and the very much needed necessity that was black coffee, a fourteen hour drive to some was a task but to me it was actually quite enjoyable once you got past me nearly crashing on the state line of Mississippi, it was a little over a thousand mile drive from my old home to my new one and it was actually marvellous to see how with every state the scenery was drastically different. I was into hour 8 of the drive when the heat of South Carolina hit me and made me realise how much hotter it was from my normal humid town, it got me thinking more and more of the city I was moving too, how I would cope in such different circumstances to the ones I was used to, the drive from there on out was just a haze of music and heat for me. I was a total of thirteen hours into my journey when I sang a small song of appraisal to myself as the Louisiana boarder was finally in my sights and within my grasp.

"Nearly there." The voice I recall in the back of my head chanted to itself as I sped my van a little over the limit to finally make my final peg to get to the city, the sun was setting by the time I was somewhere near the quarter and the ominous groan was escaping my chapped lips as I passed the traffic that annoying set me back an hour of two, my sensing forgetting about the big city traffic. I silently cursed myself the whole way there for picking somewhere that made me have to go through tooth and nail to get to but deep down I remembered it was worth it. Soon enough I arrived in the liveliest place in New Orleans; the colours of the buildings almost telling their story as my van zoomed past them in a flourish to finally get to my new apartment, the keys were almost burning a hole in my pocket of my jeans as I saw almost jumping in my seat with anticipation for everything.

I was long be the van was parked and a well-deserved breathily sigh was passing my lips and making its way through into the humid Louisiana air, the summer still well etched into the city; the place was alive with nigh acts and party goers that roamed the streets with their vibrant clothes and their lively attitudes. It didn't take me that long to realise that my legs ached from the long journey and somehow managed to hold a certain numbness in them that I thought had passed hours ago, I was positive that my hair was in shambles from my hands constantly running through it during the ride and my general appearance screamed 'I'm extremely tired' but in the misted of the awe I was experiencing my mind forgot everything about myself as I gazed at the different people surrounding me. The people packed the night light Bourbon Street to the point of them even being on the balcony and gazing down from the roof tops at the part unfolding. It was a sight that I knew I would have to note down later for future reference, my eyes were as keen and everyone else's as my mind took mental images of the beauty of it all, somewhere deep down in me was flickering with hope that I could make this my new home.

The smile was airy on my tired face and I soon walked to the back of the van starting to collect the boxes to walk up to the apartment, the books where first in my mind as I quickly scoped the heavy boxes into my arms, the relaxation filling my body as I trudged up the steps to the burgundy door that belonged to me now.

"Welcome to your new home Sam…" That voice in my head was talking again as I cheerily but still tiredly piled the boxes into my new home, I was somewhat glad that no one on the street stopped to help me, I preferred it to be done my way on my own accord, as bitchy as that sounded. Nearly everything was placed in the stark white apartment as I neared the end of the whole moving process, my mind as always drifting off to the numerous ideas I had for my final piece of college. I had from this moment up until May next year to plan it all and write it for my professor, if I had any hope of graduating next June I knew I'd have to settle in quick and get to work if I wanted it all done and edited.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I filled my thoughts with the small regret of leaving home, Richmond was the only home I knew and adjusting to the craziness of New Orleans would take a bit of time but somewhere I knew that I would make it. Maybe for once in my life I'd be able to act like an adult and make some friends, grow as a person and make something I could look back on in years and enjoy.

"This was it, this was that finishing chapter in the story that I only knew as loneliness, the story I'd written in solitude of a young sheltered child."