Edited as of October 5th 2016.

Trigger Warning: Mentions of rape and suicide. Also blood (it's vampires we're talking about, so lots of blood). And some curse words...

Prologue

"In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility."

-Eleanor Roosevelt.

New York, August 1993

It was a warm summer eve, teens were out and about in the city that never slept. Cars, and sirens and people and the electrical hum were so normal in the big city. All her life Sally Jackson had taken great pleasure in all the comforts the great city had to offer. Even when her uncle grew ill, she always spent a weekend out with friends. But for once in her 15 years she was alone.

Well, almost alone.

"It's all right." She whispered to the bundle in her arms, gently stroking the infant's hair away. So beautiful, and yet so like him. Her daughter would grow to be just like her father in appearance. Sally could only hope that her personality differed from that of the monster. It puzzled her; how he'd done it. He was supposed to be scattered in the wind, a million tiny pieces of nothingness, with no way of achieving a full bodily form.
He clearly had enough in him to rape her.

"You're going to be fine." The teenage mother crooned in her daughter's ear. "The gods will protect you far better than I can. You'll be far from the reach of his arm, and my father will watch over you wherever you are."

"I believe you mean whenever."

Sally turned around to face the newly appeared deity. "Lady Hecate, thank you so much for coming."
The goddess gave a small nod of her head. "I owe your father a great debt, so when Poseidon came and asked that I aid you I could not refuse. I did not, however, realize quite what you had in mind." Hecate beckoned for Sally to hand over the resting baby. Rocking her gently in her arms, the Goddess of Magic cooed softly. "Such a beautiful girl you bore. The cruelty of her father will set her on a dark path, should she grow alone, without a mother. You do know I cannot guarantee where she will grow, nor that she will."

"I know."

"And you are also aware that she may be brought into a family just as cruel as her father?"
"No one could be worse than him."
"I assure you dear that many women feel thus about their rapists. But I can also assure you that there are a great many forces eviler than Lord Kronos. Some perhaps mortal, some not; but evil just the same."
"She can escape the godly world, correct?" Sally said stubbornly, ignoring the goddess of magic, her eyes fixed on the child in her arms.
"Indeed."
"Than I don't care for any other options. This has to be done. My mind is made up, so please don't try to change it."

Hecate gave a resigned nod.
"I will give her my blessing, so as to preserve a connection. You have the locket as requested?"
Sally nodded, and pulled a golden heart shaped pendant, red and blue jewels weaved delicately through the gold. Hecate lifted the jewel to her eye level.
"Patricia." She said, looking from the inscription on the back of the necklace to the little girl. "A fine name you've chosen for your girl, Sally Jackson. She will bear it well wherever she goes. You have your father's word that he will look for her as soon as she is sent back."

Sally gave a sad smile. "As of tomorrow it won't really matter anymore."
The goddess frowned. "Your mind is set on that as well, it would seem."
"I can't be the one."
"Prophecies pick their candidates, my dear, not the other way around." Hecate said, her gentle voice out of sync with her harsh eyes. But upon seeing the look in the demigoddess' eyes Hecate sighed. "Any last words of comfort for your daughter?"
Sally shook her head, turning away. "Just do it."

Patricia began to cry, for the first time that day. Hecate watched as the young daughter of Poseidon bit her lip to prevent her tears from falling. Reluctantly, the goddess performed the spell, and the baby vanished in a flash of golden light.
With a jolt Hecate watched in her mind's eye as a thousand years of history and knowledge changed themselves, all surrounding a beautiful dark haired, golden eyed woman. Almost all of the images presenting the girl with blood dripping down her chin, bodies littering the ground around her.
Di immortales, what have I done?

Night ensued, and Sally Jackson found herself sobbing on a bench in Central Park. The one good thing she'd had in her life was now gone. And judging by her reaction- Hecate's recollections of Patricia were not pleasant ones.
But it had worked. Her plan had worked. Patricia's powers had been harnessed, and she'd been sent back in time; somewhere. Kronos would not know her. She could already be long dead, or ill, or to old to fight in his war. There was no way he could get to the poor girl now, and as a mother that was all that mattered to Sally. That her daughter be safe, no matter what.

It's a beautiful night.

Indeed it was. Sally had always loved the park past nightfall. She supposed that was half the reason she'd gotten raped in the first place; wandering the paths alone after dark. One instant, ripping of clothes, so many tears. One moment that had been enough to ruin her life. One moment that had seemingly lasted an eternity.
And then it had passed- but it hadn't.
Every time someone touched her she felt him. And wherever she saw men she saw him. She'd left her boyfriend, Paul, the sweetest guy she'd ever met, because she sickened herself. Whenever she saw her father (granted, it wasn't very often) she thought of him. Her grandfather raped her, and that was a thought that made her sick to her stomach more than anything else.

But soon none of that would matter anymore.

Sally stared down at the gun in her hand, tracing the cool metal with her thumb. One shot. That was all she needed, and then it would be over. Everything would be gone, the world no more. Her suffering put to an end.
No more running.

The thought gave her a great peace. She would see her mother again. Soon. So very very soon.

She stood. And walked. Her tears had long since subsided. Sally felt at peace; more at peace than she had in her whole life. And she walked, and she watched, and she saw the beauty in the world. And then she saw the rock, the one that Orpheus had allegedly charmed open with music. Music. How she longed to hear it again, uplifting her heart and spirit.

And she took the gun to her head, and took her last breath at the gate to the Underworld.
And with a bang Sally Jackson, the daughter of Poseidon was no more.

Mystic Falls, May 23 2009

"Miranda! Grayson! Oh my god..." Jenna Sommers was standing on the old Wickery Bridge, at the crash site.
Jenna had already been to the hospital to see Elena, who had yet to wake up. She would be an orphan when she woke up. When Liz Forbes had called her, Jenna had not expected this. That was her sister. Her older sister and her husband. Two of Jenna's favorite people in the world. They were like parents to her. Grayson had agreed to take her in when her own parents died, only 3 years into a fresh marriage.
She supposed it was only fitting that she repaid him by taking care of his children. She would make sure that Elena and Jeremy were as happy as they possibly could be after the sudden tragedy that struck them.

"Ms. Sommers," One of the deputies walked up to her. "We're sorry for your loss. We are attempting to lift the vehicle, but it appears to be stuck. We will inform you when we can remove it."
"Thank you." She said breathlessly. Not only were they dead, but their bodies were irretrievable. Nothing to bury.

"Holy shit." Someone said. "Bruce! Bruce, check this out!" The deputy who'd been speaking with Jenna ran over to the edge, and Jenna followed. All present people had crowded over by the crane, and were trying to catch a glimpse of the cause for the commotion.

"Holy crap, is that...?"

"A coffin?"

"What the fuck was that doing at the bottom of the lake?"

"Didn't they burn bodies in ancient times?

"Ancient? That thing can't be more than a hundred years old."

The box landed with a thud on the bridge, and once again everyone crowded around.

"Back!" The sheriff ordered, pulling her gun from its holster as she approached the lid. It made Jenna wonder. Why the hell would she approach a coffin with a gun? No one could survive under the water in a box. It wasn't possible. The sheriff tried to pry the lid open, but it wouldn't budge.
"Have this brought to my office." Sheriff Forbes said firmly, ignoring the raised brows and questioning looks she was getting. "And under no circumstances is it to be opened without me. Understood?" No one responded. "Am I understood?" She snapped, and her deputies nodded.

Jenna stared in wonder at the coffin, glad for some distraction from her ever growing grief.
"Jenna," The sheriff approached her. "Why don't you go back to the hospital."
The redhead made to argue, but Liz put a hand on her shoulder. "Elena and Jeremy need you right now. I promise, I'll call you the moment there's news."
The two women held each other's gaze for a few moments, but Jenna's stubbornness was trumped by her grief- and she silently walked back towards the police car that had brought her to the scene.

No one on the bridge saw the tall man in a suit standing at the edge of the wood, watching the whole scene play out before him; his eyes only leaving the coffin at the sound of Elena Gilbert's name.

"Come now, sister." Elijah Mikaelson hovered over the open lid of the coffin. "Wake up."

It had been over an hour since he'd withdrawn the dagger from the woman in the coffin, and her awakening was usually quicker than that of their other siblings. By now he was almost certain that she could hear him speak. Sooner than later those heavy lids would flutter open to reveal his sister's magnificent golden eyes.
Often Elijah found himself taken aback by his sister's appearance. Being adopted, one would not expect similarities between the Mikaelsons by birth, and the one by adoption. And yet somehow (despite her coloring) his younger sister looked almost stunningly like his biological siblings and himself. Though their skin tone was a few shades lighter, and their eyes a tad bit smaller (and more commonly colored- as opposed to her strange golden orbs); they all shared similar striking features, tall postures, and slim figures.

So similar, and yet so different.

"Elijah?"
The voice was barely a hoarse whisper, but his vampire hearing picked up the sound as though she had spoken it straight in his ear.
"Patricia." He said, extending a hand into the open coffin, but his younger sister pushed it away. She had never really enjoyed being helped. Even on her wedding day, he remembered the raging argument she'd shared with their mother- who'd only tried to help her lace the magnificent white dress she'd worn. He remembered the shock they'd all had seeing her. She'd looked far past her 13 years of age. And despite all of his claims that the marriage between them was a despicable thought to him, and a burden; Niklaus couldn't tear his eyes from her the whole evening. "Welcome to the land of the living."

Despite her weakened state, Patricia emerged tall from the coffin, flattening the wrinkles on her flapper dress; eyeing the stain on her chest disdainfully. Other than her greying skin and outdated attire, no marks could be seen in her face of the century she'd spent in a slumber. Not that she knew how long she'd rested; and Elijah was surely not awaiting the moment she'd ask.

"Your tone would almost suggest that you've missed me, brother." Her British accent was shared by all of them, though Patricia's was slightly less defined. He never could place the light undertone to it. Perhaps it was Grecian, though he couldn't be certain. Whatever it was, she was Mikaelson enough to have the accent they all shared, even if the thought troubled them all sometimes. Her unknown parentage had been on all of their minds for many long years, despite the fact that with a millennium having passed it could hardly matter less anymore. "Which leads me to believe that it's been awhile since my charming husband sent me to sleep."

"May 2009." He said simply, and averted his eyes from the growing rage in hers.

"Di immortales." She whispered. The phrase was a strange one, and was yet another strange thing about Patricia. She'd started saying it shortly after her marriage to Klaus, but none of them- her included- knew the source of the saying. "That bloody fucking bastard locked me up for 95 years!"
"Must I always reprimand your language, sister?" Elijah didn't really care about her abrasive language- he couldn't live a thousand years without being exposed to some unkind words. But he knew that once her anger subsided, Patricia would undoubtedly regret her words. If there was one thing Patricia did not do- it was call her husband a bastard.
"Quite frankly you mustn't do anything, Elijah." Patricia snapped angrily, though he recognized the guilt in her eyes; hidden beneath many heavy layers of anger. "But if you do insist, I'm quite certain my lack of assent will not dissuade you."

"Yes well, the same could be said for you. But enough of that now. The longer we wait the more your hunger grows."

"I'm perfectly capable of controlling my hunger, thank you very much."
And didn't he know it. If there was one thing Patricia was not to be accused of- it was lacking control. Though she did lose it from time to time; Patricia never tore apart villages to feed, nor did she rip off the heads of her victims. She fed to her heart's desire; killing more often than not- but never losing her composure, always in control. Even when her husband would bring back a variety of women to their home; Patricia never once lost her temper before them. Never did she give Klaus a taste of his own medicine (though he certainly deserved it). Often she would kill them, or break Klaus's neck, but always done in a regal way that showed she had perfect control of the situation. A queen, as Klaus liked to call her.

"I'm aware of your pristine record in control, Patricia, though I do tend to find that you are far more irritable when you're hungry. And I need you of a sound mind."
"Ah yes," She said with a sneer. "Nothing in this family is without interest. I'm quite certain I agree with you; I'll be needing a drink to hear what motivation caused you to wake me from my slumber." The adoptive Mikaelson strode towards the door, before taking in her surroundings for the first time. "Breaking into the sheriff's department for me, brother? I'm impressed. Otherwise I never would've fathomed that you care."

Elijah knew the thrill of the kill all too well. The way the victim would struggle against his iron grip, the sweet scent of fear. The soft simpering. And dear god he hated himself; for there was hardly anything he enjoyed more than the begging.

It sickened him, the sadistic pleasure, but in the end it was just that: pleasure.

Of course, it came in many forms- the begging, that is. Some pleaded on behalf of their families, others simply cried till the end. Some made an effort to convince him (and themselves) that they were not afraid; whether of him or of death, it mattered not. He could smell it off them. It made sense to fear him, after all they knew he would kill them in the end. But the notion that some did not fear death in the face of it, Elijah knew it to be foolhardy and false. Had these people ever experienced death before that they knew not to fear it?

But better yet than the begging, was the blood. Gallons of blood flowing smoothly down his throat; a never ending river that slowly came to a stop as the life left the person in his arms.

But unlike his sister; he knew the bone crushing guilt that followed the kill, and kept him company wherever he went. He kept the knowledge that he'd torn apart a family very close to his heart. He shouldered the responsibility, and hardly ever neglected the family of the victim. The person he'd just mercilessly torn from life probably had someone to grieve him. A mother, a brother, a spouse. A child. Many times he had found himself attending the funerals of his victims, or making notable deposits into the family's bank account.

Elijah watched as Patricia allowed yet another girl to drop to the floor, listening for the heartbeat as it slowly vanished into nothing. It would be rather hypocritical of him to stop her from killing her 3rd victim; but then again, that had never stopped him before.

"Alright, sister, I believe that is enough for now."

Patricia unhinged her jaw from the human's neck- but only to roll her eyes at him, and submerge back into the kill.

Elijah heaved a great sigh, and reluctantly pried his sister's grip from the human she was draining.
"Go home, patch yourself up. Forget everything you saw here tonight."
The compelled human did as he was told, and turned away, his hand pressed firmly to the bleeding wound on his neck.

"You're a bloody arsehole, brother. And a damn hypocrite." Patricia spat, wiping the blood off her face with the handkerchief she'd swiped from her brother's pocket.
"Hypocritical as I may be, Patricia, times have changed. And unfortunately for us; covering up the death of one human is inconvenient. The inconvenience has already doubled, and I have no intention to cover up 3 missing persons.'

"Is that why you abandoned Niklaus?" She snarked, throwing the bloodied piece of silk at her brother, but he caught it with ease. "Because you grew weary of cleaning up after his messes? You're Pathetic, Elijah. I never thought that you'd be the first to shy away from our oath..."

"He buried them at sea." Elijah said calmly; though internally he was cringing. This was not how he'd hoped to break the news to her.

"Nik wouldn't do that. You're lying. Finn and Kol..." Patricia ran a hand through her hair, an old habit Elijah was quite sure she was unaware of. "Di immortales, how could you let him do that? It's impossible! Rebekah would have stopped him!"

"1921." Elijah said, and Patricia raised her eyes to meet his own. The meaning was clear to the both of them, and he found it unnecessary to say anything more.
Patricia leaned up against the wall, her breathing shallow. "Mother?"
"I'm not sure." Elijah said. "It would be out of character for Klaus to simply be rid of her... but then again; burying our siblings at sea is not entirely in his character either."

"And what of father? When do we depart?"

"I depart as soon as you've adapted to this world." The second eldest Mikaelson said, and Patricia's eyes grew immensely. "And you are given a choice, sister."
"Elijah, would you mind explaining yourself before I feel any more tempted to break your spine and rip out your bloody spleen?"

"Mikael is gone."

"Gone? As in dead?" He could see the cautious hope in her eyes. But Elijah knew his sister, and she was by far to guarded to allow herself to hope.
"Gone as in desiccated. A witch named Abigail Bennett took him down nearly 15 years ago. Stopped his heart. He can't hurt us anymore."

Patricia laughed, but her brother could not detect any humor in the sound.

"Desiccation? This is a bloody joke, right?" She removed herself from her position against the wall, and walked forward so that she was staring Elijah dead in the eyes (though the height difference made her tilt her head up slightly to maintain the gaze). "This is Mikael, the Destroyer. Mikael, our father, from whom we've spent over a thousand years running. Are you really telling me that in 15 years you have not taken his blasted weapon and finished him off for good?!"

"It's been hidden by father himself. It is my belief that to find it we'd have to wake him. I've been highly cautious, Niklaus as well. We spent years after New Orleans erasing any trace of Mikael in the supernatural world. By now few are those who will know his name, but for those who've personally encountered him."
"Brilliantly devised plan, brother; using my century old ideas when it seemed fit to you chauvinistic arseholes."

"Do you not wish to hear why you've been awakened before Niklaus saw fit to awake you?" Elijah said, losing his patience ever so slightly. He did not have it in him to deal with her feminism so soon after she'd awaken.
"Very well, brother. Avoid your nature as a man, I will not rest my ways. Tell me what revenge you have in store for my darling husband."

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Patricia could smell vengeance almost anywhere.
"How do you feel about picking up your education in a wonderful place called High School?"

Miles away, a blond haired teen rose from a coffin; his eyes turned magnificently gold.
And Lord Kronos gave a booming laugh- for he knew that the weapon he had lost so many years ago rose at long last; just in time to meet her true sire.