WARNING!: This contains swearing, abuse, blood, possibly gore. Mentions of various mental health illnesses (more to that later on) and suicide, therefore its rated M.

I DO NOT OWN 'The Originals' nor any of its characters except for my own! Same goes for the plot gals. So please be decent enough to not steal any of it. If you do...well, I will have a lawsuit waiting for ya. (This same story is posted on Wattpad under the profile "dijapol")

So with that being said...curtains up!

"Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying"

~ Arthur C. Clarke

SHE WAS BORN IN SNOW on one of the coldest and harshest winters for centuries to come.

Snatched from her mother's womb, she was thrust into the frosty and rigid clutches of a cruel world. Already wide open onyx eyes shone strangely in the darkness and were welcomed by nothing but darkness and the ragged breaths of a woman who had just been through one of the worst forms of torture she had had yet to live through.

The wee babe did not cry, nor wail as an ordinary child would have. It was perfectly still as she laid there, the cold mercilessly biting and clawing at her soft and tender limbs, bared and so very vulnerable to her surroundings.

A half-laugh, half cry cut through the tiny hut as bloodied hands frantically reached out for the newborn. In their desperation grabbing it by its ankles in a hold that was too tight for a being so fragile.

The babe was brought ever so close to the hunched woman's form. The only other person that inhabited the cold, dark and abandoned hut.

Sweat and tears clung to the woman's body. Blonde hair sticking to her face and the nape of her neck as dread and frustration shook through her exhausted frame. Yet she held her breath in her battered lungs and looked at the little thing with anticipation, waiting for it to cry so that the very earth could shake as it was filled with her child's wails. This day marked one of memorable importance to more than just her after all, as her child would grow into a vigorous warrior that would live to rival even the most outstanding ones this world had seen. All of Valhalla would be filled with tales and praises of him.

No one would dare go against him, no one able to harm him. He would be capable of defending and protecting her. Shield her from harm and make people see that she was not to be trifled with, more than just a dysfunctional piece of property.

No one would laugh or lock her away. Never again would she have to return to that place.

Never again harmed in any way, no one would even touch a single strand of her hair. She would be protected for the very first time in her life and no one could own her then. She would be set free.

Tove smiled brightly.

She waited because she was a patient woman. Always had been. It had become a necessity to survive. To bait her time and wait. See as everything was stripped away from her, watch as people trampled over her and treated her as if she was lesser than even the dirt on their shoes, have their way with her as they pleased.

Wait and wait and wait for the right moment.

And now it had finally come. The fruition of her work lay in her hands, ready to sweep away her misery once and for all.

But the child never cried.

Tove waited and waited, holding her breath so that she would not miss out on even a fraction of the moment she owned. That she had tirelessly worked for. Not even daring to inhale when her lungs started constricting in that, oh so painful manner and stars started appearing in her vision. Her eyes never left the tiny thing that she was squeezing far too tightly.

Nothing happened.

So Tove took a closer look at the small thing. It was slender and so very red, not promising much as it lay bared in her arms.

Not looking like the child she had imagined.

Her eyes raked over the gaunt body. The sharp intake of much-needed breath came after all. Followed by a resounding thud.

Tove had dropped the babe that never cried to the hard and cold floor with a sputtering heart. But no trace of remorse or guilt was felt.

Sobs and cackles intertwined into one another, blurring her vision more than the flood of tears already had as Tove felt betrayal sink to her very core and tainting every single breath she took. She was deprived of what was rightfully hers. The one thing she been promised to own, the protection she deserved.

And yet here she was, lying in an abandoned hut after hours of nothing but pure agony to be gifted with nothing but a weak girl who would never survive the night, granted that she was even born alive. Months had been spent in planning her escape, and others were spent running until she found this hut in a secluded village. She had talked to no one, shown her face nowhere in fear that word would spread and he would find her or worse her new neighbours get a whiff of her state. Tove had spent a good year in isolation, the only exception being her.

The witch. The witch that had made false promises.

Tove was going through a fit. The very one she was thrown in the dark pits for days on end, with no food and no water.

She was mourning a child she would never have, laughing at her foolishness to believe that she could even when she had gotten to such lengths to get it...

She completely missed that the infant that lay on the cold hard ground in the middle of winter with little no protection for the cold was in fact breathing. That the girl was breathing and would remain living even for the hours to come in which her mother would remain lost in her fit, and she abandoned on the death-bringing ground.

But she would not die.

The powerful witch hadn't lied about anything (but her intent that would remain a mystery for many years to come). The child was a warrior that would come to fight wars that went beyond battlegrounds. And she came bearing gifts that were yet to be seen and by no one else to be practised ever again.

But instead of a protector, she would be the one people needed protection from.