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*** I have decided to create my own character and place her in The Originals universe in New Orleans. The story will focus on her, though small side-stories about the other characters may occur. I plan on updating once a week, but I can't promise anything. Please let me know what you think***
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The girl lied on the table, not moving, not making a sound. The only sign that she was alive was the strained breath, the sound of the air being pulled into her lungs just to leave way too quickly. The only thing that seemed constant was the pain. Everything else was floating around her, like liquid she couldn't hold onto. She sank in and out of a state between almost consciousness and blackness. Nothing seemed real but the pain. The pain vibrated through her body like every nerve was getting cut over just to heal, over and over again. If she could she would scream. If she could move she would. But she was caught in some sort of prison of her mind. Time was as liquid as everything else. The pain could have lasted for years or for second. She couldn't get grip of reality – until a voice dragged her to the surface.
"Vatos matos crescat…" the humming sound of a hoarse voice. And then a scream. A heartbreaking, painful scream that she realized must have been her own. She broke through the walls build up to keep her in check, tried to fight free of the wires holding her, tried to fight the pain pulling her down.
"Mom, what's happening to her?" a worried girls voice called.
"She's waking up," the mother answered, the hum stopping, "help me hold her down."
"No," the girl on the table mumbled, "please…" she broke out of her head and the pain threatened to make her insane. She screamed, she fought against the hands holding her, she would do anything to be free of the pain. Anything. Her vision was blurred, but she clearly saw the scared face of the mother, who stood over her. The mothers brown eyes were so determined. The girl on the table coughed – she couldn't breathe.
"Mom, make it stop! Make it stop!" the daughter yelled while she struggled to hold the girl on the tables' legs.
"No!" the mother yelled back, "we need her. We need her."
"No!" the girl screamed as the woman began humming again and the pain continued.
"No…" she repeated, felt the liquid feeling overwhelming her. She build up enough strength to pull one of her hands free – no thought crossed her mind as she grabbed the woman's head and brought it down on the edge of the table with a cracking sound.
The pain disappeared in a second, like it was never there.
"No!" the daughter screamed, falling to her knees, "what did you do?! What did you do…" Her breath was heavy, like it was having trouble fighting it's way to her chest. The girl on the table sat, looked at her hands, then on the body on the floor. Blood was streaming from the woman's forehead.
"Run," the girl at the table whispered, "run!" the daughter got on her feet and left in such a hurry she didn't even have time to gaze back at her mother. The girl on the table looked at her hands again, as a new pain overwhelmed her body – but this kind of pain was different. It was like something inside her broke free and ran through her veins changing her entire body. The girl fell to the floor next to her first victim as the pain emerged. Her body ached into a wild position and as she looked up her light-blue eyes had turned a wild, bestial yellow. A howl escaped her lips, as her hidden side broke free.
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There was something in her hand. She realized this after what seemed like hours staring at the dead woman. She opened her hand and saw a small, wooden figure.
"A horse," she mumbled, "a horse?" She looked down her body, then around the small room. It seemed like some sort of living room, filled with herbs and rocks and mirrors. She caught her own eye, knew that it was herself, the girl in the mirror, but she felt no recognition. The light-blue eyes, an inch too big for her small face, the dark brown curls that twisted down her shoulders, the slightly tanned skin, the small hands and marked cheekbones.
"Who am I?" she whispered to her reflection. It's not that she remembered to be someone else – it's that she didn't remember being anyone at all.
"Where am I?" she then asked, as if she hoped for the other her to answer. There was only silence. She looked around again, eyeing a map hanging on the wall. It's North America, she knew after just a glance. But how do I know, she thought to herself. I know that I know, but I don't remember how I learned. She shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. But there was nothing to make sense of.
"I know how to talk and walk and I know how North America looks like and I know how a living room is supposed to look like," she said it out loud, tried to force some sense into it without success, "but I have no idea how I learned all that stuff." She looked out the window, which revealed a forest just outside of the house.
"I'm in a forest," she mumbled slowly, "shit."
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She wandered the woods for hours, feeling like she was walking in a circle. Her head was getting clearer by the minute. She remembered song lyrics and a recipe of pancakes and she said all the capitals of the 50 states out loud to herself. But she had no memories. She didn't remember who her parents were or what her name was or where she was from.
"What did that woman do to me?" she asked out loud. There was no answer. It was getting darker and colder, but she kept walking, simply because she had nowhere to go. She pulled the stolen shirt closer and did her best to ignore how annoying it was that the shoes she had to steal from the dead woman and her daughter, was two numbers too big. When she woke up on the table all she wore was an oversize white t-shirt. She couldn't exactly hike a wood only wearing that. The last sunbeam hit her face before the sun disappeared in the horizon and darkness surrounded her. She shivered.
"This place is creepy," she mumbled to herself, "how the hell am I supposed to get out of here now?" She considered trying to find her way back to the cabin, when the moon appeared above her and every bone in her body began to break.
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She woke up on the forest floor, naked and exhausted. She was squeezing the wooden horse in her hand and tears of confusion and anger streamed down her face.
"What the hell?!" she cried looking around. She had vague memorize of running through the wood, power vibrating through every inch of her body. She remembered the sound of a howl, she remembered the feeling of the forest beneath her paws. Wait a second. Paws? She closed her eyes and tried to rationalize it inside of her mind.
"Great," she mumbled, "not only am I an memory-less nobody, I'm a friggin wolf as well?" Amazing basis for a normal life, she thought bitterly. She knew she needed to find the cabin and steal some new clothes and like her wolf-self had had the same thought she only needed to walk between a few trees before seeing the cabin.
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The new shoes she stole were only one number too big and she tried to be grateful about that as she wandered alongside a lonely road, hoping she was actually headed in the right direction. According to a map she found in the cabin, this was the way to Vancouver. She needed to find civilization – she had had enough of the woods for the rest of her life.
"Be grateful about the friggin shoes," she mumbled, putting her hands in her pockets, "never mind that you're a friggin werewolf."
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She ended up in a bar in Vancouver after hitchhiking for hours and finally getting lucky when an old married couple in a tiny Toyota showed her mercy and picked her up. She headed for the bar and sat next to a guy who seemed half asleep. The female bartender, obviously hating her job, looked at her impatiently.
"Come on, don't got all day, sunshine," the bartender snapped. The girl gave the bartender her meanest look.
"Listen, sunshine, I've had a really crappy, well, life. So bite it, will you?" she hissed and regretted instantly when the bartender angrily turned around without bothering to take her order.
"Easy there, wolfy," a beautiful voice laughed and an incredibly pretty girl sat down next to her. She was a petit girl, and she looked awfully young.
"What did you call me?"
"Wolfy. I'm Davina. I'm a witch. It's sort of my thing to sense supernatural creatures and you are definitely a new wolf. Am I wrong?" Davina asked with an attitude that clearly showed that she knew she wasn't wrong. At all.
"That explains a lot," the girl mumbled, thinking back at the living room filled with herbs and rocks. The mother and her daughter were witches.
"Bartender!" Davina called, "bring my friend here your finest bourbon. It's on me, don't worry." Davina rolled her eyes at the diva-bartender.
"So," the girl said slowly, "you're a witch. I'm a wolf. Is this real?"
"I'm afraid so," Davina laughed and looked at the girl thoroughly, "are you okay? I sense a lot of confusion."
"I am confused."
"It can be a little overwhelming the first time if you didn't grow up in it. It was a full moon last night, wasn't it?" Davina asked. The girl nodded slowly and took a sip of the bourbon. Warmth started to spread through her body. The feeling of every bone breaking in her body was burned into her mind.
"You haven't told me your name yet," Davina stated. The girl shrugged.
"I don't remember it."
"What do you mean, you don't remember it?"
"What I'm saying, genius. I woke up on a table yesterday, some crazy-ass witch humming over me. It was like she burned me entire body over and over again. So… I killed her," the girl said the last thing lowly, afraid someone would hear her, "the next thing I know I have paws. Did she turn me into a wolf?" Davina shook her head.
"No. When you killed her, you triggered your wolf-gene. It's hereditary."
"Great," the girl mumbled, "then what the hell did she want from me?"
"You have absolutely no clue about who you are?" Davina asked surprised, taking sips from a glass with an expensive looking liquid in.
"No," the girl sighed, then smiled, "wait, that's not entirely true. I woke up with this." She put the wooden horse on the table and the reaction from Davina was nothing like she expected.
"No way," Davina gasped, a thousand feelings floating through her eyes. The girl felt uneasy.
"That explains the wolf-thing," Davina whispered.
"What?"
"You need to go to New Orleans. Find Niklaus. Niklaus Mikaelson. He practically owns the city, so be careful. Tell him what happened to you," Davina said, getting up to leave.
"Why would the guy who owns New Orleans listen to me? What does he know?"
"He'll listen to you if you show him the horse. Trust me. And… just don't tell anyone that you met me here, okay? I have to go." With that Davina disappeared.
"Wait… what?!"
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In New Orleans Niklaus Mikaelson was slowly fighting his way out of the daze made up by blood, bodies and revenge. He had killed everyone from the coven of witches that supposedly had taken his little Hope.
"One year," Klaus said out loud, not bothering to wipe away the blood on his face, "she was safe for one year. Just a baby…" He sighed and looked at the last dead witches lying with open throats. There was no sign of Hope anywhere he had gone. These last witches were stupid enough to go to New Orleans and now they were dead, killed on a rooftop in the Quarter by the Original hybrid.
"I am immortal," Klaus said as he stared over the city, the home he had fought so hard to make safe for his daughter, "and so is my misery."
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