"Celia?" A frown formed on Aaron's round face, expectation lacing his voice when he dared not to look behind. He was the oldest child in the Morningstar family, the heir of the Coven of Hell, supposedly the most powerful witch, the scariest yet to be. But he looked nothing like it. Truth be told, he was not what his father expected from him at all. Instead, it was his little sister that woke chaos in the deepest nights. Nights such as this one when clouds covered the moon and no star dared to shine on the small girl dressed in fresh blood.

"Celia?" Aaron called again, more urgent this time. Though his voice was cracking slightly, he was used to this. Every once in a while, running after his younger sister only to find her standing over a mass of bodies so teared apart they were unrecognizable. He hoped she dismorphed only animals again. But the crippling fear of humans also falling prey to her demonic side always bumped in his head.

The eight years old took a step forward. Another. The little girl, only a couple of years younger than him, turned and hissed at him, eyes fully black. Behind him, Celia stepped forward. Her gaze fixed on the child mirroring her own self so perfectly it was hard not to imagine losing control like this. Even though she knew it couldn't happen. Their mother made it clear the first time one of her episodes occured.

She gulped, then stretched her hand out, still half hiding behind her brother. The throbbing in her head made it hard to breath, the sight in front of her made it hard to look anywhere. But she had to take her twin away. And soon. Dawn approached quickly.

"Hurry up, Celia," Aaron whispered. And only then he dared steal a look behind him. At the girl with the same long hair styled with puffy bangs, same small nose and curled lips – except Celia nimbled in distress while her twin seemed eerily content – same creepy eyes with no whiteness, no pupils, no irises. And even though Celia's orbs shone brightly, as if pure light came from them, to look at her face was just as disturbing as seeing the darkness looming in her twin sister's, his other little sibling's, eyes.

At last, the light twin murmured the words their mother taught her. "Et nos unum sumus". At once the pain ceased. Only as much as to allow her to focus. Celia knew her sister felt it too. The twing that appears whenever the two of them drift too much apart. And while it only affected her so much, the morfied picture she witnesed once more stood proof of what it did to her twin. So Celia drew closer. Eyes fixed on Charlotte's face, her face. Her own, but dripping wet with red. Her own, but cold as a stone and twice as sharp and cruel.

She fell on her knees next to Charlotte. Free, freedom. Her name meant so much, yet so little. A sick truth and an even more sickening lie. For Charoltte was a prisoner, of both fate or destiny and thoughtfull tradition. Of both man and supernatural. Yet Charlotte was unknown, unhinged in moments like this. And there is a sort of freedom in it.

Celia hugged her. And all the pain, hatred, anger – that weren't even hers to begin with – washed away. Charotte looked around and silent tears fell on the ground. "Not again. No- why?"

Before Celia could tell her sister why, she woke up. More than a decade has passed, her twin gone with it. She never knew the answer to her all time question. Why? Because Celia, who was supposed to be the good, the kind, the selfless side of the devil's coin that run through Lilith's blood in unfortunate enough siblings to be born as twins, wanted to live. She couldn't stay inside all the time. Couldn't keep to the limits her mother set for her when going outside. And so, her sister suffered. They both suffered.

"You were a child, Cece." Keith, the only one she shared the extent of her story with, would tell her. "A good child who just so hapened to be curious about life. Some who lived for far longer than you still cannot phantom consequences. You cannot beat yourself up for not understanding when you were a child."

"I hated her at some point. Hated that I can't walk wherever I want, whenever I want. Hated that my father looked at me like I was a plague on his house because if I revealed my powers, there was no way anymore to hide her." Celia would reply with tears in her eyes. And Keith would only throw an arm over her shoulder and hug her tight. Because he knew she was lying. Celia could not feel hate, anger. They all came too late in her life, when her coven forced her to accept the burden by puppeting her to kill Charlotte. Which she fought to as hard as she could.

Often times, such was the nightmare that crossed the siphoner's mind. That kept her from using her magic out of fear of going back to the people that caused it in the first place.

Other times, she dreamed of the other reason she forsaken her roots, her powers. Why she feared them to be unreliable. Tonight was one of these nights. Celia found herself trapped in an endless loop. Ten minutes or less, repeating over and over again.

An eleven years old, climbing a mountain. Clean clothes hanged loose on her since the child refused to eat, but the ticklish feeling of blood on her hands didn't fade, no matter how many times a day she bathed. And Celia took so many showers, the other witches became certain she shade her skin like a snake five times now.

The girl ran. Branches hit her face, vines clinged to her limbs, shouts called her back. But she needed to escape. Except, the light twin, now complete with the darkness, did not hurry towards the beach. Instead, she made her way to the highes place of the island. Even though her coven was well spoken of all around the world, and they travelled enough to remind other witches why it is important to fear Lilith's blood and respect the Coven of Hell, they would always return here. The island that birthed magic. Where it all begin. Or ended, depends on how one might look at it.

Celia wanted to be alone. She was more than sad, she was devastated. Adding to her grief and horror, there was anger boiling her blood. Sufference and hatred. Celia loathed her father, despised her people. For the first time such emotions clawed at her heart and she didn't know how to deal with them. She needed space.

And what better way to assure no one would bother you than climbing a vulcano? So she did. Too late did she realized she had underestimated once again the coven. After all, their reputation is earned.

After merging with her dead twin's magic, Celia became more powerful. The level she should have been her whole life, she came to realize, had her mother respected the rules. She wished there were no such rules. It felt like too much. The magic overwhelmed her. The little girl wanted her old powers back. She didn't want so much magic. Enough to draw it from the very core of the island as she unintentionally siphoned from trees, grass, earth itself as she ran. And ran. And ran.

Only ten minutes – or less. Yet so many things happened.

"Celia, dear," her father would say. She didn't miss the snarl that came with the pet name. "What are you doing? Come home."

"NO!" She screamed. So loud it seemed like a thunder roared through her. She liked it. It felt right. Some of the pressure on her chest was lifted, let out by the loud voice. Celia didn't feel the magic she took from the island.

"You are too old to act like such a child, Celia," her father instructed firmly. "Do not make me repeat myself."

"Too old?" She laughed histerically. Tiredness webbed around her eyes. Her mind had fallen sluggish, reason surrendering to instinct. "Am I not too old to be controled by you, all of you, then? Not too old to see my mother die and do nothing? To let my siblings die? To cause it?"

Celia didn't feel the magic pouring out of her. It leapt towards the vulcano. She learned how to control elements, the easiest form of magic, before she ran away with Aaron, Rey and Charlotte after their mother's execution. Water has always been the simplest to bend to her will. Adaptable, strong, its calming sound preventing disatser, yet vital for all living things, kind, healing.

Now, her magic sparked with fire. Lava. Before she knew it, the vulcano blew a breath of black smoke that engulfed around the island. It set the lava flowing freely, eating at everything in its path. As all consuming as an eleven's year old pain.

The image was burned in Celia's mind. Her land wiped from existence in a fit of rage. Her magic's home erased. The ancient power the island inhibited would carry on with the survivers of Celia's masacre, but it would not forgive the girl who reduced it to groups of supernatural creatures, aimlessly wandering the earth.

"We found him." Three words spoken in a uncharacteristical dangerous calmness by Bonnnie Bennet. Celia didn't knew who they were, but she had a good idea who he is. Keith, Dylan and Lydia left that morning, leaving the siphoner with a hole eating at her guts. How she missed New York!

"Where?" It was Damon who asked the question everyone wanted to know the answer to, but were too busy celebrating the small victory to actually speak.

Soon, they thought, they would rid the small town of the original hybrid. Soon, the vampire vampire hunter would be awaken by them and see Klaus Mikaelson to his end. And much to her horror, Celia found the thought picking at her heart.

A/N: I'm moving this story to ao3 because I spotted an embarrassing amount of mistakes (writing on my phone will kill me one day). It's easier to correct them on there. I will update the story on this site as well and get to correct the spelling here too at some point. If you got tired of my fingers typing faster than I'm able to grammar check, check out my ao3 account: @visd3stele_soft_rebel.

《Nothing in the story will otherwise change. Just the spelling errors. 》