𝕯𝖊𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖊 - [𝗘𝗹𝗶𝗷𝗮𝗵 𝗠𝗶𝗸𝗮𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗼𝗻] (DISCONTINUED)

𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢. the courageous

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 — the courageous 

━━━━━━━

 

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 suffocating. Davina was passed out, her body entirely limp as the sedative spread throughout her bloodstream. Ophelia didn't know what to do. The sedative should have calmed her, but clearly the young witch was still completely terrified, even in her unconscious state.

Outside the winds blew at such a speed that the shutters of the windows threatened to snap off, Ophelia heard the chairs and tables in the courtyard get strewn about by the forceful breeze. Everything was getting out of hand, and with each threatening strike of wind, the siphon knew each of the other occupants of the compound were becoming more and more comfortable with sacrificing the teenager to the Harvest.

Ophelia could hear Marcel and Klaus shouting at one another, she knew that Marcel was against the Harvest; no matter the bad choices he had made, it was obvious that he cared for Davina like a daughter. Ophelia trusted that he would help her keep Davina safe and alive, she wasn't a believer of the Harvest. She may not have grown up in New Orleans or followed the witch's customs, but she knew witches. They were willing to sacrifice for power. Her family did so who was to say that the pesky witches of the Quarter weren't as conniving?

The argument down in the courtyard finally came to a standstill; Ophelia had heard her name mentioned more than once, but in all honesty, she didn't care what any of them had to say; Davina was all that mattered for the time being. Though she had to admit that the two vampires that stood guard at the door looking at her every time her name was mentioned was rather irritating.

The siphon's head rose upon the sound of the wooden door to the bedroom creaking open; Marcel walked in, his usual prideful walk missing, blown away in the wind that Davina's unconscious state brewed up. His eyes no longer held authority, they were sad and they were angry; sad at having to see the young witch suffer, and angry at the way everyone seemed to be completely fine with the idea of sacrificing a sixteen-year-old in a ritual that wasn't proven to work.

"How's she doing?" the man muttered towards the siphon as he joined her side, arms folded across his chest.

The shutter of the window being ripped off by the vicious winds seemed to have explained the situation perfectly. Ophelia ignored the sound, "It's getting worse the longer she's sedated."

The siphon grit her teeth together, a determined look spreading over her face as she looked from Davina and back to Marcel who rose a brow at the expression. Her whiskey-colored eyes flickered between Marcel and the guards, and he immediately followed; his body turned into a dark blur as he sped across the room and snapped the guard's necks without hesitation before speeding to Davina's side.