𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗞 | (✔︎)

eighty-five

𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄

Freya Mikaelson placed an old blank sheet of parchment paper on top of the table, next to a red feather quill pen. She placed three white candles on strategic points around the parchment and lit them up with her magic. There was no emotional expression on her face as she turned around to begin gathering the ingredients needed from another table. There was a lot to be done. The first part of her plan had been successful, now the time had come to begin the next phase. The most difficult part of all, she thought as she mixed mint leaves, rose petals, dried seeds, and different liquids together in a small ceramic bowl.

All the necessary ingredients had been brought to her by one of the Kindred witches that guarded the cottage; A cruel man who was one of the jailers looking after the witches condemned to spend the rest of their lives locked inside the house. Getting inside his mind had been surprisingly easy. Despite his tall stature, his muscles, and intelligence, he was a puppet in her hands, he now served and obey her. He along with his fellow coven members were her eyes and ears, through them she had learned all she needed to learn to adapt to this new century. The kindred had taken over the house almost a hundred years before and since then, it had become a prison. The unwanted, rebellious, and unsuitable members of the witch community in New Orleans were trapped inside, wasting away like parasites. Only the kindred who ran the place where allowed in and out of the house. The boundary spell protecting the property ensured no other witches could go in or leave. Freya could leave if she so desired, but she couldn't risk going outside, not until all the pieces of the game were in perfect place. For now, the old Fauline Cottage had become her center of operations and the witches inside, her small army, pawns in a game that had begun one thousand years before.

Centuries ago, Freya would have been appalled at the thought of manipulating lesser witches, of using them as she was doing now. Invading someone's mind, tampering with it, and bending it to her will was something that required skill, a technique she had perfected over the centuries and one she didn't hesitate in using to her advantage. Vampires could compel people and powerful witches could control others of their kind and submit them to their will. It was a lesser known art, one few dared to use.

The mind is a powerful thing, far more powerful than the magic flowing through your veins. Witches who lack a strong mind, are nothing. Never forget that your mind, your will, your spirit, must be as strong as your power. They must all be one and the same, an all too familiar voice hissed in her ear. The ceramic bowl shook and a small crack formed on the side as her power surfaced without her meaning too. No matter how many miles apart they were, no matter how far away she ran, or how well she hid, that voice followed her. Her voice haunted Freya. As much as she hated that woman, Freya could not deny nor forget the valuable lessons Dahlia had taught her. She was even implementing those lessons in order to defeat her.

Perhaps I am her daughter after all.

The horrible doubts that had always plagued her mind and heart surfaced once more. She moved her hand over the crack and fixed it with her magic, and continued to mix the ingredients. She hated depending on others, hated that her plan was based on the blood link that united them, but there was no alternative was there? She had exhausted all other options and if her vision was true-which she knew it was- then this was the next step. But what if you fail yet again Freya? What if they-

She put the thought aside and added more ingredients to the bowl. Not this time, she promised herself. She had worked too hard, she had lost too much, she could not afford to lose again. This time everything would be different.

Once the mixture became a greenish looking paste, she returned towards the table with the parchment and the candles. She spread the paste over the paper, covering all of the parchment with her special mixture and murmured the incantation- a spell of her own creation.