Next to no one knows her and whoever does doesn't remember her. What happens when she comes back?
"Legend has it she's the Youngest Mikaelson but she's the worst of
them all."
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1100 A.D
The cauldron was hot on the witch's hands, the fire contained inside curling in and around itself. The wind picked up slightly around her, rustling the leaves and the clothes that enclosed her and her companions.
The witch raised her head and peered at the five men with their swords touching the ground. She opened her mouth and began chanting in Latin, the power thrumming through her veins. The wind picked up around her, leaves flying everywhere now.
She raised the cauldron above her head and waited. There was complete stillness for a second before a bolt of lightning flashed and struck the fire. Her hand shook as she lowered the cauldron to the ground and poured the fire out.
The flames separated into five paths, each flowing its way toward one of the men. The flames ran up the swords and disappeared beneath the men's grip, all while the witch continued chanting. An intricate tattoo began carving itself into their skin, disappearing as soon as it made itself visible.
The witch's breathing was becoming heavier and heavier, taking more and more effort to force out the Latin syllables, as she came to the end of the spell. She forced her eyes open and stared at the five men—brothers—as they marveled over the disappearing tattoos.
A smile stretched across her face, a proud glint in her eyes, as she breathed her last breath. She fell slowly to the ground, the impact surprising her, and her eyes fell shut for the final time.
Before she was pulled into the clutches of death, she saw a glimpse of blonde hair—of a face staring back at her, a mischievous smile on her bloody lips. The witch stared at her, disgust bubbling up in her being, as the vampire turned from her and began slaughtering the villages.
The disgust gave way to pride when she saw one of the five men she just died for sneaking up behind the beast and driving a stake through her heart.
A serene sense of calm came over the witch as she closed her eyes and felt her soul detach from her physical body.
~~~
Damon Salvatore sat up steadily in bed, his head pounding at the motion. He swiveled his head as he looked around the small motel room.
The entrance to the room was straight ahead, a mini fridge to the right and a small tv stand on the left. Next to the tv stand was a small table with a single lamp overlooking a pen and notepad.
Damon moved farther off the bed and turned to face the second bed in the room. Erikah Mikaelson was laying on it peacefully as she slept. She was laying on top of all the blankets and the only things missing from her overall outfit were her boots and her leather jacket.
Her head was resting in the crook of her elbow and her hair was splayed out all over the pillow, forming a disfigured kind of halo around her head.
