𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 ━━ elijah mikaelson (1)

𝖎. Self-Made Tragedies

         She lifted herself up, resting on her right arm, and brought her left hand to the plant and muttered a quick spell that revived it, the plant blossoming in the wake of her actions. Even though her heart felt heavy from the dream and a headache was stirring, she smiled at the innocent plant – it was affected by her nonsensical nightmares yet it was free from the knowledge of it.

         Somehow, she wished that it was the same way. Her youngest sister never remembered her dreams, didn't even remember the feelings she had during them, while the middle child remembered her terror or happiness but not what occurred. She, though, was cursed with the knowledge of all that occurred in the lives that she would never even see happen, for she knew that she would die before those came true.

         The day was most unusual as well. She went through all the motions; getting dressed before going out to see her family for breakfast, helping tend the garden with her sister before going to help set up the ball which would occur that night in Jeremiah Bridge's house. Every month, the night before the full moon, the town held a ball to celebrate the peace between the wolves and witches of the town. Seeing as her mother was preparing a marriage between her and Jeremiah's son, Nathan, she helped them prepare for the ball every month.

         However, through these motions, there was a whisper in her brain – much different than the voices that repeated spells. These were dark, every time she got near another human telling her to commit the tragedy she had seen in her dreams, the nightmare from the night. It called to her, pleading with her and pushing her to just use magic and watch as their brain melted, or grab for a blade and plunge it into their chest.

         By the time she was home again and dressing in her finest gown, with her mother behind her placing the necklace Nathan had gotten her that day around her neck, she already felt the need to escape – to claw out of her skin and leave. She knew that she couldn't, so she stayed and smiled.

         "It's a nice present, isn't it, Marisol?" her mother asked her, in the tone that implied they were not speaking about the gift but Nathan himself.

         She had no problem with Nathan, he was a nice boy only two years older than her, much better than Gregory Milkovich who lived three doors down from them who was her exact age. He was cordial, entertained her in conversation, but he was much too dull. There was never a true spark between them, and Nathan liked to talk about the books that he read but when Marisol asked if she could borrow them for her own pleasure, he was quick to refuse her.

         She knew that in other towns it was not common practice for girls like her to read. It was strictly prohibited and even though that was not true for their community, witches always needing to read their grimoires no matter race, those values bled through. Gregory never cared when she asked for his books, but that had to be the only good quality about him.

         "Yes, it's very nice," Marisol agreed, seeing the pleased look of her mother through the mirror.

         "Good," her mother pulled back, "Bring your sisters in half an hour, I have to arrive early for a short meeting."

         Marisol nodded, sensing what her mother had to discuss with the Bridge family. "I will," she told her mother, watching as the woman left her room before letting out a sigh.

         In half an hour's time, Marisol and her two sisters arrived at the Bridge residence and walked in, another group coming after them. The three stayed together before her youngest sister, Circe, went off when she saw her best friend.

         "He's looking at you," Ophelia, her other sister, told her after the ball had been gathering for an hour. Marisol looked around to where she was staring to and saw a young man she had never seen before, obviously a merchant by the state of his clothing, and she was quick to look back at her sister.