𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 | KLAUS MIKAELSON (REWRITING)

CHAPTER ONE

The witch continued reading, eyes squinting slightly to focus on the marginally shaky script, "'You are now in the presence in a greater — and more merciful — power. The greatest honour is found in the darkness and shadows.'" The group shared confused glances, they were unsure how this would help them kill the mysterious vampire. "'Your heart's greatest desire or need can soon be yours — but there is a price to pay. Make a deal with the Phantom Queen and find yourself bound by honour, blood and soul to a cause greater than you could imagine. Break the deal and the crows will circle, calling for flesh and bone.'" The room was impossibly tense, torn between thinking it was violent poetry or being terrified at the implied threat. Bonnie read the final sentence in a breathy voice, "'All it takes is a drop of blood and the sacrifice of a treasured ghost to summon your Great Queen."

There was only silence as they stared at the grimoire with wide and mildly horrified eyes. But, they could not help but share the same thoughts that this could be the only way to win the fight that had not yet begun. Setting the grimoire down in front of her, Bonnie looked towards the Salvatore brothers, "I need chalk and candles," she glanced down at the page again, checking if there were any technicalities, "Where can I draw the summoning circle?"

The group gathered themselves together, collectively they found all of the items that Bonnie had requested and was now helping to move one of the antique rugs from the floor so she could draw there. Studying the intricate lines of the circle, she saw that it was in fact a pentagram but more complicated and with — what appeared to be — a form of hieroglyph drawn in each segment. Once she had begun to draw, she felt as though the chalk was almost moving of its own accord in her hand and it was not long before an almost exact replica of the summoning circle was drawn on the floor before her.

A candle was placed at each point of the pentagram, Bonnie closed her eyes, lighting them all at once. Reopening her eyes, she read the next bit of the script and nodded in understanding, "The treasured ghost is a memory," she glanced down again, partly speaking to herself, "I perform the blood sacrifice and give up a memory as part of it and its complete." The witch nodded to herself reassuringly, reminding herself that she was doing all of this for Elena. This was all more important than a single memory.

She stood at the point which had the crow symbol in its segment and closed her eyes, "O magni virtute, et opus meum et vocavi te in tempore magnam securitatem," she sliced her palm with a knife and allowed the blood to fall in the centre of the circle before she raised her hands, her palms laying flat as though against a barrier, "Quis magna inpensa victimam conjuro te honore disposito," Bonnie focused on the memory of when she was three years old and her Grams was pushing her on a swing set wildly, "Dixi ego in tenuem ex necessitate regina et domina corvini generis in morrigan," the lights in the room flickered and Bonnie raised her voice powerfully, "Creavi fructum labiorum peculium: et sanguis meus, ut conducerent sibi ad congregandum exspiravit." The shadows in the room seemed to swirl and collect in the summoning circle, they built to a speed so great it could have been mistaken for a small tornado. "Et decoremque perveni: et animae sanguinem si vocare te I," her voice had raised to an almost painful yell and her hands were shaking from the sheer power she was containing.

The candles extinguished themselves and Bonnie collapsed to the floor, the spell having exhausted her physically and mentally. The towering pillar of shadows continued to swirl before it dissipated into the room and began to cling to their legs and feet. The group of supernatural creatures and teenagers were considerably surprised when the small sound of a bird's caw came from within the circle.

Where the shadows had been there was now a slightly larger than normal crow with eyes the colour of flames. It cawed again, this time more roughly, as though it was clearing its throat. Their surprise only increased tenfold when it spoke, "At this present moment the Morrigan is preoccupied. Your summoning has been recorded and you will receive a response within the usual consulting hours of eleven in the evening and five in the morning." The crow gave one final caw before it launched itself out of the only open window in the living room.

Everyone stared at each other in shock and disbelief. They had no idea what had just happened. They had performed a blood sacrifice to summon a mystical being to be greeted with a talking crow. Damon was the one to break the silence, "Did we just get the witch equivalent of a voicemail?"

☾*☾*☾*☾*☾

THE DIRT TRAIL WHICH MORRIGAN WAS STOOD ON WAS EERILY QUIET. It was very much off the beaten track and it was almost a hundred per cent guarantee that there would be no unwanted company. That was excluding the multiple insects that were crawling and nipping at her skin — on multiple occasions she had set them alight with a look of pure vengeance on her face, as they were swallowed by flames. Her ridiculously expensive boots were beginning to scuff on the gravel and stones and she had stood in some mud half an hour ago that had left its mark on the heel.

The silence was interrupted by her ringtone going off loudly in her back pocket. She cursed whichever gods were lifting and pulled it out, not looking at the caller name so she could make the incessant noise stop sooner. "What?" She snarled, glaring at an innocent tree with enough venom that it should have withered on the spot.

"Hello, dear sister." Morrigan cursed the gods once more — it seemed that they had indeed forsaken her, once again. She sucked on her teeth slightly, withholding the hiss that would undoubtedly escape due to her annoyance.

Clenching her jaw, she answered through gritted teeth, "Myrrdín. I'm busy — can this not wait?" There was a dry, amused chuckle on the other end of the phone which made Morrigan want to rip out someone's jugular — or something else equally as poetic.

Myrrdín teased his twin sister in a knowing voice, "Who was your victim this time?" Morrigan frowned, nudging the bloodied corpse at her feet with the toe of her boot — just making sure that he was very dead. There were tracks of blood that showed where she had dragged his body from the bar, she knew cleaning them would be a pain. It was at that point she elected to not clean it up to save herself the hassle.

She gasped dramatically down the phone line, "I was the victim," she paused, pushing the body away from her with a look of disgust, "He forced me to endure his intolerable, intoxicated company whilst he kept offering to buy me a drink. I did the world's population a favour by removing his internal organs." Keith McNulty, aged thirty-four and resident of Alabama state, had done all of these things. But Morrigan would have still killed him anyway — it was just that type of day.

"You? A victim?" He snorted unattractively, she moved the phone away from her ear with disdain, "I'd pay to see that. Anyway, this call wasn't just to hear about today's murder." His voice was falsely enthusiastic when he said the last part, almost as if he was in the ten o clock news.

She responded in a dry, monotonous voice, "You're kidding." She looked down at her artfully arranged masterpiece, she had drifted towards irony and made a crucifix out of his organs, placing it above his head. And Myrrdín said she couldn't be funny.

"You received a 'summoning', while you were out." Morrigan could see him dramatically rolling his eyes at the word, he had invented it to humour himself. "They reached the crow messenger." Witch voicemail. "But you'll never guess where it came from."

"Where?" she asked a bored tone in her voice from having to entertain him.

"Mystic Falls."

Morrigan froze, her eyes stuck on a spot just to the left of Keith's liver. It has been five hundred years since Katerina had gone to England — there must have been another doppelgänger. And where there's a doppelgänger, Niklaus will soon follow. Shaking herself out of her stupor, "I'll be home soon." She hung up, shoving her phone back into her pocket before storming back towards her car — enjoying the satisfying crack of his skull as her boot met it.

☾*☾*☾*☾*☾

HELLO WOW THIS IS FUN
YES I AM REWRITING THE PHANTOM QUEEN
THE REASON FOR THIS IS THAT I LOST INSPIRATION FOR IT AND HONESTLY MY WRITING STYLE HAD CHANGED QUITE A BIT AND I DIDNT FEEL LIKE ID DONE THE IDEA JUSTICE.
THIS TIME THERE IS GOING TO BE MORE HUMOUR AND MORE FUN AND IT BEGINS EARLIER SO WE'LL REALLY GET TO KNOW MORRIGAN
THANK YOU FOR READING AND I LOVE YOU X