Bloom || HOPE MIKAELSON x RYAN CLARKE

10] THOU SHALT NOT KILL

Ryan had stayed up all night, looking up books Freya had given him.
His condition wasn't getting any better but he had to survive through a month; he kept counting the days.

That very morning, the eldest Mikaelson had also called him to the cemetery with the promise of news that could potentially change everything.

Strolling into the Lafayette cemetery, he glanced around the gloomy scenery, finding actual living people scattered across the tombs. He recognized some as people Freya had welcomed into the compound. Witches.

''What's going on here?'' he approached a man by a crypt. He recognized him from Hayley's funeral. Tall, cryptic and unbelievably crestfallen as of now. 

''You're that guy who hangs out with Hope Mikaelson,'' the man noted, ''I don't have time for this.'' he sighed and turned to leave but Ryan called him back at once.

''What's going on?'' he repeated, clasping the man's wrist in his hand. A slight headache throbbed in his brain and he let go, his teeth clenched in anger. He recognized magic when he saw it too.

The dreaded witch didn't let up. ''I've deads to bury. If you'll excuse-''
''Clarke?'' a familiar voice cut in and he spun around to find Ivy standing there, voice feeble, legs wobbling and clearly as pale as death.

''What happened to you?'' he asked as she stopped in front of him, leaning on the other witch slightly, ''You look-''
''Dead? I am.'' she answered, reaching out to take his hand.

''What? How?'' he glanced around at the crowd scattered on the gravels. They all looked as lost and pale as her, if not downright dead.

''The vampires who took down Hayley, they poisoned us with vampire blood. And then-''
''You died.''

Ivy nodded, focusing on the lines carved in his palms.

''All of you?''

''All of us but Vincent.''

There had to be at least ten of them laying around in the cemetery, all New Orleans witches that would most likely be dead by the end of the day.

''Are you...'' he trailed off, demanding to know whether she was going to go through with the transition. She barely looked up but that was all he needed to know, ''Ivy, I'm so sorry.''

''What are you even doing here?'' Vincent cut in, his voice harsher than he intended.

''I'm looking for Freya Mikaelson,'' he answered simply, never mind Ivy's lingering stare on his palm, ''She told me to meet her here.''

''That's impossible,'' Vincent continued, ''Freya's not- who told you she'd be here exactly?''

''I got a note.'' he shrugged, retrieving something from his pocket. He presented it to the regent witch of New Orleans, only for him to laugh in his face.

''Sorry to deter you, buddy. But you're being punked.''

The crumpled paper went ablaze in the witch's hand until all that remained was ash. Vincent gathered the ashes and dug his finger in the specks, drawing a heavy sigh.
Slowly, a form took shape within the pile of gathered dirt and what remained of the message spun and swirled around his palm until the motion finally stopped.
There, in the middle of his palm, the ashes remained, scattered in such a way to represent an 'M' within the pile. His eyes widened.

''That kid's learning how to con men already.''

''You've got to be kidding me.'' Ryan cursed himself before realization dawned on him, ''Why would Hope- crap!''

''I'd very much like to know what you've just figured out but I know it involves the Mikaelsons and their tendencies to maim people. So I'll just say this: get the hell off my grounds before I make you regret it.''