1822 — New Orleans, Louisiana
All that Eleanor could hear was chanting and the crackling of fire. The chanting was strong, almost deafening to her ears. She thought that maybe if she shut her eyes tight, the chanting would lower in volume, but, it didn't. It only became louder, and that was when she slowly opened her eyes. There was a fire in front of her, bright and warm, but it brought a chill down her spine. It could have been the fire, but it also could have been that her dress was ripped to pieces and she was covered in blood.
Standing by the fire stood a woman, her face glowing as her hands moved over the black cauldron atop the fire. Her mouth moved, and that was when Eleanor noticed that the chanting came from her. She was loud, staring at the dark sky with closed eyes. Besides the woman, men and woman stood tall, all of them quietly chanting with her and playing instruments that brought another chill to the young fledgling's back.
"What are you doing?" Eleanor asked, panicking. She tried to pry open the shackles that were holding her against the tree, but she had no strength. Her strength was gone, and she felt weaker than ever before. She felt as if she had been running for years, as if she could no longer lift her arms or any other part of her body. "Where am I? What are you doing?"
The chanting stopped, but the drumming continued. The woman that had been standing by the cauldron lowered her arms and slowly moved to the young fledgling. When Eleanor's eyes adjusted to the small bit of light, she gasped. Standing in front of her was Nanette Passebon, the voodoo queen of New Orleans—as Rebekah called her—with a wicked smirk around her lips. She slowly leaned down and grabbed the fledgling by the chin, making her look up. "You're not an original, but you'll do just fine," she said, a wicked tone to her voice.
"What do you want with me?" Eleanor asked, swallowing hard. "I'm nothing, no one!"
"You're right," Nanette agreed, walking back to the fire. "You are nothing, but you are someone. According to my little ears, you are very important to the Mikaelson's."
"Important?" Eleanor softly uttered, her brows furrowing in confusion. She had never thought to be someone important to the Mikaelson's, especially since she was just low-life girl given the gift of eternity thanks to her mother. Someone? No, Nanette was wrong. Eleanor was no one.
"Especially to that Klaus," Nanette continued, chuckling. "The importance a simple low-life like you has to that Original is fascinating. Here I thought that that man only enjoyed power, but then you came along." She moved to a golden box that was adorned with golden bells, and smiled as she opened it. Slowly, she pulled out a black snake that resembled coal with the fire brightening its dark scales. The snake liked her cheek several times, making the woman to grin. Nanette passed the snake to the man standing next to her, which Eleanor hadn't noticed till he grabbed the snake. The man did the same thing with the snake, allowing it to lick his cheek. He laid the snake back on the box, lifted it, and began to shake it as the drums echoed around Eleanor. The bells began to jingle along with the drumming, creating a rhythm that was accompanied by chanting.
Eleanor felt hypnotized, as if she could focus on nothing else except the rhythm of the bells, the drums, and the chanting. It was as if they were far; they couldn't be, she was standing merely a few feet away from them. She began to panic more, her breathing ragged as she tried to break the shackles that held her against the tree.
Nanette began to chant once again, louder, her hands thrown to the air. As she chanted, she began to take offerings from the people around her. To the boiling cauldron, she threw in two live chickens, three pigeons, a live cat, and several worms. As she continued to chant, a man clad in only loin clothing began to dance around the fire. He was wild, whirling his arms, spinning around and around as the people around him chanted "li grand zombi". Minutes later, the whirling dancer collapsed from exhaustion, and the others began to dance. They stopped intermittently to drink from the cauldron, and then the whirling dance would begin.
Suddenly, everything stopped. There were no dancers, no drumming, just the cackling of the fire around the woods. Eleanor stared at them, her mouth tightly closed from fear. Nanette appeared in front of the cauldron once again, the black snake in her arms. She looked at the young fledging, and smirked as she dropped the snake to the boiling substance.
"W-what are you doing?" Eleanor asked her, swallowing back hard. Two mean dressed in white appeared next to her, and pulled her to the cauldron. She began to pull back, yelling, but to no avail–she was weak. "What are you doing? Stop! Stop! Elijah! Klaus! Rebekah!"
The men stopped in front of the cauldron's, holding tightly to the young girl's arms. Nanette Passebon took hold of the girl by the chin, making her look into her eyes. "Do you have any last words?" she asked, smirking. "What would you like for me to tell Klaus?"
"Fuck you," Eleanor spat, glaring at the woman. For the first time in her existence, she swore. Never had she said such a vulgar word, especially since she was brought up at a Catholic orphanage. She felt strange saying that word, but she also felt a sense of control as she spat it once again to the woman that held a smirk.
Nanette smiled, a wicked grin that told Eleanor to be afraid. "I'll be sure to give Klaus your hate." She held a knife in her free hand and lifted it to the air, silencing the whispers that had begun around them. "Tonight," she began, her voice echoing, "we feast on immortality!"
"L'Appe' vini le Grand!" the people shouted. "L'Appe' vini pou fe gris-gris!"
"No!" Eleanor yelled as the men began to drag her closer to the cauldron. "No, no! Please, stop, no!"
Nanette picked up a flower on the table by the fire, a purple flower that reminded Eleanor of lavender. At first, she thought it was lavender, but the smell burnt her nose like the spicy foods Philomene made during Sunday's. When Nanette brushed the flower down the fledgling's cheek, she screamed. It burnt, like the time she went into the sunlight without her ring, but it was worse. The flower burned more than the sun, which made Eleanor scream louder than ever before.
"Stop," she pleaded, crying. "Please, stop!"
"Am I supposed to have mercy on a vampire?" Nanette spat. "Mercy is for the weak."
Eleanor stared at the woman, her insides trembling with fright. She watched as the voodoo queen stared at the glimmering knife for several seconds before slowly lowering it to her neck. The knife against her skin felt cold, as if it would cut her when she swallowed. She closed her eyes from fright, and soon felt the smooth metal slide across her neck slowly. The pain suddenly stopped, the cold from the blade disappearing. She opened her eyes and looked at the woman that held the knife, seeing her eyes darting around.
"He's here," she quietly said, her posture stiffening a bit. She straightened herself and let out a small smirk, slowly walking around the fire as her eyes darted around. "Klaus," she called. "Come on out, Klaus." She waited for a few seconds, but nothing happened. "If you don't, I'll kill this girl." She suddenly pulled out a wooden stake from her shirt and held it against Eleanor's chest, right atop of her heart. "Come on now, Klaus. We all know how much she means to you."
As Nanette slowly pushed the stake into Eleanor's chest, she screamed. The pain was worse than the flower, than the sun touching her skin without her ring. "No!" she screamed, throwing her head back in pain.
"Come on now, Nanette," a new voice joined them. "Using a girl to bring me out? Are you out of tricks?"
The wood that had been pushed into Eleanor's chest came out suddenly, making her gasp in relieve. She turned her head back, her eyes colliding with Klaus's. It was if her heart began to flutter wildly, as if fresh rain began to fall from her eyes; it was the first time she was thankful of the devil being in front of her.
"Klaus," Nanette smiled. "Well, it took you a while to get here. I thought I'd have to kill this girl for you to come out."
"Even if I didn't come, you'd kill her for whatever is that you're doing," Klaus said, motioning his finger to the boiling cauldron. "What is it that you're doing, Nanette? An immortality spell?" He let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, I've seen the consequences of an immortality spell, and they're not pretty."
For the first time since Eleanor had seen her, Nanette Passebon looked frightened. She came to realize that it was because of Klaus, that he was what frightened this woman the most. Her eyes met his once again, and she noticed why. Klaus Mikaelson appeared like the devil with the flames dancing around him and the smirk decorating his pink coloured lips. All he needed was his wings, and he would appear like the true Lucifer in Eleanor's eyes.
Klaus's eyes hardened as he stared at Nanette. "Let her go," he said. "Now."
"What if I don't?" Nanette asked, laying her hand on her waist and holding her head high.
Klaus tilted his head slightly to the side, watching her. "If you don't let her go, everyone in your little coven will be dead in seconds," he said, smirking. "Eleanor has a voracious appetite, and I'm a bit ravenous." His smirk fell, and he glared at each and every person that could be seen.
They whispered to each other, a mixture of French and another language Eleanor could not understand. In seconds, the men that held her unshackled her. She fell to her knees, breathing hard from the pleasure of finally being free, of finally not being scared. When she stood, she ran to Klaus and wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding her face against his chest. His arms wrapped around her as well, his lips brushing against the top of her head.
"You're all right now," he whispered against her hair. "It's all going to be okay now, Eleanor."
Eleanor pulled away from his chest and looked up at him, shaking still. Klaus slowly brushed his thumb across her cheek, brushing away a tear. That simple touch caused Eleanor to shiver, to suddenly give her the warmth the fire could not. She felt okay, as if nothing wrong could happen; she felt safe.