―book three in the folklore series
a child who lost everything
sits on the doorstep of a
house that is no longer there.
―the vampire diaries and the originals
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❝ i think it is about time we get caught up. ❞
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IT HAS BEEN THREE YEARS SINCE THE FALL OF THE MIKAELSONS. Enola and Hayley had collected all of the ingredients needed to cure Freya. But they could not wake her until they collected the werewolf venom from all seven packs and right now they only had five. Enola and Hayley decided it was time to split the workload in order to get more stuff done. While Hayley was backpacking through Europe, Enola was driving past the WELCOME TO MYSTIC FALLS sign.
It had been three years since Enola had spoken to any of them. Though that didn't stop them from scouring the earth for her. She hid in the shadows as they attempted to get a hold of her. Especially now with Damon and Enzo missing. They were expecting her to come out of hiding just to help them locate the two fools. She hadn't planned on it. The lives of her daughters were way more important than that. But maybe if she did this for them, they would owe her a favor. She didn't care how awful that had sounded. She was no longer the considerate friend they used to know. She had spent the past three years in hiding. She had spent the past three years on the run. She had spent the past three years violent and brittle.
What did they expect? That she wouldn't grow attached to this dirt and pain? That she wouldn't grow deep dark roots down into the soil that reaches the very core of this planet? That she wouldn't end up calling this earth—her life's toil and suffering—home? What did they expect? That they would build her from this very dust and that she wouldn't belong to it? She does. She was made from this ground, created from goddamn filth and mud and ashes. How dare they kick her out of the city she once called home. How dare they tell her that she must leave. As if she would want to. As if she would go gently. She doesn't.
She will rage with every atom, with every single cell in her god-ruled body. She will fight with every neutron, with every nerve. They had to drag her, pull her, force her. They will have to stir more than a single finger, take more than a heedless glance, give more than a casual thought, offer more than a careless breath to fully remove her from that city. What did they expect? New Orleans was her home. She is its dust. She is its life force. It is in her DNA, it is her foundation. But it wasn't where she was born; it wasn't what she was.
Mystic Falls conceived her in its mind, but she came out bloody and ugly. What did they expect? This is her origin. She was raised here. She bonded to the town. She called it family and planted herself. She grew from heartache, from sweat, from endless tending and she made it her life. Heaven didn't matter to her. She had no connection to the sky and its soft unstable clouds. No ties, no links, no relationship. She belonged to this earth wholly. It breathed her to life and cradled her in its arms when she gave that breath back. Damn the pearly gates and golden streets. She wanted mud and roots instead.
