Fire was one of the few things Dominic Claire loves in his life. Along side his twin, Davina Claire, and their vampiric father figure, Marcel Gerard.
He can no longer enjoy the feeling of his vocal cords vibrating to talk, to perform an action as basic as human speech. Well, not without weakening himself, that is. The only thing he can do with his voice is yell, grunt, hum, scream, and anything that doesn't involve actually speaking.
Every time he utters so much as a word, he can feel some magic leave him, only returning after hours, or even days of silence.
When he was little he didn't even notice the curse at first, laughing and chatting with his twin like normal, only feeling the effects of the curse after three days of constant talking. It took three days of his magic being constantly stripped away before he even noticed he was losing any in the first place.
That was a terrifying revelation to his coven.
That a child so young could hold so much power. Go days with his magic being stripped from his body, sinking into the grounds of New Orleans, before he began to notice the fact that he was even losing any.
But, anyways. He always loved the heat of the flame. As it's orange, reds, and yellows danced and twirled around. As it was as beautiful as it was dangerous, consuming anything and everything in its wake, feeding to its own power.
When he realised the curse his coven placed on him, he would just sit in front of a candle for hours, begging for it to light, having to restrain himself from whispering the words incendia.
It took him days to light the candle without words, never having any proper training on how to properly access and utilise his magic without incantation.
He remembers squealing out in joy when the small flame finally sparked to life, the light smell of lavender filling his old bedroom.
He remembers repeating the process over and over again until he could light the small candle with nothing more than a thought. Despite it being a spell he learned at the age of four, he couldn't stop himself from being excited at the fact he could still use magic, even to do something as small and simple as lighting a lavender scented candle.
But now he looks upon his fire coated hand. As the warm embrace of fire twirls around his fingers, lighting his face with an orange glow. As he breathes puffs of smoke out of the open window, having to find something to release the pressure from his chest, even only slightly.
Channeling his sisters power on top of his own is rather taxing, but he couldn't let the full power of the harvest build in his sisters small body. He couldn't watch as her magic lashed out once again. So, if all it means is some bodily discomfort and nightmares in exchange for some relief for his sister, then so be it.
Obviously she isn't aware of the pain channeling her brings him, she would try and force him to stop otherwise. She thinks that due to that fact he grew up with an obscene amount of magic, he wouldn't be as affected, and she's not necessarily wrong. If anyone else were to channel the amount of power he is on top of the amount of power he naturally has, they would end up in flames, their magic releasing in a self destructive manner within days, or even hours. It's honestly a miracle the amount of magic in the two of them hasn't started to kill them yet.
And as the fire coating his hand dies out - releasing the magic that was fuelling it - comes the foreboding feeling of darkness and death, standing out even in a city built on bloodshed.
The Originals.
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The muted witch (The originals x male claire oc)
Fanfiction"As a child he was powerful, equal to adult witches at the age of 7. The older he got, the more powerful he became. The coven feared his power, so they sealed it within his voice. Whenever he speaks he becomes weaker. But what they didn't realise, w...
