Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
005. SEASON FOUR, EPISODE TWENTY
━━━━━━
WHEN ELENA WAKES UP, IT'S dark. Shadows cling to the walls of the room—the cell—she has somehow wound up in, and she's slumped against cold, smooth stone. The ground beneath is chilling to the bone and ghosts whisper in her ear that she's not welcome here.
( She's not welcome anywhere. )
She groans, tastes something metallic in her mouth, and pulls and tugs at the blackness of her memory to uncover some jewel of awareness—and remembers how Jane-Anne drugged her.
Elena comes to the conclusion that she's being used in some fucked-up witches' plot to reclaim their power or whatever.
She is not surprised.
She sighs, lets her head rest against the wall behind her as her eyes slide shut once more and daydreams that whatever they want to do to her will be quick and painless.
And makes a mental note to never eat gumbo again.
Her stomach growls in protest.
She soothes a hand over it, eyes flickering around the cell she's locked in. Her gaze runs over the flecks of light seeping through the door that stands at the opposite of the cell. She can't see much in the dark, but Elena notes the dented metal, rusted at the corners. If she were anywhere but what is undoubtedly witch territory, she'd try her hand at ripping it apart, but Elena knows better. It was likely reinforced by magic long before she arrived in New Orleans.
She has no chance.
Especially when she notices the chain clamped to her ankle, cold and unforgiving. Elena groans and throws her head back against the wall, the pain of it bleeding away under the weight of her disappointment.
Of being used and abused just like she suspected and yet not being able to see it coming.
( She should know better by now. )
Elena doesn't bother to move, knowing that the witches would just catch her anyway, curling up in a ball to stave off the cold that suffuses the air despite it being the middle of May. Her eyes close, but she remains intensely aware of the wind howling outside, the light murmur of heartbeats and chatter and the loud drip drip drip of water in the opposite corner.
They got the best of her once, but not twice.
It feels like hours crawl by before anyone comes anywhere near Elena's cell. Her muscles tense when she catches the heavy thud of footsteps outside, coming closer and closer, their heartbeat hammering in their chest, the shallow breaths that denote either their fear or . . . their excitement.
Elena uncoils from her ball as the scraping of metal against metal resounds as a lock clicks. Her blood rushes and limbs tremble and she tenses, prepared to pounce at the first available moment.
