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New Orleans, 1914
OPHELIA LENOX KNEW SHE HAD TO HE FAST. HE WAS SO CLOSE BEHIND HER. After breaking through the magic that kept her entrapped in the Dowager Fauline Cottage, she came to realise she may have been safer there. It didn't take long for her to realise who was causing the mass hysteria in the French Quarter. Mikael. She had heard stories from Kol about the patriarch of the Mikaelson family, what terrified her the most— she had heard her name being mentioned by a bystander in a desperate attempt to get away from Mikael.
She flew up the stairs of the mansion, not paying attention to the way her lungs screamed in agony— the witch was exhausted, but she couldn't stop.
She threw open the door to the room she had spent most of her time in the last two years in with Kol. The room was turned upside down. Little did she know, this had been due to Kol's rage at Niklaus' entrapment of Ophelia. She only hoped that what she was looking for, would still be there.
Using her magic she threw the landscape painting off the wall and removed the correct brick, a massive sigh of relief when she saw the vial of Kol's blood still hidden. She jumped when she heard the front door to the plantation fly open and a booming voice shouting, "WITCH, SHOW YOURSELF."
She unscrewed the vial quickly and drunk the liquid, the wheels had been set in motion for her plan— she just hoped it would work.
She exited the room, about to approach the stairs when she felt a light breeze behind her and knew he was there. Her breath hitched in her throat, she only hoped it would be quick. Before she could even turn to attempt to bring a hand up to defend herself, the original father had made his first attack. Swiftly, he broke both of her wrists.
She cried out in pain, beginning to crumble to the floor— but he lifted her up by her throat. Squeezing tightly, "Where are the abominations?" His voiced boomed.
Ophelia used all her strength to laugh in the face of the monster, "They're gone, Mikael. They've outsmarted you, again."
And with that, he let out a growl of frustration before throwing the witch over the bannister of the stairs. A sickening crunch was heard as she hit the floor, her last thought being of Kol.
•••
Ophelia woke with a start. She wasn't aware how long she had been out but the fact that her wrists had healed told her that she was in transition. She knew that before she fed, she had to start the spell she needed. If she had more time, she would've liked to have been far away from New Orleans to do it— she was certain those pesky ancestors were going to try and stop her.
She made quick work of gathering the things she needed, making a circle for her to stand inside of. She started to chant, and as suspected— she could feel ancestral magic trying to break through the circle. She could see them. Hundreds of dead witches stood around the circle, not one of them wanting her to complete the spell. It would make her too powerful, too dangerous. Too unnatural.
A hand clamped down on each of her shoulders and without stopping her chanting, she could sense who it was.
"Sweetheart," her mother's voice came and she knew the other presence was her father, "We can help, but you must be sure that this is what you want. You must understand the risks."
Tears pooled in Ophelia's eyes as she stopped chanting for a second, "I've never been so sure. I love him." She sobbed.
"We are proud of you, Ophelia." She heard her father say, "We all are, it's time." Ophelia looked over her shoulder to see hundreds of members of the Lenox bloodline who all began chanting along with Ophelia. With the combined power of every single Lenox to ever live, the ancestors didn't stand a chance at that point.
When the spell finished, she knew her family would be gone, but she knew that somehow she would see them again someday— and she knew they were always looking out for her.
She rushed out of the mansion and towards the French Quarter which was full of ash as the flames had been put out— a passerby spoke to Ophelia, "Sad, isn't it?"
All Ophelia could focus on was the pulse in the humans neck, she knew what she needed to do.
"Terrible." She began advancing on the human who began to back away, "I just need something from you. It won't take a minute."
She threw her hand up, throwing the human into a nearby alleyway, immobilising them completely— another swipe of her hand caused a cut on the humans neck. Ophelia advanced on the human, his eyes wide with fear and she leant up to lick the blood from the cut, "Excuse me, this is my first time." And as her face turned into the veiny, red eyed, creature of the night that she had admittedly, found very attractive on Kol, she drained the human. She had left Kol feed on her before and she had taken his blood when she had needed, but the euphoric feeling of draining the life out of someone— it was heavenly.
"Ophelia?" a voice called out, she dropped the body and turned, seeing Marcel at the end of the alleyway. His face was one of shock and relief, shocked she was a vampire and relieved that she was alive.
"Marcel," she greeted, "It appears I have killed the poor thing, what a shame." She walked towards the vampire but before reaching him, she threw a hand out— the body setting alight and burning.
Marcels eyes widened, "Ophelia, what the h-" he was confused that she was able to perform magic still. He had never heard of such a thing.
"I think we need to talk, Marcellus. Come." And she walked past him, the vampire following closely behind.
As the sun set on New Orleans, the world had shifted significantly.
Ophelia Lenox was two things.
She was a witch.
Due to the nature of the spell she had performed, she was an unsired vampire.
