Perhaps it wasn't Murielle's finest moment when accidentally mispronouncing a spell had an unconscious Original landing slap-bang in the middle of her home. Though at first this mistake may have seemed horrible, it leads to a whirlwind of a life tha...
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After centuries of incarceration in his coffin, Finn Mikaelson had become aware of everything. He had existed in the agony of paralysis, of an imposed insomnia that gave him no reprieve from the helplessness he felt. Through the throes of madness born out of boredom, Finn had actually welcomed Niklaus's moments of weakness when he opened his coffin lid, as it provided some form of entertainment. Even his paranoid ramblings or attempts at justification were better than eternal nothing.
Being as aware as he was, he was aware of another being opening his coffin. A stranger. His half brother was never so skittish and tentative when opening up the lid. Even the atmosphere once the seal of the stale coffin was removed was different. He smelled wildlife and spices and herbs, and an overall sense of nature... Although it seemed he was still indoors.
Then a woman spoke, murmuring seemingly to herself with a level of shock that he thought surprising. If he were wherever he was, with her and not his brother, then surely she had stolen him for blackmail against the hybrid-to-be. He was confused by her confusion. She spoke as if she had nought an idea of who he was.
Her sweet voice continued, still speaking to herself but now asking a question. From what little he had picked up of the modern tongue from Niklaus's ramblings, it appeared she was asking what he was in modern English. She truly had no idea, did she? How was it possible that she just happened to stumble upon him? She would've had to have gotten past Niklaus and a spell or two in order to take him away... To do so unwittingly seemed like an impossible feat.
Even more impossible was the fact that he was able to furrow his brows in vexation when she suggested that he was a werewolf, as if he could ever be anything but a monster. When she confirmed that he had indeed moved, he desperately tried to do so once again. Only managing a twitch of the fingers after a minute or two.
And after a minute more, he felt it. Felt a slight shift in the position of the dagger. Was she...? No, why would a stranger free him from his tomb, where his siblings couldn't bring themselves to?
But his assumptions were proven wrong when it was quickly yanked from his chest.
For the first time in nine hundred years, he could open his eyes, open his eyes to stare at a wooden ceiling.
As if scared that this would all be some cruel hallucination, Finn tentatively sat upright. His body worked; it did as it was told and actually moved. No longer weighed down by that deceptively heavy dagger. It was like someone had retied the strings of his marionette to his puppeteering hands, so now he didn't have to simply stand watching the broken doll on the stage. But it danced, but it joked, but it did as he willed. Reanimated and in his control.
In the lighting, he could make out the plethora of candles littered about the room, a shrine against one wall to a deity he did not recognise, a mirror of finer quality than he had ever seen before, and a large stretch of fabric that appeared to be covering a window with a woman beside it. The woman, who had no doubt, saved him.
