𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 ⚜️ ELIJAH MIKAELSON

[ The Loss ]

CHAPTER 31
[ New Orleans, 2013 ]

The air inside St. James Infirmary was thick with grief and desperation. Kol was knelt on the cold, blood-streaked floor, cradling Davina's lifeless body in his trembling arms. Her once vibrant features were now pale and still. Her blood soaked through his shirt, staining his skin as though to mark his guilt. Tears streamed freely down his face, as he rocked her slightly, his whispered apologies catching in his throat as his voice broke.

The sound of hurried footsteps shattered the silence. Marcel barged into the room, his expression immediately twisting in confusion and horror as his eyes fell on the scene before him.

"What are you doing here?" Marcel demanded, his voice tight with disbelief.

Kol didn't respond. His grip on Davina slackened, and with painstaking care, he laid her gently on the floor. His movements were hesitant, as if letting her go would make her loss more permanent. Marcel rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands hovered over her face, shaking, before finally brushing her cheek.

"No," Marcel whispered, his voice breaking as tears gathered in his eyes. He cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the curve of her jaw.

Kol stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "The Ancestors... they had a hold of me," he stammered, his voice choked with desperation. "I-I was out of my head. I never would've hurt her. I tried to make it stop. I begged her to dagger me. I... I tried everything. Nothing worked!"

Marcel's grief twisted into fury as he rose to his feet, his hands clenching into fists. Without warning, he moved with blinding speed, slamming Kol across the room. The Mikaelson hit the far wall with a sickening thud, sliding to the floor in a daze.

"I loved her!" Kol cried, his voice cracking as he scrambled to his knees. "I swear I did!"

Marcel loomed over him, his rage boiling just beneath the surface. "Get up," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "Get up!"

Kol obeyed shakily, his expression crumpling under Marcel's unrelenting glare.

"This is New Orleans," Marcel said, his voice sharp with determination. "Witch spirits can be brought back from the dead, so that's exactly what we're going to do. We're going to bring her back."

Kol blinked at him, hope flickering faintly through the haze of despair, but he said nothing as Marcel pulled out his phone and dialed Vincent. The call was short and urgent, and within minutes, Vincent arrived at the infirmary, his face grim as he took in the sight of Davina's lifeless form.

Marcel, Kol, and Vincent stood together, their eyes fixed on Davina's body. The weight of what they were about to attempt hung heavy in the room.

"We've got to get her consecrated right now," Vincent said, his tone matter-of-fact but laced with urgency. "If we don't, we can't even attempt to get her back."

Kol shook his head vehemently, his jaw tightening. "We can't consecrate her!"

Marcel whipped his head toward Kol, his frustration evident. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The Ancestors despise Davina," Kol said, his voice rising. "If we consecrate her, she'll wake up in their domain, and they'll destroy her."

Marcel's face hardened. "If we don't, we'll never see her again."

Vincent stepped between them, holding up a hand to stop their argument. "Hey," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the tension. "That's enough. We all want to help her, so here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna consecrate her, but she needs to be safe. We're gonna pull her into a place where she's protected. Then we'll figure out how to resurrect her."