The Grey Witch Series - Kol Mikaelson

3

It's been a week and a half since Bonnie replaced Jeremy with herself with that spell of mine. The spells each have the full effects and results written out, so Bonnie either didn't care to read it or did and just didn't care. I haven't thought about it too much, as there have been Hybrids at my door every single day, sometimes just single ones and sometimes in masses of what looks to be a hundred, and sometimes multiple times throughout the day. Every time it ends the same. Someone shows up and rips each of their hearts out. I'm nineteen, though, so I'm perfectly capable of defending myself.

Bonnie and I are - were - the same age, but I grew up knowing I'm a Witch and in a family of Witches, unlike Bonnie, which made it much easier for me to learn. I was also talented from the get-go. My father told me the first time I lit a candle using magic that it was the fastest he had ever seen a new Witch do such a thing. We had quickly moved on to more complex spells, which is why I'm so talented to this day, as well as because of my dad. I get my Grey heritage from him. My mom's side is strong too, but nowhere near the degree of my father's. 

The Greys are one of, if not the, oldest Witch families in existence, a line made up only of Witches, which makes our magic powerful beyond belief. The only rivals our family ever had was the Original Witch and the Bennett line, but only the Original Witch truly matched our power, but we had power not only just in ourselves, but we could also channel ancestors and we had the ability to channel our living family members, so long as they weren't too far away, the connection strengthening the closer the member was. 

Our magic had always been remarkable, only increasing as our family line continued, with new spells being developed. There are thousands of spells within the Grimoires I have, some being just for fun, such as the Blooming Spell, which makes a flower bloom, and some being darker than the night during a thunderstorm, such as the Resurrection Spell, which replaces one dead person with a living person, basically switching them around. 

I remember when I was a young child, my grandmother would always try to tell me a certain story, one about something I can't quite recall, but my mother would always shut it down, either using the excuse of me being too young to hear it, or that it was too dark to hear. Once I was thirteen my mother told me the story involved some serious dark magic, so that was why I could never hear it, and I never was able to hear whatever story my grandmother tried to tell me so many times, because she died a few years back and my mother died a few weeks ago, as well as my father. It devastates me, knowing my parents are gone, but I know there is nothing I can do about it. I can't use magic since everything has a consequence. I don't even want to know the consequence of bringing someone back to life without dying yourself or replacing the person with someone else. 

I was always taught that magic is something to be feared and respected. I was to fear and respect the power it held, not the actual concept of it. I know not to abuse the power I hold within me, and I never will abuse it. I don't know my full strength, but I know it has to be pretty incredible if I can do some of the things I do without using all of my power. My stamina has grown majorly from when I first started magic as well, to the point of being able to keep up a barrier around my house all day every day without ever getting tired of it, and I'm getting skilled enough to be able to keep a barrier up while sleeping, though I sometimes forget to put one up, even in my waking hours. My parents had always kept barriers up, so I never had to be too concerned about it, but now they're gone and I'm responsible for myself. 

Thinking about my parents brings tears to my eyes. My mother, a beautiful petite woman with light blonde hair, nearly white, and gorgeous green eyes. My father, quite the formidable looking man with light blue eyes and dark hair. I inherited my mothers hair, but my eyes, well, I have heterochromia, my right eye being blue and my left eye being green. People almost always do a double take when they see my eyes, then take up a confused expression. I've learned to ignore it, but it's typcially quite annoying. 

I'm not formidable looking like my father, but I'm also not quite as petite as my mother. I'm relatively average height, though on the smaller side when weight comes into the equation, being 5'8 and a little less than a hundred pounds, having dropped much of my weight after the tragedy of my parents. Everyone says it was a strange illness, or, for the people in the know, an overexertion of their magical power, but I call bullshit on that. My father was the most powerful Witch recorded of my family, my mother not being too inferior, being from another strong line of Witches, the lesser known Byrnes. I believe it was homocide, the killer being a Witch, but at least I know they died loving each other, although they may never get the justice they deserve. 

My parents were betrothed, but were also most certainly in love. My father always carried my mother, bridal-style, from the bedroom every morning to the kitchen, setting her down once reaching the dining table. They never argued in front of me, and, if they did have a disagreement, they always handled it in a civil manner. They never yelled at each other or hit each other, which is more than I can say happens with my boyfriend and I. 

I have always tried to have a good relationship with my boyfriend, doing anything I can to make him happy and to please him, though nothing I do is ever good enough to up to his standards. He never acknowledges what I do, only what I don't do. I always try to keep our disagreements civil, just like my parents, but he is always raising his voice and striking me. I have never once used my magic on him, no matter how tempted I've been. My parents always taught me to never use my magic maliciously, as it would not please our ancestors, the ones who give us such power. 

I strive to be like my parents, but it's hard. I was raised right, with good manners, loving parents, a loving home, and a problem free household. We always did things as a family, never spoke badly of others, and we were always friendly to others, but someone must have seen my family as a threat, or something of the sort. I wasn't home when they died, I was at the Salvatore Boarding House, spending some time with my friends. My boyfriend has not been there for me at all through my grieving and, if anything, is demanding more than he was before they died. 

I certainly miss my parents, and I can only pray that they're in a better place, meeting with our ancestors. I hope they're finding their ranks and that they're happy to see other fallen witches of our blood. Above all, I really hope they found peace.