𝕯𝖊𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖊 - [𝗘𝗹𝗶𝗷𝗮𝗵 𝗠𝗶𝗸𝗮𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗼𝗻] (DISCONTINUED)

𝐱𝐥𝐢. the confession

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄 — the confession

━━━━━━━

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 dealt with.

Ophelia and Elijah had shackled her within one of the old and moss-covered tombs that littered the cemetery. Ophelia knew much of the ancestors; of the torment they would inflict upon a mission failed, and Genevieve had most certainly failed.

But certain words had struck the vampires,

"No, not just power! It was the Ancestors' decree. It was her decree."

Elijah had demanded a straight answer from the treacherous witch, only for her to laugh and spill further, "I'm surprised you have to ask. After all, you were the one who convinced your siblings to consecrate her on New Orleans soil."

It had clicked for the pair of them; Esther had been behind everything. She had been the one to torment her children even in death, and she was the one to target a child, a newborn baby all in the hopes of destroying her children; her own flesh and blood.

It didn't take long for the ancestors to deal out their punishment; the witch had begun to choke and splutter before a river of red began to flow and pour from her eyes. Blood spilled from her mouth with every choke, her helpless eyes stared into Ophelia's.

But the woman held not a single shred of care for the red-headed witch. Ophelia simply strolled forward and used her pointer and middle finger to lift Genevieve's chin, "After everything you've done... You deserve so much worse."

The blood on her fingertips rested upon Genevieve's skin as Ophelia trailed her hand to hover over the cavern that held Genevieve's still beating heart. They twitched lightly, magic encasing her bones as she watched Genevieve squirm beneath the torture of the ancestors, and beneath the sharp sting that rippled inside her ribcage.

A single sharp pull was all it took for Ophelia to be able to hold a blood-soaked heart within her palm, torn from ventricles by magic alone.

She watched as the witch slumped, lifeless.

The heart tumbled from her hand and to the ground, coating itself in dust and leaves as it rolled towards its owner, stopping at her feet.

Elijah had stood back, waiting for whatever punishment Ophelia would deal to the woman who had filled her with witch hazel, contributed to her death, and tried to sacrifice a mere baby; he couldn't say the witch hadn't deserved it. His eyes had been drawn to the new vampire as she had stalked forward, unmoving as she did what he had thought impossible; used magic despite being a vampire.