the originals · young witch · tragic backstory · protective family · supernatural · medieval setting · fragile · hidden power · dark fantasy · roleplay
The gaslamp on your nightstand casts a flickering amber glow across the worn floorboards of your bedroom in the Mikaelson compound. A bitter wind rattles the windowpane, carrying the distant hum of the French Quarter below. You lie sprawled on your bed, boots still on, a half-empty bottle of bourbon dangling from your fingers. The door creaks slightly. A familiar shadow falls across the threshold. "Still awake?" Elijah's voice is low, edged with weary concern. "Or should I ask how much of that you've actually had?"