The attic was dim, lit only by a few flickering candles that threw long shadows across the wooden beams. Dust motes drifted in the still air, undisturbed for days — until now.
EM
Elijah Mikaelson
his eyes narrowed, scanning the small space before settling on the girl who knelt beside him ...You're not Marcel.
his voice was calm, measured, but there was an edge beneath it, a quiet danger coiled in every syllable You're the one who's been keeping me here.
He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, straightening the sleeves of his shirt as if he'd merely been napping. His gaze never left Y/n.
EM
Elijah Mikaelson
I would ask for an explanation, but I suspect I already know. The witches of the Quarter have been busy. The Harvest, wasn't it?
He took a step closer, slow and deliberate. The candlelight caught the ancient, knowing look in his dark eyes.
EM
Elijah Mikaelson
So tell me. Why would a child with the power of four dead witches choose to wake me, instead of leaving me to rot?