Last Login:
September 28th, 2023

Gender: Female

Age: 11
Country: United States

Signup Date:
December 14, 2022


09/27/2023 11:46 PM 

Living Legacy or Deadly Omen



New Orleans, specifically the French Quarter, was one of the most unique places in the world. It had politics - of the supernatural variety. There was a harmony within the community; a flow which allowed room for the supernatural and natural to coincide mostly peacably. 

Generally the factions knew how to get along well enough, thanks to the unrelenting reign and power which her family held over the city.  Not that they necessarily wanted to resort to violence in their hometown, but they knew an iron fist was often required to maintain order. Bad blood could be found on almost every street corner. For the most part people learned to play nicely. 

That didn't stop the occasional prejudice disputes and insults from flying. 

Vampires, werewolves, witches and the oh-so-boring human beings (oh my). They each had their own cliques and clichés stitched within the community. 

Oddly enough, the children were generally more amenable than the adults. Of course, with time, those children often inherited the beliefs and opinions of their kin. Something which proved to be a nasty little thorn in the young, adolescent life of Hope Mikaelson. 

Her father, Klaus Mikaelson, was a legend. Most supernatural beings around the globe knew that name; whether they met him presonally, suffered cruelty by his hands or merely heard the dreadful tales of the Big Bad Wolf. People knew the nefarious crimes and centuries of hell and terror associated with that name. For over a thousand years, too, mind you. 

There was no shortage of enemies and hatred for the Mikaelson family. Naturally, when Klaus Mikaelson had a spawn of his own, the world scowled with disdain and shuddered with fright. 

Thee Klaus Mikaelson had a child?
That certainly couldn't be a good thing.

In the French Quarter the witches often practiced ancestral magic. Their powers were tied directly to the witches of their ancestors. It was a rather impractical use of magic, if you asked most witches outside of NOLA. However, to the New Orleans witches, it was sacred; a rite-of-passage. 

As if the reputation of her father wasn't bad enough, Hope also had relation to Esther; also known to the world as: the Original Witch. Not that she was the first witch to have ever walked the Earth. The title was merely a way to connect Esther to the Original Vampire family. After all, they were her creation.

The black magic and unspeakable rituals she performed upon her children to create the abominations which terrorized the globe was what coined her infamy. Her powers weren't unparalleled necessarily, but quite remarkable all the same. She certainly wasn't thee most powerful witch, but she must have easily been top ten.

And to think, Esther was secondary compared to her older sister, Dahlia. 

Not much was known about Hope's grandmother. And even less was known of her origins, prior to her captivity by the Scandinavians. The only thing Hope had been told was that her grandmother had Germanic roots. It was said that all firstborns of Esther's family lineage would be endowed with insurmountable power. Naturally, being that she married Mikael, all Mikaelson children (had they remained human) would have possessed this inheritance.

But, alas, the vampire curse saw the end of that potential bloodline carrying on.

Until one hopeful miracle...


A series of unfortunate and dramatic events followed the conception of Hope Mikaelson, but her family fought tooth and nail to ensure that she was, in fact, born. One of the mishaps which occurred during the pregnancy of her mother? Her father and his siblings consecrated the remains of Esther in New Orleans. This meant that the power of her grandmother was permanently tied to New Orleans. Which meant, Hope Mikaelson had direct access to the ancestral magic that the French Quarter witches practiced and prided themselves upon.

Her Aunt Freya taught her ways to use magic beyond the limitations of ancestral, while also highlighting its strength. But unlike most of the witches in the French Quarter, Hope didn't have to lean upon the same crutch; her magic didn't depend solely upon it. The the witches in the community hated her for that, coupled with the fact that they disdained Klaus and the Mikaelson family.

It was a recipe doomed from the start.

How was Hope to be accepted and welcomed with sincere arms?



Public schools in New Orleans were pretty self-aware of the supernatural beings among them. Once again, all due to the wonderful treaty which kept the French Quarter stitched tightly at the seams. 

Elementary school had been a tough initiation ceremony for the girl with a Crescent scar and the Mikaelson family emblem dangling from around her neck. On the first day of school the other adults whispered in hushed voices amongst themselves, gawking unabashedly as Hayley and Klaus had escorted their daughter to the drop-off zone. The behavior of the elders elicited odd and curious glances from their children. 

"Stay away from her." 

When the woman's eyes had met with the piercing gaze of the Hybrid King her jaw snapped shut. Her fingers gripped her child's hand tightly before she ushered them swiftly away. Several other parents had similar reactions. The children had heeded their parents' warnings. Needless to say, Hope's classmates treated her like a bit of an outcast for some time. She never did make a single friend in her class room. A few superficial conversations and interactions from the other kids, but there had never been anything foundational laid down. 

Her first school year had been rather lonely because of that. Hope vaguely remembered her father making a few scenes; brandishing a finger with vicious threats. Hope's mother always had to talk him down. 

"You're not making things any easier for her by acting this way!" Hayley had hissed between gritted teeth.

She hadn't been wrong. Him puffing his chest had only given the children and their parents more incentive to ostracize Hope. 

The next year Hope had a new teacher, but the kids were mostly still the same. A few of the children had rotated to a different class room. The first half of the year played out very much like her first. It wasn't until a tragedy struck one of the kids in her class room that things finally changed for the Mikaelson girl. 

A little boy had become the talk of the school, namely between the other teachers and staff members.

"Bless his heart..."

"I can't imagine what he feels. Poor thing."

"No child should be without their parents."

Hope might have been young, but she had always been fairly perceptive and wise for her age.

Typically Hope spent her time in some lonely corner of the playground while the other kids ran around making use of all the equipment. That day, someone else occupied the same spot. It was that little boy all the adults pitied. He had a brown mop for hair, scrawny arms and legs and eyes like cinnamon. 

She never had a chance to open her mouth and speak first. The moment she had approached, those sad eyes met hers. 

"...Sorry. This is your spot." He had shifted himself in preparation to stand. 

"That's okay." Hope plopped herself down beside him. 

He recoiled initially, taken back by the closeness of her proximity. A crease nestled between his tiny brows. 

A smile folded upon her lips. "Want to share?" She held up a plastic bag with some graham crackers. 

The boy's expression hardly changed. He shook his head before he settled himself, no longer concerned with leaving. She shrugged and helped herself to a piece. A few moments of silence lingered between them before Hope broke it again.

"Your name's Nathaniel?"

He nodded.



No surprise. They were in the same class. Introductions weren't entirely necessary, but she was just a kid. And one that had been eager for some kind of connection for a long time. Though, he didn't seem up for the task.

His arms folded across his knees. Hope stared at him quietly. The way his demeanor sagged. His eyes drooped. His aura was...cold. Empty. He didn't just look sad...

He was lonely.

Hope felt her chest tighten. 

Normally, it was pretty taboo to perform magic -- or for any supernatural child to flaunt or use their gifts -- while in school. But Nathaniel reminded her of her own feelings. No one deserved to feel like that. 

Her hand upturned and the molch upon the ground began to flutter and dance. Then it parted and a small circle formed in the dirt. From there, a green stem poked through the soil, rising and twisting into existence. Leaves formed. Buds developed. Petals bloomed.

Nathan gawked at the cluster of bright bearded pink flowers. It was certainly the last thing he had expected, but that didn't bother Hope. Instead, she ignored his stunned expression and leaned forward to pluck one of the flowers. She placed it to her nose and inhaled softly. Then her crystal hues shifted upon him where she noticed a soft smile curl upon his lips. It was faint. But even that was more than enough.

"How'd you do that?"

Hope grinned. "Magic." 


[ This blog post is private ]

09/17/2023 11:01 PM 

Let Go


I was balancing myself on a wall;
I tripped and fell but broke my fall
Knew I'd been right here before

It's a bizarre thing to go from feeling everything all the time to nothing at all. People might think it a blessing to avoid all suffering. To leave every painful experience behind... But being numb is a darkness of its own. It festers and rots you from within. And you become apathetic to your own demise. Incapable of grasping the true catastrophe of the self destruction.

The world shined bright. But then it's as though a pair of sunglasses slipped over your eyes. Things grew dull. Lifeless. Not that those words had any real meaning while stuck in such a state.

I was brought into the world through bloodshed. It was prophesied that I'd bring destruction. I was an omen to many. A mystery to some. And a miracle only to my family. I tried my best to live up to their expectations. To make them proud. To make their every sacrifice worth it.

I spent most of my life scrambling to find an identity. To prove myself. But...maybe I went about it all wrong. Was I damned? Was I a monster? Was I a beacon of hope? Would I become my father's worst? Or my mother's best?

Maybe...my perspective had never been the best.

I always thought there's someone I should be
But now I know these parts of me
I'll throw it out into the breeze

With humanity no longer on the table all the weight of those questions dissipated. For the first time in my life I felt weightless. Realistically, I was as hollow as a balloon. At the mercy of the winds, I drifted without aim or control.

Then, suddenly, like a whirlwind and a storm, everything hit all at once. Without warning. Without mercy.

The tones of grey faded and the color flourished and bloomed back to light. The numbing rot receded. The world which we sometimes remove ourselves from never leaves. It waits patiently until we return to remind us of its beauty and wonder.

Finally, I feel like myself again
I was told something by a friend
All good things come to an end
When it gets bad we start again

When you find yourself back from the depths of that relentless numbness, you find yourself more vulnerable than before. The pain resurfaces in waves and every gasping breath is a struggle to survive the torrent. Your heart is gnawed and ripped apart. The air becomes like needles in your lungs.

All the mistakes. All the hurt. Every horrible deed. It all comes back. And...then you remember the ones you cared about most. How you subjected them to the worst parts. How unfairly you treated them. How all of it stemmed from one moment of weakness.

I feel like myself again, but rather than being relieved, I'm humiliated. Despite what others might say, the hardest part wasn't turning it on...

The hardest part is yet to come.

I have never been good at goodbyes
So I let go
I can let go

They say that forgiveness isn't for those who wrong you, but rather for your own peace of mind and healing.

But what of the wrong doers?

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