𝙰𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛

Three groups of seven crows flew to the north where everything was warmer. Rosalice had noticed the murder of birds flying the moment she entered the compound hearing the current conversation being taking place in the dining room, the two Mikealson brother's awaiting for their brunch with their long lost older sister. "Niklaus, Rebekah's situation has taken a turn. We may need Freya's assistance. So, whatever you are planning here? Don't." Elijah tells his brother, sternly.

Klaus rolls his eyes, "All I'm planning is a simple chat with a long-lost relative. You yourself said to hear her out."

"And you yourself said that would be idiocy."

"Did I?" Klaus smiles, amused. "Well it does sound like me. Regardless, on the off-chance Freya has some information that could protect my daughter, I'd prefer she share it on my terms." He points to his ear, "Ah. I think I hear her now." Turning to the door, Rosalice steps into the room, the corners of her mouth turning upwards as she notices his frown.

Turning to her mate, she heads over to him, "Elijah." Elijah raises an arm placing it tenderly on her bicep. "Jacob called about the due date for Renee." The Mikealson man smiles softly. "Mid March," Rosalice informs him. "I promise her I'd come-"

"While Dahlia is still searching for Salem and Hope, no." Klaus buts in.

Elijah on the other hand, nods his head, "Of course you can go," He places a kiss on her head. Just as Freya walks into the dining room, smiling at her brothers.

Klaus instantly greets her, "Sister! Well, come in! Come in. Make yourself comfortable."

Freya eyes land on Rosalice, her eyes flicker in between her younger brother and the woman. "You must be the mate." She says bluntly. Another sister, the one stripped away from her very family.

Elijah intervened, "Her name is Rosalice." Looking into those  blue eyes he adored and loved, "I'll see you at home, okay?"

Rosalice nods her head, she pecks his lips, sending the witch an unreadable look before rushing down the hall to return to her home where Marcel had taken Vincent, Leah occupying herself with her godchildren.

[Time Skip]

Entering her home, she hears Marcel saying, "Yeah, check the date." Following the sound of his voice, Rosalice leans against the doorway, watching as the man named Vincent picks up the newspaper, examining it. "You might notice a little time gap."

Vincent, appalled and horrified, questioned, "Man, what'd you do to me?"

Marcel explains, "Oh, me? I can't make nine months vanish. No, your beef is with a guy named Finn." The dark skinned innocent witch continues glancing at Marcel but mostly stares at the paper. "See, he took possession of your body. Got into all kinds of trouble, too. Made some nasty enemies, I might add."

Vincent doesn't dare say anything, his eyes coaxed in nothing but struggle, listening to what had come to happen to him. His own body used against him without his consent, violating him. "Look, I'll tell you all about it, but first, you gotta tell me about a Treme witch that you might know... Eva Sinclair?"

Eyes filled with hostility and venom, Vincent turns his head away from the vampire before him, shaking his head. "Sore subject?"

Vincent smiles patronizingly, humming, "Mmhhmm," Then he grits out of his teeth in annoyance, "I'm done talking." Marcel glares at him, wanting answers.

Rosalice crosses her arms, informing Marcel, "Eva Sinclair she was extremely close to you." Two different shades of brown settled upon her. "Was she not?"

Vincent raises an eyebrow, taking in Rosalice. "Who the hell is she?"

Rosalice introduces herself, "Rosalice Cullen," Ice blue eyes followed his face watching as a knowing look settled his features. All of the supernatural knew of her existence. Knew that she and her twin sister were the first born human-vampire hybrid. (Even if the history was a bit wrong.) And the witches seemed to group her along with the name aberration. "You must be Vincent Griffith."

Turning his attention towards Marcel, he says, "You brought another person to get me to talk? Wow you are stupid."

Rosalice pushes herself off of the threshold, entering more into the room, crossing, making her way towards the witch within a couple of steps. Her strides are long and quick. She looked like a feather being thrown against the wind. "Marcel prefers doing things alone." Rosalice informs the man. "But you are in my home," She sends a wide fake smile, revealing her small natural fangs. "And I must remind and warn you that-" Cutting herself off she closes her mouth, cutting off all noise. I can look into your mind and speak in it.

Chills were sent down the Griffith man's spine, his whole body shook hearing as her voice echoed endlessly in his mind. Shaking it off, he glares at her, "You're no better than that scum Mikealson," Vincent spat out, referring to Finn—obviously.—

Rosalice plants the palm of her hands on the table he sat at. Her lips curled into a wicked smile. I don't plan on being better than him, I plan on being a little worse than him. Returning to her voice, "Now, are you going to tell us who Eva Sinclair is or..." Shall I go into your mind and find her myself.

"That is really freaky, woman." Vincent comments, bluntly.

Upon entering the room, a fussing Salem in her arms. "Sali? He's not calming down." Leah turns to the only viable option that was presented to her, the mother.

Rosalice stands straighter, opening her arms to her son, taking him in her own grasps; she begins bouncing, humming a soft tune.

Leah places her hands on her hips, looking straight at Marcel. "How's the interrogation?" She nods her head towards the witch.

Marcel waves a hand, "Horrible until Sal showed up and used her gift."

Leah says, "Oh the telepathic communication." She shrugs her shoulders, "It's pretty freaky at first but you get used to it."

"I'm never getting used to that," Vincent mumbles under his breath. Leah looks over at him, compelled to make eye contact. Yet when she did, something in her pulled her into something she had seen a couple of times in her lifetime. Endured the thoughts of her pack members doing the same.

Watching as the rest of her life played out. She would live and die. Her own body wished so heavily to be closer than she was. Her eyes grew distant as she was thrown into a vision of what all went through at least once in their lifetime. Her knees buckled, stumbling, Marcel catches her, worried, "You good Leah?"

Snapping out of it, Leah blinks, inhaling sharply. "I-... I'm fine." She assures, clearing her throat. Her eyes found Vincent's once more.

Rosalice lifts her head up at Leah who couldn't take her eyes off of the witch. She had noticed the shifter's brown eyes, noticed that they were naturally hardened and harsh, filled with nothing but bitterness. It was a way she could protect herself and her younger brother from any harm, any rejection—after Sam's. Yet the Cullen woman noticed the softness that now contained, the natural warmth of the fire burning inside them once again. Her copper skin instantly glowing brighter.

Congratulations on moving on from that prick. Rosalice softly smiles.

Leah's eyes widens, snapping her attention towards her best friend. Uh... thanks.

Bumping her shoulders lightly against Leah's, Rosalice tells her, Get him.

I can't. What if he hates my kind?

Is Leah Clearwater insecure? Rosalice teases. She became serious when noticing the panic in Leah's eyes. He's not going to hate you, Leah. He'll see what I see. A strong independent woman who's tired of fighting but continues to do so for not herself but the people she loves. Rosalice continues to speak in Leah's mind, her voice sounding soft and pleasant, A woman who has a heart of gold but locks it behind a wall of stone, a woman who will never back down from a fight but rather throw herself in the front lines. Placing a hand under her chin, tilting it up so Leah can carry it high. You are Leah Clearwater, you take what you want, now go get the man you've been looking for all these years.

Turning away, Rosalice pulls away heading into the nursery, Salem now peacefully asleep, Rosalice sets him in his crib freezing when the music box turns on, singing a soft tune. Looking around she sees no one, absolute nothing. Her eyes landing on the box itself, going towards it she shuts it, silencing it.