Sadie|40|USA|Side Blog: @eternityunicorn2-0 +18 fanfiction - Minors do NOT interact! Also, because plagiarism is a thing, especially with fanfiction, please do NOT reproduce or use any of the original material featured in my stories, including the OCs, story ideas, etc. You do NOT have my permission to use anything that is my own!Come hop aboard the Elinity train! Choo choo! While on this train, you’ll fall in love with my oc Eternity as she falls in love with everyone’s favorite suited Original, Elijah Mikaelson over and over again. You will also find other Elijah, Elejah, and Camilijah content here. My fics are located at any of the links in my pinned post below.
Elijah sat perfectly still, his posture impeccable in a casual grey suit that seemed still too fine for the grime of the precinct. Across from him, Babette sat shivering, despite the oppressive heat. Her red jacket was a stark, violent slash of color against the monochromatic room, and the thick, black makeup rimmed her eyes like smudged charcoal, making her gaze appear hollowed-out and haunted.
Elena leaned backwards on her chair, her nerves steady as the cold steel table. She sighed inwardly, the weight of the last three days - the new cases of disappearances, the ritualistic markings found on the iron gates of a house in Algiers- were etched in her soul.
"We need to know where the cult members meet," Elijah said, his voice a low, cultured baritone that cut through the silence. "And who controls Lamashtu. We know she has been evoked, and she is inhabiting a witch. We need a name, Babette."
Babette's hands were trembling beneath the table. She flicked her gaze toward Elijah, then darted a panicked look at Elena, as if hoping to find a softer landing in the detective's steady stare. "I want to tell you," Babette whispered, her voice cracking,"but I can't." Her accent was thick, the melodic, rhythmic cadence of Haitian Creole catching in her throat. "They are keeping my sister. And she is spelled. Please... let me go. If I speak, they will kill her."
Elena softened her posture, trying to reach the human beneath the terror. "Babette, we can protect her. But we need to stop them before they do more damage. Do you know where they keep the children? You know that two more children disappeared - one from Tremé/Lafitte and the other from the Garden District"
"Protect her- you?" A hysterical, breathless laugh escaped the witch’s lips. "You think men with badges can stop what they have summoned? You think metal and lead can hold back the hunger of a goddess whose hunger can't be stilled?"
Elijah didn't blink. He leaned forward, his hands clasped neatly on the table. He may have been a cop, but he looked more like a man who had seen the rise and fall of empires and found most of them wanting. "You aren't dealing with men with badges, Babette. You are dealing with - us. We are no ordinary cops. And I assure you, whoever has tethered your sister to this misery will find that I am far more creative in my retribution than any cult they could dream of."
Babette's throat worked, a dry, painful swallow. She looked down at her shaking fingers. "The ritual site... it isn't in the city," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "It is beneath the roots of the tree where the first of the blood was spilled."
"Where is it exactly?" Elena asked, her demeanor shifting, her patience at breaking point.
Babette shook her head and suddenly went deathly quiet. She stopped shivering, her body becoming rigid, as if her soul had suddenly retreated to some dark, unreachable corner of her mind.
Elijah exhaled, a long, controlled sound. His stare was a probing one. There was a predatory patience in his eyes that made the room feel smaller, tighter. "Fear is a potent motivator, Babette," he murmured, his tone deceptively soft. "But so is the certainty of your own demise. You are harboring a demonic entity that has already drained three people dry in the French Quarter. If we do not stop her, your sister will be the least of your concerns."
"You don't understand," Babette whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She leaned in, her voice barely audible over the hum of the ventilation. "The one holding her... he is not just a man. He speaks to the shadows. He calls them by name. If I speak his name, the spell on my sister breaks- but not to set her free. It triggers the rot. She will wither from the inside out before I even reach the door."
"What Coven helped you? Was it the remnants of the Ninth Ward? Tell us who helped perform the summoning." Elena now interjected.
Babette turned her head slowly, looking directly at Elena. The black makeup seemed to bleed into her eyes, erasing the whites of them. When she spoke, the tone was devoid of its previous fear, replaced by a cold, hollow finality. "La fènwa pral konsome nou tout," she rasped.
The darkness will consume us all.
The room suddenly felt significantly colder. A sudden, sharp draft rattled the metal door, though the vents remained still. Elijah looked at Babette - really looked at her- and saw the way the shadows in the corner of the room seemed to lean toward her, hungry and expectant. "Get her to holding," Elijah commanded, his gaze never leaving the suspect.
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