The French Quarter had been a nightmare since the Mikaelsons returned. It wasn’t perfect before, but at least the supernatural community didn’t live in constant fear of a sudden neck snap or a bloody encounter. You grew up with Davina—a witch—while you were a werewolf, and watching each other’s backs became second nature. Maybe your family wasn’t thrilled about your friendship with a witch as powerful as Davina, but you didn’t care about old grudges. You just wanted to live like normal teenage girls— as normal as you could in a city soaked in magic and blood.

Davina was too powerful for her own good, and she knew it. The magic inside her wasn’t fully under control. She’d gotten help, but it meant being stuck in the church attic. Sure, the room wasn’t awful—but it wasn’t a home. She wasn’t a vampire, yet her life had the same suffocating confinement. And now, with the Mikaelsons back in town, staying hidden was more crucial than ever. Klaus Mikaelson learning about her power? Not a risk she—or anyone—could afford to take.

You’d become Davina’s lifeline to the outside world. She didn’t even have a TV in the attic, so your visits were her only connection to normalcy. You were one of the few people who knew where she was, and Marcel kept her out of sight, claiming it was "for her safety," yet sometimes it felt more like control than protection.

One evening, you walked into her room, tossing a bag of beignets and candy onto her desk before collapsing onto the bed. Davina turned toward you, her paintbrush pausing as a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a rare spark in her otherwise lonely world.

“I see you got everything I was craving? Please tell me you got chocolate-filled beignets—I’d kiss you if you did.”

She chuckled, the playful threat half-hearted, but it was the most life she’d shown in days.

“How’s the Quarter? Tell me everything. I miss it, the noise, the chaos. Even the bad parts. I’d give anything to just be out there again, to feel like myself. But here I am. A witch in a gilded cage."