'Life is a circle. The end of one journey is the beginning of the next.' Joseph M. Marshall III

It was bittersweet to return her the safety of her apartment after the events of the day; the pain and the heartache and the birth and the...death, it left an uneasy feeling in her stomach. There was something about her apartment, a seclusion that made it feel like a safe haven. She let out a tired sigh as she dropped the keys in the bowl situated on the table by the door and walked towards the kitchen as she kicked off her heels in the process, slightly amazed that they stayed on the entire day. She pulled her cell phone out of her pants pocket as she ignored Elijah's presence on the other side of the counter and she pulled the device into the charger she always left in the kitchen to charge while she cooked.

She could feel his gaze burning into the side of her head as she went about the calming ritual of making tea; she had recently started observing the practice after being scolded by Elijah for drinking coffee at night, even taking the time to teach her how to brew it the proper English way. There was something soothing about repeating the same process over and over again until she could complete the task with her eyes closed. It gave her sense of control, she could easily shut her mind off so that she didn't have to think about the consequences of her actions or her words like she had to when in the company of others. It was peaceful.

It surprised her how easily Elijah seemed to ingratiate himself into her everyday life; when they woke up together, which had been often the last few months, she hardly ever tensed at the warm presence beside her, one of them would cook breakfast for them both while they bantered about inconsequential things, and then they would go about their day like any other couple. The change had been almost natural for them; of course, there had been the ordinary speed bumps couples went through in a relationship and times when one or both of them wanted their own space.

Thoughts swirled through her like a whirlpool, going round and round with no end in sight as she poured the tea into two ceramic mugs and avoided looking at the Original standing on the other side of the counter. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since they left the compound, and had hardly spoken other than a brief check-in whilst there. It was slightly unnerving to have his intimidating presence linger in the peripheral of her vision, especially when he was merely staring at her without a word. She felt like her nerves were frayed, her skin hypersensitive, and his very presence was suffocating her, causing her to feel claustrophobic. Anxiety clawed at her chest from the inside, making her skin feel itchy underneath her skin and she absently scratched at her forearm as she turned away from his probing gaze so that he wouldn't see the fear clouding her eyes.

There were a few times in her life when her anxiety had gotten the best of her and she worked incredibly hard to hide it from everyone around her, burying her weakness from those who would take advantage of it. Sometimes the itching got so bad that she accidently left red scratch marks on her wrists and forearms, causing her to cover them up with long sleeves and bracelets and watches so that no one would see them.

The itchiness was growing more intense the longer that Elijah stared at the back of her head as though he was attempting to see into her mind, to read her thoughts and she couldn't help feeling somewhat violated. She rubbed her forearm absently as she resisted the urge to dig her nails into her skin and she bit down on her lower lip as she forced her hand away from her arm before she could draw attention to the movement.

"So, um, Davina texted me earlier, before we left the compound. She's been with Josh, safe on the other side of the river, but she's on her way here now." she informed him curtly with her back to him as she busied herself grabbing a box of Guylian chocolate from the back of her cupboard, ignoring the slight tremble of her hand. She winced, squeezing her eyes closed as she realised how dismissive and sharp her words sounded but she couldn't bring herself to apologise for them.

"I'll, uh, leave you to your evening then." he muttered softly as though he was speaking to a skittish animal, causing her to clench her hands into fists as she scolded herself for showing weakness that suggested she was fragile. She hummed in acknowledgement as she opened the box of chocolate, dropping the lid onto the counter as she listened to his retreating footsteps and subsequent sound of the front door to the apartment opening and then closing. She released a deep breath she hadn't even known she had been holding, the air 'whooshing' out of her and she dropped her head forward as she dropped the chocolate box on the countertop.

Imogen tried to even out her breathing, afraid that she was on the verge of hyperventilating and she slowly lowered herself to the ground with her back pressed against the cupboard doors. The cool touch of the floor on her bare skin worked as an anchor, tying her to reality so she didn't get sucked into her thoughts. She brought her knees up to her chest, crossing her ankles as she used her arms to keep them up and she felt tears stinging the back of her eyes as her lower lip trembled slightly in despair. She tilted her head back against the cabinet as the urge to cry overwhelmed her and she allowed the tears to leak from her eyes, streaming like endlessly rivers down her cheeks. Her body felt like it was shaking, her veins vibrating inside of her skin and she felt like a rubber band that was about to snap under the stress of her being pulled in ten different directions.

Everything came crashing down on her; all of the pressure that had been sitting on her shoulders for the last two years had finally won out over her tenacity and steadfast determination. She had been walking across a frozen for the better part of two years, and with every new problem or issue, the surface got thinner until eventually the ice fell through. And now she was drowning with no one to pull her out.

Sobs tore involuntarily from her throat as she struggled to catch her breath, causing her lungs to burn from the lack of oxygen and she loosened the tight hold she had on her legs when they started cramping from being kept in the one position too long. She flexed her fingers experimentally, focusing on keeping them from digging into her skin and she concentrated on trying to control her breathing because she knew it wasn't healthy for her to hyperventilate for an extended amount of time.

She gritted her teeth together as she opened her eyes, blinking repeatedly to clear the tears from her eyes and she viciously scrubbed her palms over her cheeks to get rid of the moisture lingering on her skin. she shook her head almost violently to clear it of the depressing thoughts that were plaguing her mind and she slowly let her legs stretch out in front of her as she muttered harshly to herself, "Pathetic. Utterly pathetic."

A frown pulled at her at lips when she caught sight of the dried blood that was caked around her nailbeds and underneath her nails that she must have missed during her shower at the compound. It was slightly concerning that she didn't even know whose blood it was on her hands; Hayley's, Monique's or her own.

At the stark reminder she subconsciously raised her hand to her throat where Genevieve had sliced her jugular earlier that evening and she bit her lower lip anxiously when no pain or tenderness was aggravated by her touch. It wasn't normal. Unless someone had cast a resurrection protection spell, the dead were meant to stay dead.

Determination suddenly seized her like a vice as she stood up from the kitchen floor, brushing non-existent dust from her pants and she poured what remained of her tea into the sink before placing the empty cup on the counter so she could wash it later. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that at some point she was going to break down even further, it would be impossible not to with the life she lived, but she was of the 'later' school of thought when it came to 'sooner or later'. But she needed to know how and why she was resurrected before the other shoe dropped unexpectedly and everyone and everything went to hell in a handbasket.

Imogen looked towards the front door, making sure it was closed before striding down the hall towards the room at third bedroom of the apartment; she had taken the master bedroom for herself, decorated the second largest for whenever Davina was able to come home, but the last bedroom she had turned into a home office/library/study. It was the one room in the apartment that no one other than herself had ever entered because it housed a majority of her family's grimoires, certain dark objects that had been either inherited or gifted to her from other covens, and most of her witch paraphernalia. It was her private sanctuary.

All of the walls had been painted burgundy before she moved into the apartment and a dark wood cube shaped shelf took up the entirety of the furthest wall, the perfect place to display the grimoires and other miscellaneous items that she had collected in her travels from other witch covens. An antique desk was beside the opposite wall, a matching armoire filled with supplies and ingredients for spells against one of the walls, and a comfortable plush couch pressed against the other wall with a handcrafted coffee table centred in front of it.

There was a mystical energy in the room that soothed Imogen, reminded her of something akin to home and she always smiled instinctively whenever she entered the room. Some of her tension eased away as she wandered over to the armoire, opening the doors to reveal shelves of ingredients and collected six white pillar candles, a container of ordinary table salt. She dropped her armful on the couch, not terribly concerned about making a mess and she wandered over to the wall of bookcases that housed her collection of grimoires.

Anxiety prickled at her skin as she stood in front of the shelf with her palms upwards and she took a deep breath to steal her frayed nerves before murmuring softly, "Voyez dans mon esprit. Donnez-moi ce que je cherche à trouver."

All of the grimoires began vibrating in place, shaking uncontrollably until one solidary volume flew off the shelf and landed on the floor with a 'thud' before the pages started flipping rapidly. Imogen smiled proudly as the pages eventually landed on a specific entry and she walked over to pick up the fallen grimoire, careful not to disrupt the page. A grin spread across her lips as she read the title of the page, pleased that the trick had worked and she skimmed over the ingredients needed, the procedure that needed to be followed. She carefully placed the grimoire on the desk so it was easy to read and then proceeded to collect the container of salt from the couch. She hummed tunelessly as she tipped the container on its side, allowing the salt granules to pour onto the floor as she walked around in a circle, creating a thick ring of salt on the carpet. A pleased smile touched her lips as she proceeded to place a single white pillar candle at each point of a pentagram and then took a step back as she surveyed her preparation work. She tilted her head to the side in consideration, pursing her lips when something seemed to be missing and then blinked, solely for dramatic effect, as she lit the wicks of all six candles simultaneously.

"There we go." she murmured to herself proudly as she watched the glow of the flame burn brightly and then she sighed to herself as she glanced down at the grimoire, checking the next ingredient needed.

A Hand of Glory; one of the main dark objects that was few and far between. Only a few Hands of Glory had been made throughout the years, many had been lost over the course of history but a few had managed to turn up in private collections. They were whispers in the dark, gossip that passed from witch to witch, generation to generation, but only few had ever seen one in person. It was said to resemble a large dark red candle that was held by a hand-shaped candelabra that might have been the severed forearm of a mummified human. Once the wick of the candle was lit, it opened a supernatural window that enabled interaction with the other side of the veil but once the candle was consumed the connection with the afterlife was ended.

Imogen turned her head towards the shelves, smiling slightly at the disfigured hand shaped candle that sat proudly at the centre of her collection. She was delighted to be gifted one on her eighteenth birthday by Regent of the New Orleans Witch Community and Elder of the Garden District Coven, Josephine LaRue. She could remember how nervous she was when she received the summons the morning of her birthday; her mother was irritated, her father was infuriated, Sophie was walking around with a smug smirk on her lips, and Davina was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. It had shocked her that Josephine had even heard about her given that she reigned over The Nine Covens of New Orleans but she made her way to the Garden District and joined the Elder for brunch. At first she was nervous, fidgeting with the hem of her dress as she watched Josephine pour coffee into porcelain teacups over the perfectly decorated table but after a few minutes of polite chitchat the two of them had eased into a companionable conversation. By the end of the visit they were speaking as though they had known each other their entire lives and she had left the meeting hours later with a treasured gift and a lunch date for the next weekend.

Imogen gingerly lifted the Hand of Glory from the shelf with a quirk of her lips and she walked over to desk as she made sure not to disturb the salt circle or candles, setting the artefact down in the centre. She stepped back from the table as she licked her lips nervously and she glanced around at the set up for the spell, taking note of the impeccably choreographed scene in front of her.

"Okay then." she mumbled to herself as she rubbed her hands together anxiously and she moved towards the side of the room so that all of the candles were in her sight as she felt magic stretching inside of her stomach, tingling in her veins. She mentally held onto the energy as she imagined the candles catching alight and a moment later all of the wicks were burning, the combined flames casting an ominous glow around the room.

She strolled around the desk, sliding open one of the drawers and pulling out a sharp carving knife that she kept on hand for blood spells or protection depending on the circumstance. Normally when this spell was used the caster personally knew the person they were trying to contact on the other side of the veil but Imogen had learned that every spell had a loophole written into it. Magic had brought her back to life, and that magically energy still lingered in her veins.

"Ah!" she gasped more out of shock than pain as she sliced the blade of the knife across her palm and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from making any other form of protest as she held her bleeding hand over the base of the Hand of Glory. The first thing she did once she received the gift from Josephine was research any and all information she could find on the dark object that was now in her possession.

'Hubris was often the downfall of the enlightened', it was something that she had often quoted to her sister during their studies and she tried to best to live by those words. It didn't matter how prepared you were; you couldn't plan for the unexpected. It didn't matter if you thought you were the smartest in the room; someone else could always be smarter. It was better to be underestimated than overestimated; it could give you the upper hand. Imogen prided herself on being intelligent but not arrogant, resourceful but not overconfident.

The red blood pooled around the base of the candle, the magic that was threaded within the blood seeping into the wax and causing the flame to rise with intensity once it reached the wick. She smirked happily when she realised that it had worked and she dropped the knife onto the desk as she curled her hand into a fist to stop the bleeding.

Imogen licked her lower lip apprehensively as she held her hands out in front of herself, palms upturned as she closed her eyes and she took a deep breath before chanting the incantation, "La ma me dicie, dic ka lore. La ma me dicie, dic ka lore. La ma me dicie, dic ka lore."

If she concentrated hard enough, she would be able to hear the faint flicker of flames and the distant thud, thud, thud of her heartbeat in the otherwise silent office for a brief moment before a loud gasp sounded in front of her. Imogen let her eyes flutter open slowly, almost afraid of what she would find when she opened them and she blinked a few times as she fought to register the sight in front of her. Tears sprung to her eyes as she reached up to cover her mouth with her hand to stop the choked sob that crept up on her and she felt tears stung the back of her eyes but she fought to hold them back so they didn't fall.

Familiar dark brown eyes stared back at her in shock, unshed tears collecting on their eyelashes as their lips parted in surprise and Imogen let out a strangled incoherent sound before asking softly in a disbelieving choked voice, "Sophie?"

Sophie Deveraux lifted her head slightly in acknowledgement but was too mystified to respond verbally as she continued to stare at her best friend with wide eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched Imogen stumbled backwards until she hit the desk, nearly knocking a stack of books onto the ground as her hand fumbled to right herself. After months witnessing the pain, the heartbreak from afar and thinking about what she would say if she was there next to her friend but now she was standing in front of her and she couldn't think of a thing to say. Her mouth gaped open and closed a few times before she settled on staring blankly as she pressed her lips into a tight line, her hands hanging limply at her sides.

"Oh, my god. You...you saved me?" Imogen asked in a hushed tone as she gripped the edge of the desk behind her until her knuckles were aching from the pressure and she watched her late best friend nod shakily from the middle of the salt circle. Something sparked in Sophie's eyes as she immediately straightened her shoulders in determination and she seemed more like the confident woman she during the course of her life.

"The Ancestral Plane...it's a complicated place. It's inhabited by thousands upon thousands of New Orleans witches that have been consecrated to the earth." Sophie said firmly with a hard glint in her dark eyes as she clenched her hands into fists at her side and her lips upturned in a bitter smirk as she continued in lighter tone, "Not all of us agree."

Imogen blinked in surprise as she loosened her hold on the desk, unconsciously relaxing the moment she heard her best friend's voice and she folded her arms across her chest as she shifted impatiently on her feet. The frustration of not knowing why she had been brought back to life had been steadily increasing throughout the day and it was reaching its peak now that answers seemed to be on the horizon.