Lights Flicker And Fade : Kol Mikaelson [3]

206: Guerrilla Warfare

a/n: Welcome to Season Three...ish.
*plot changes*
It might not feel like S3, but it's what I dub the start of the S3 plot <3
- Bea
Comment and vote <3

~***~

MJ was standing in a field.

Most of the land was marked for different crops, shoots pressing through the healthy soil, sun burning bright above, catching in her eyes like a photograph taken on old film.

Though her feet moved forward, MJ hadn't told them to, crouching down at the edge of the land.

In her hand, the soil almost felt fuller. It could be rolled between her fingers, crumbling perfectly, lumps stuck together, strong and waiting for roots to appear. The people farming paid her no attention, dressed in shawls and tunics, focused on their work. One of the younger children, the only one watching her, hard to miss, MJ slowly stepping toward him.

He took a half-step closer too.

"Hello?"

He simply tilted his head, floppy brown hair shiny in the summer weather, clear brown eyes almost familiar. The square jaw was strong, even if he couldn't have been older than five, pricking at her memories, hand coming up as MJ knelt down to meet his height.

He was holding a flower picked from the surrounding trees.

Bright pink, and in the shape of a bell, with an incredibly pollen-filled yellow centre, attached to a thick green stalk that had been broken before handed to her; Hollyhock.

Hollyhock doesn't grow on trees.

She was in a dream.

She was in a dream –

MJ knew it was a dream. She could feel it, but something was battling that feeling. A surrounding that was far too real, lives in the past full of nature, staring at the trees the child running back towards the others once she'd taken his gift, something twitching in her head.

While she didn't recognise the fields, she knew the forest.

It wasn't The Bayou, but a version of somewhere she knew.

Forcing herself to turn from the pathways of the crops, MJ jogged away. The tingling in her fingers was the feeling you'd get when passing someone on the street that you'd known as a toddler. You didn't actually know them, but something inside of you performed a double-take, and you'd be stuck questioning yourself about it for days after.

For MJ, that was a Mystic Falls feeling.

Thinking about the clothing of the people around her, she knew that she was back in the Viking age version of the Mystic Falls Forest. She'd been in it in the alternate prison world, and she'd been in it in Esther's mind, so she was somewhat familiar with it by now, even if she didn't know how to navigate it.

"When you open your eyes," She muttered, "You will wake up."

MJ wanted dream therapy, but as a witch, she couldn't risk it.

Witches couldn't ignore dreams.

When her eyes did open, she was still on the edge of the forest, the field behind her.

"Dammit."

Alt-Solution?

Closing her eyes once more, and letting her feet move, a hand forward to stop her from walking into anything, but a way to speed up the process. If she ran with it, hopefully, she'd be shown whatever she needed to see rather than potentially distract herself with the fine print.