Winter - 1892
Flames - oh how bright they were - lapped hungrily at the ebony sky, thick plumes of smoke choking the air out of anyone who was still trapped in that lovely little library. Retribution. This was retribution. She had hurt her, plunging a stake into the very heart that had pledged to love her until he came to collect what rightfully was his, merciless as she withered away, not even the father she hated so dearly able to save her. Immortality was a fickle thing though, and she awoke as good as new in the body of a ragdoll, hauntingly beautiful but full of grief.  Full of grief.

Betrayal did not sit right with Margaery Mikaelson. It left her feeling bitter, used, broken. It caused her chest to ache the same way it had when Lorelei had plunged a stake into it... those baby blue eyes burning with such a fervent hatred as the light within her own gray ones faded. Her father had come for her murderer - had ripped her to pieces with such intensity for, how dare this librarian take away what was his? After centuries of believing that he truly didn't care, Margaery had felt something shift in her after hearing what he had done and how he had done it... Would she confess that she now possessed the faintest of respect for him?

No.

Never.

But they were so alike, full of paranoia and rage- burning rage, the kind that could consume you from the inside if you weren't careful. She supposed that this fire was the manifestation of her and her father's anger combined, the flames having all but engulfed the tiny building that Lorelei loved. It was as satisfying as it was heartbreaking to watch it be reduced to ashes, body numb with cold even as the fire before her generated so much heat.

No more. She would not play these games again. This cycle was cruel and twisted and she had been fated to forever be intertwined with Erlend, her original lover's incarnations as vastly different (and sometimes as vastly awful) as could be. She wanted to live and love someone and watch them die naturally, blood not pouring from the fatal wounds inflicted by her darling Nik; she didn't want to have to wait until the turn of the century for her so called "soulmate". The gods above were killing her, this life that was supposed to be full of triumph and desire nothing more than eternal damnation. Hell. Her life was hell.

"Miss! Miss! It's not good to be so close to the smoke, come, come, let's get you inside."

A girl was hurrying towards her, panic dancing wildly within her eyes, desperation lacing her words. Margaery made quick work of burying the matches under the snow, her expression contorting in faux concern as she practically melted into the shoulder that the stranger offered her. [color=#93b6c1]"My lover... my sweet, sweet lover," The girl wept, [color=#93b6c1]"She burnt alive!" Perhaps she was genuinely crying, perhaps she was not. It was hard to tell, the ragdoll dancing precariously on the border of feeling everything and feeling nothing. Admittedly, apathy would provide her solace, all the wicked thoughts she had concerning Lorelei all but disappearing as she relished in a sweet and welcoming darkness.

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? To just shove everything aside... to let it manifest into something that she would not have to deal with... her pain and troubles forgotten as she was permitted - finally - a chance to live as a vampire should. Yes, yes. She wanted this, needed this. She needed nothing but emptiness and bitter, bitter enjoyment. She'd be less of a disappointment to her father that way, finally living up to their family name. Maybe she'd even stop hating him.

"Miss, please... come with me. You need shelter before the cold gets you- or worse, the smoke. Please, Miss-" The stranger broke off, a metaphorical brow arching ever so slightly. A name. Margaery figured she needed a name. For a brief moment, she contemplated extending hers. Margaery. Her name was Margaery. But she thought against it, a terrible smile spreading across her lips.

Nothing.

She had chosen nothing.

[color=#93b6c1]"Miss Genevieve Harper, sugar... At your service."

-
Present Day
Winter's comin' up, pumpkin. You know how much I love winter, Cooed Genevieve brightly, words earning a faint sigh. [color=#93b6c1]"You only like winter because that was when you were created," Huffed Margaery in response, claws sheathing and unsheathing anxiously. One hundred and twenty five years. She had dealt with all of Genevieve's shenanigans for over one hundred years. Of course, a handful of those years included her willingness to play along with her newly made counterpart, killing and stealing and doing just about whatever she pleased whenever she wanted, mainly influenced by Aerona's own wickedness. [color=#93b6c1]"And no, before you ask, we will not be burning Suiteheart alive to commemorate Lorelei's death. That isn't an option."

Those words tasted foul in her mouth, expression twisting in mild disgust. She shouldn't have had to say something like that, shouldn't have had to tell herself that killing Suite wasn't acceptable. She needed a subject change. [color=#93b6c1]"Genny, love... Whatever happened to that girl? The one that took us in all those years ago Do you remember her?" There, a better conversation topic, and one that she'd much rather discuss. Admittedly, Margaery could not quite recall much about Genevieve's early days. Her conscious mind had been clouded with grief at the time, still devastated over Lorelei and her betrayal. For a few seconds, there was only silence, and then, Genevieve laughed so loudly, so terribly that even Margaery found herself doing the same, their entities resonating together.

I made her fall in love with me, Genevieve began, her giggles subsiding, And then? I killed her.

You wanted revenge, Margaery.

Who was I to deny you that?

(wow okay quick one shot that explains genevieve's origins a bit!! also me? going in order? it's less likely than you think)