December 25, 1914

Everything soon went to hell.

She knew better than anyone how often conflicts broke out between the Mikaelsons themselves. Still, she had never anticipated they would reach the level they did in 1914.

Kol had his witches, Klaus had his. Somehow, it became a silly competition between brothers. The younger Mikaelson was up to something, she knew it. Klaus had been attempting to find out what it was. Soon, the witches of the city split themselves up, picking sides. Those loyal to Kol and eager to fulfill whatever his vision was were eager to take his side. The ones who thought the winning team was best (or who were too afraid to break their loyalty to Klaus) remained with the elder brother.

Elijah and Rebekah, like Yara, hated the way the conflict made the household a minefield. Klaus had enlisted Marcel's help in figuring out what Kol was up to. He even gave Yara 'permission' to speak with him to see if she could worm the information out of him. She, Elijah, and Rebekah all refused to get involved if Kol didn't actually hurt any of them. If Kol had done anything to Marcel, Yara would have retaliated. But since he didn't, she tried not to let it bother her. She simply avoided him as much as she could.

On Christmas day, it seemed, Klaus had had it with him.

Marcel had come to her just a day prior to say proudly that he and Klaus had taken from Kol a large diamond he'd acquired from the Dowager Fauline Cottage. They didn't know why Kol needed it, but they definitely didn't plan on giving it back. Yara tried to ignore the conflict, just wishing to get through the Christmas party. It was their first major gala in many years. When Marcel had been a boy, they'd never held them. Yara often didn't attend. In the recent years since she and Klaus made their relationship public, her attendance became a requirement.

"Excuse me," she told a blonde witch in a blue dress, waiting by the Christmas tree. "Are you here with Kol?"

"I am," the woman said. "And you are–?"

"Yara," she said, holding out her hand. "A vampire, Klaus's partner."

"Oh, how lovely," she said, smiling. "I like your dress."

"Thank you," said Yara, side-eyeing Klaus, who was wiggling his eyebrows at her from the balcony, having said very clearly that she ought to wear this specific green dress so that he could rip it off of her that night.

"Hello," said Rebekah, popping in and motioning to Yara that it was time for the family picture. "A word of advice," she told the blonde witch, "a witch as lovely as you has no business dating Kol."

The witch laughed lightly. "Oh, it's not really a date."

Rebekah patted her arm reassuringly before ushering Yara away. "You can do better."

They arranged themselves on the staircase, with Yara at the bottom, Marcel above her, and following in sequence, Rebekah, Klaus, Kol, and Elijah. Klaus tapped his glass with a knife to get the attention of the party attendees.

"As you know," he said, "when the Mikaelsons arrived in Louisiana, we brought with us the tradition of holiday bonfire season. Now, we invite you chosen few to join us in our family's own tradition of writing wishes for each other and burning them for luck. The holidays are a time for celebrating family, and friends." He looked down at Marcel and Yara, winking, then turned up to Kol, who narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "It is especially gratifying in times when treachery runs deep. To know you have someone you can trust. A toast, to you, my sister."

"To Rebekah!" called the guests.

Yara immediately grabbed onto Marcel's arm, sensing something was wrong. Kol tried to dash away, but Elijah caught him, yanking his arms behind his back.

"Ladies and gentleman," said Klaus, coming up to join them, "I apologize for the disturbance! But, what's a Mikaelson party without a little squabble?" From his jacket pocket he withdrew a dagger, and stabbed it into Kol's heart. Yara's stomach twisted uncomfortably when she saw Rebekah smiling at the sound of Kol's screams.

Kol's departure didn't improve their situation. In 1915, a hurricane struck, destroying the music room that Yara had so loved to spend time in when Marcel was a little boy. That wing of the house had been torn down instead of being repaired. A year later, Marcel had enlisted to fight in World War I, preparing to leave home for the first time.

"You are not leaving this bloody house, Marcel!" Klaus snapped when he delivered the news.

Marcel held out a folded letter, already dressed in his Army uniform. "My enlistment papers say otherwise."

Klaus opened the paper, allowing Yara to read over his shoulder. Marcel elaborated, "The three hundred sixty-ninth regiment. They call them the 'Harlem Hell Fighters.' Boat leaves tomorrow."

"Why, Marcel?" whispered Yara. "Why so suddenly?"

He didn't answer, and she understood. "Because you can't be with Rebekah? You have tried to get over her and haven't been able to and you think the solution is to go to war?"

"This is lunacy," spat Klaus. "Now you want to go fight off the Germans! Fine, go. But remember, Marcel, this is your home. We are your family. And if you haven't learned that in the century since I took you in, then learn it now. Family are not just the people who coddle you, who grant you your every whim. Yara told you long ago that they are the people who fight for you, who you fight for. And if this family endeavors to stop you from making a tragic error of the heart, then by all means, express your discontent. But what you do not do is abandon us."

"Klaus." Yara placed her hand on his shoulder. Once he was quiet, she stepped forward to cup Marcel's face, tiptoeing to kiss his forehead. She made the sign of the cross over his forehead, whispering a prayer softly. "Come back to us safely. If you feel this must be done, if there is something to learn from it, then do it. You are a man now, little warrior. It's your choice."

Marcel managed a smile, hugging her properly. When Klaus did not express the same warmth, the younger vampire cast him a hard look, slinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving the house.

"The prodigal son always returns home," Klaus muttered when Yara fought back a sniffle.

He visited him in 1918, to implore his return. Though he and Yara were occupying themselves with each other's presence, it wasn't the same. He hated seeing Yara upset and missing him, sending dozens of letters that Marcel wasn't answering. He came back empty-handed, furious when he saw the way Yara's face fell upon realizing he'd returned alone.

Perhaps Klaus should have noticed when she began to withdraw. While he and Elijah were making plans to handle the incoming Prohibition with the Guerrera crime family werewolves and the Mayor of the city, she was making clothes for a son who may or may not come home. She remained in her own world even when Klaus came to her, ranting about a new witch in town named Papa Tunde who had killed Mayor O'Connell and imposed himself on one of their meetings, followed by his silent twin sons.

Her mood improved significantly when the war ended and Marcel informed them he was coming home. Yara organized a party to welcome him back, one that Klaus used to his advantage.

"Look at them," she said, clicking her tongue when she saw Rebekah was hostile even after not seeing Marcel for several years. "Let them be, Klaus, I beg you."

His jaw tightened. "Yara, we've discussed this."

"He's home now, Klaus, our son is home, why can't you let him be happy? There is no sense stopping them when they will likely find their way back to each other and do it secretly all over again. We can't control what they feel any more than we can control their actions. Isn't it better we support them and let them learn the hard way rather than insisting it's wrong and having them deliberately do the opposite of our counsel?"

The conversation was cut short as Marcel approached. Yara rushed to him, bringing him into a tight hug.

"There he is," said Klaus. "Our war hero, triumphantly returned." As soon as Yara moved, he took his turn to hug Marcel. "Oh, good to have you back, Marcellus. Welcome home."

Klaus, being Klaus, invited him to share a drink by the bar, where Elijah looked bored out of his mind. "Ha! The prodigal son has finally learned to hold his liquor."

"The Army'll do that to you," teased Marcel.

"Well, it's good to have you back," said Elijah. "Niklaus and Yara have been beside themselves in your absence."

"Now that you are here," said Klaus, "perhaps you could help settle an argument. You see, you've traded a war abroad for one here in the Quarter. Some rogue witch wants a piece of the city we build, and Elijah, for reasons beyond my comprehension, insists that negotiation is our best recourse."

"Yes," said Elijah, "on the topic of your failed comprehension, you neglect, as a soldier, Marcel has seen not only how small the world has become and how fast news can travel, but also the very horrors of war itself. Surely, Marcel would agree with me. The best way for us to defend our home is by exercising discretion."

"I am with Elijah," said Yara. "Klaus, we just got our son back. If we cause an uproar, things could go poorly veryquickly."

Marcel hummed. "Who's the witch you want to kill?"

"His name is Papa Tunde," said Klaus. "I think he's a charlatan."

Elijah nodded toward a figure walking in. "Well, Marcel shall be able to decide that for himself."

Marcel raised a brow. "You invited him here."

"Of course!" said Klaus. "We're not savages, are we?" He put his arm around Yara, tugging her toward Papa Tunde. "Thank you for accepting our invitation, and welcome. I hope you'll allow me to play the role of host. If there's anything you need–" he waved over two girls in flapper dresses, "anything at all..."

Papa Tunde chuckled as the girls offered him drinks. "Please before business, then."

Perhaps there had been too much pleasure, particularly on Klaus's part. Yara had tried to push him down the path Elijah suggested, but Klaus had taken matters into his own hands, denying Papa Tunde the money and territory he wanted. After Papa Tunde had gone on his rampage, harming the humans, werewolves, and vampires who opposed him, Klaus retaliated by killing his twin sons and delivering their heads to Papa Tunde before he gouged his eyes out.

Yara had screamed her head off when she learned what'd happened. Marcel had stared at his feet as she yelled at them, unable to believe they would have killed such young boys, whose only crime had been to do what their father asked of them.

"For all you know, they were brainwashed into servitude!" she shrieked. "There was no reason to kill them, they were children! What have I always asked of you?! Do not harm children!"

"The witches are taken care of, love, I don't see why you're so upset," said Klaus, trying to diffuse the situation.

"If you don't see it, then you do not know me at all!"

"Forgive me," said Marcel softly when he realized she was crying. "Yara, I'm sorry."

She hadn't spoken to either of them for several days. Klaus had been once again exiled from her bed, which he took much more poorly this time, as he believed he'd done what was necessary and right. While he wished to celebrate that Papa Tunde's defeat had allowed him and Elijah to unite the vampires, wolves, witches, and the humans, he couldn't do so without Yara there with him.

"Well, this is a first," he said at the party he and his brother held shortly after. Yara and her new friend, Lana, were off to the side, drinking. "All happy as clams and drunk as stoats."

"You gotta love this city!" Lana called out.

"To a new era!" said Elijah enthusiastically. "Collaboration in the face of Prohibition."

Lana giggled, nudging Yara. "To your docks, their booze, and our theaters to hide it under. You're welcome!"

"Who knew the Alpha of the Crescents was so resourceful?" said Yara softly.

"You can pay me back for it later," said Lana sweetly. Yara had promised to get her a date with Elijah for her help, and the Original seemed more than happy to comply. "Elijah, join me on the dance floor!"

"I'll be right there," said Elijah, smiling slightly as Lana walked away, swaying her hips. He looked proudly at his brother. "Who would have thought it possible? The unification of New Orleans?"

Klaus playfully gripped his shoulder. "We did it, brother."

Elijah put his arm around him. "Oh, certainly, we worked together, Niklaus. But this vision? This was all you. If you'll excuse me..." he walked out to meet Lana on the dance floor.

Klaus inched closer to Yara, who turned away, watching as Marcel and Rebekah entered together, casually drifting away as if they hadn't just been talking. "Look at those two pretending to be apart while so clearly a pair." He leaned over her. "How long are you going to be mad at me, love?"

"How long until you can muster up a genuine apology?" she muttered. "I ask you for so little. Your respect, that is all. And with it comes my one rule of you not harming children. After parenting together for a century, you still cannot see why I am so hurt by what you did?"

"Let me make it up to you, then," he said, standing up. He tapped two glasses together to get the attention of those present at their party. "I'd like to take this opportunity to draw attention to two people who have been sneaking around behind my back together."

Yara sat up nervously, looking at Marcel and Rebekah. Klaus continued, "As we move into a new era, we require more progressive attitudes to match. So, to my loving sister and my right-hand man and best friend Marcel, may they find joy in each other." He took a sip of his drink. "Enough talk... Music!"

The vampire remained seated as he approached Rebekah, who was confused. She heard as he whispered to her, "Over the years, I've thwarted your lovers simply to protect you. I knew if we had to run again, your heart would be broken, but we don't have to run anymore. We've found a home." He kissed her cheek. "Be happy, my sister."

Yara huffed as he came to sit with her again. "I hate you."

"You love me," he said, smirking at her. "I believe that makes up for it."

"I want an apology."

"Love, if I'd had any other ideas, I would have done it differently. I ought not have killed those twins. Please, forgive me."

Tired of feeling angry with him, she relented. "Fine. But if you anger me a third time–"

"I know," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "There are, however, ways to cope with that anger. Let me show you what I mean."

While the guests danced, carefree, Klaus had Yara pinned to the wall of the bathroom, his hand clamped over her mouth to keep her quiet. It was the last time she remembered them being together before everything fell apart.

Lana, pleased with her date, had gotten them tickets for that weekend's opera: Le Huguenots. She intended to be Elijah's date, and wished for Klaus and Yara to join them. With their two other tickets, Klaus insisted Rebekah and Marcel come as an item.

"You will love this one," said Klaus when he learned Yara hadn't seen this particular opera. "I have a particular soft spot for Le Huguenots. I like the story. A tale of forbidden love, a Romeo and Juliet of sorts. On the day they are to marry–"

"Shh!" she urged. "You'll spoil it!"

"We are minutes away from you seeing it. You'll learn soon enough."

"I still want to see it myself, for the first time. Now, if you'll go fetch our seats, I need to use the washroom."

She was on her way back when a chill ran down her spine. She ducked into the nearest room, gasping when she found Elijah on the floor, a wooden stake lodged in his chest. He was dead, blood leaking down his shirt.

"Elijah!" she shrieked, grabbing onto the piece of wood and removing it. "Oh– oh god– Elijah, please wake up, please!"

He croaked loudly as he awoke, panicked and looking around fearfully. "Where is he?"

"Who did this to you?" she asked. "Elijah, what is going on?"

"You must run," he insisted, grabbing onto her shoulders as she helped him to his feet. "Yara, you must run. Find Marcel and run!"

"I am not going anywhere until you explain what is going on, I can't run blindly!"

He tilted his head, hearing something. "Come with me, then."

A horrible scene awaited them on stage. Elijah had clapped his hand over Yara's mouth when she saw an older vampire, someone she could only believe to be Mikael, had staked Marcel through the hands to a wooden cross. Many other wolves, vampires, and witches were dead and propped up in various ways around him. Beside him was the body of Lana.

"There's no helping Marcel," said Elijah, reaching out to pull Klaus and Rebekah back when he saw them there. "We must run."

Yara tried to fight, tried to claw her way to Marcel instead of away from him. Even if he was gone for good, she wanted to retrieve his body, wanted to give him a proper burial, preferred to die with him than to leave without making an attempt to save him. Three Originals was more than enough to keep her from it. Rebekah had had to stuff her glove into her mouth to keep her from screaming and alerting Mikael of their whereabouts.

"The final act of Le Grand Guignol is upon us!" they heard Mikael yelling in the distance as they sprinted out of the city. "Where are my players? Enough running, children! Step out of the shadows so we can finish this tale of sorrows."

"He's coming," said Elijah fearfully as Yara finally managed to rip out of their arms, yanking the glove out of her mouth.

"Oh god," whimpered Yara when she looked behind them and saw the opera house with flames bursting out of every window. She clawed at her own face, nearly poking into her eyes as she struggled to believe what she was seeing. "Oh, oh god, oh god..."

"Marcel," whispered Rebekah.

"He's gone, sister," said Elijah softly.

"No," moaned Yara, supported upright by Klaus, who was trying to keep her quiet. "No, no, no, my baby, my baby..."

"All of you, flee the city," insisted Elijah. "I'll hold him off."

"No," said Klaus, pulling Rebekah to her feet. "We fight him together."

Elijah knew that Rebekah and Yara were in no condition to fight, despite the rage he was sure she could easily direct toward Mikael. Still, it was more likely her anger would lead her to make a mistake and get herself killed. "We cannot fight him. All we can do is do what we've done. We deceive him. We lead him astray. Now, I can do that as well as anyone. You take them far away from here. I'll follow you."

"No, Elijah, you can't!" cried Rebekah. "You can't, Elijah. This is just– this is my fault!"

"No," said Klaus, hugging Yara to his chest as she sobbed. "This is my fault, Rebekah. I am so sorry. I'm sorry. Marcel–"

Behind them the opera house exploded. "I thought we'd found a home here," whispered Klaus.

"Niklaus, please," said Elijah. "Sister, come." He hugged Rebekah, kissing her cheek softly. He didn't dare touch Yara while she gripped Klaus as if afraid someone would take him from her, too, a far away look in her eyes that he'd never seen before. She was empty. Already gone. "You must leave. Go. Leave!"

Klaus dragged them away, making only a quick stop at the Compound to ensure the coffins of Finn and Kol were taken out by two compelled vampires sworn to do his bidding.

Yara didn't know where they were going, or when Elijah would catch up to them. If he'd ever catch up. Perhaps he would die and all would be lost.

"My baby, my baby," was all Yara could mutter to herself when they arrived at a safe house. She laid herself on the floor, hugging her stomach and crying a river as her eyes burned and ached. She couldn't bring herself to stop.

"Yara, love, we must keep moving," said Klaus, trying to lift her.

"Don't," she pleaded, wiggling away from him. "Don't touch me."

He pulled her up by force. "Love, please, we cannot stay here."

She refused to meet his gaze. "Go without me."

His tone was less gentle, "I am not leaving you."

"You all made me leave Marcel!" she spat. "What difference does it make if you leave me here?"

Klaus swallowed the lump in his throat. "Marcel was already lost. Nothing could be done to save him but you are not lost, you are here, you can be saved. Come with us, love."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said lowly, looking up at him. "We lost our son. Our son. I-I can't move. I can hardly breathe. And you expect me to just run with you? I stopped running a long time ago. I'm done running. There is no point in running. Marcel is gone. I feel– I feel as though Mikael has cut out a part of me. I-I feel empty, I feel as though there is no reason for me to continue if this is going to be our existence. Running from him until he inevitably catches us. No, this is not how I will live. I would rather fight and die than spend the rest of my life like a dog with its tail between its legs, fleeing a man I don't even know! The man who killed my son! I'd prefer he finds me and kills me so I can join him. I would prefer to die right now than move another inch."

"You are being stupid!" snapped Klaus, afraid that he'd lose her, too. "You give up the instant something becomes too difficult! Twice you begin to give up on me when I do something you do not like, and once before you preferred to hang yourself than to fight your way out— fight and die a warrior rather than live a slave. You took the easiest way out and I will not allow you to do it again! I will not lose you, Yara!"

She glared at him. "You evil craven. How dare you mention the day I took my life when you don't understand anything of what I went through when I made that choice! You don't know what it's like to watch your mother be killed before your eyes, you don't know the fear I had when I realized that I might be assaulted just like she was when I was conceived! I was trapped and alone and I preferred to die with dignity on my own terms! And still you refuse to understand why I grew cross with you when you threatened to make an innocent girl watch her mother die, when you killed two children who did nothing to you, knowing that a vampire imposed his will on us, killed my mother in front of me and hurt those who were powerless to stop him?! You were the first vampires, you never knew what it was like to be tormented by a whole faction of creatures more powerful than you. I know it! I know what it's like to be a slave to them, to be a toy to them! And I refuse to run when I could fight or die the way I want to!"

"You are a spineless bitch, then," he spat.

"And you are a monster! This is all your fault!"

"My fault? Forgive me love, allow me to turn back the bloody clock and tell Mikael not to beat and despise me when I was a child!"

"You couldn't just listen to Elijah! All those times he and I begged you to be more cautious in your killings because it would eventually draw Mikael here. He warned you to be discreet but you killed Papa Tunde anyway. All we ever did was try to counsel you in order to protect you, to protect our baby boy! And he is gone! It was all useless! You are a useless cunt!"

"You ought not have given your opinion so often when it wasn't wanted," Klaus sneered. "You are weak, Yara, you did not see what needed to be done. Perhaps if you were not such a decrepit whore–"

"You hateful bastard," she whispered, causing him to go quiet.

His jaw tightened, and he shot back, "I could say the same thing about you."

Rebekah had stood in silence, losing the ability to speak as Klaus and Yara tore at each other until it seemed they'd both had the last straw. Though Yara had intended to remain right where she was, she dashed out the door. Klaus didn't follow her.

The youngest Original was left to think about what they'd all lost that day because of her and Marcel. And she knew that she'd never forgive herself for it.

In 1922, shortly before being daggered, Rebekah tried to find Yara. Three years, and no one had heard a word from her. She'd practically vanished off the face of the Earth. The mere mention of her name incited a rage in Klaus that she hadn't seen since Aurora. She was daggered before she could make significant progress in her search. Not that it would have made a difference.

In 1925, after defeating the Guerreras, Marcel tried to find Yara. Six years, and she hadn't come back to New Orleans. He had felt betrayed when Rebekah didn't return, but he thought for sure that Yara would have come back to see New Orleans, to pay her respects, and would happen across him. When she didn't, he knew something was wrong. But no matter how vast his network, how many people he had willing to do his bidding, no one could locate her.

In 1928, while in France, Klaus tried to find Yara. Nine years, and he hadn't heard about her, hadn't seen her. He figured she would have cooled off by then. He certainly had. But no one from his inner circle had even heard of a vampire named Yara. Those who came close to finding her never came back at all. She had become a ghost. No Locator Spell showed traces of her. If he had searched himself, he might have caught her as she moved.

In 1933, after meeting his brother in Germany, Elijah tried to find Yara. Fourteen years, and she hadn't reached out to him. By then, he hated his brother for lying about daggering Rebekah. He started to hate him for Yara's disappearance, too. He blamed Klaus for it. But that made him feel guilty. If he'd taught Klaus to be more sympathetic, Yara might not have felt so insulted. She wouldn't have felt like she had to hurt him back.

In 1950, after enrolling in law school, Marcel made another attempt. Thirty-one years later and the search came up the same. He started to lose hope. Started to believe his mother was dead.

In 1995, shortly before being desiccated, Mikael tried to find Yara. Seventy-six years and he was sure he could pry her out of hiding so he could use her to get to Klaus. But she didn't emerge. Abby Bennett got to him first.

In 2010, after being awoken, Kol tried to find Yara. Ninety-one years since Klaus had last seen her, ninety-six since Kol had spoken to her. He felt Klaus would let him go if he found her. He had no such luck.

But 2011 told a different story.