When she imagined the home of the infamous Klaus Mikaelson, she imagined something large and lavish. A mansion. She imagined some luxurious house full to brim with treasure from the years he had lived, a reminder of how old its owner was and the lifetimes he had gone through and how many riches he had accumulated. Instead, it was an old house in the middle of the Quarter. She had passed it while walking, not realising that it belonged to the infamous man. Just like she imagined, it was big, but it also appeared abandoned. The majority of the furniture had been covered and the lighting was too dim for any mere mortal to see, and the scent of dust was everywhere.

   Roseanne crinkled her nose as he made a face of slight disgust. Not because of the house, but because of the few vampires that stared as she passed by them. She almost growled at them but decided to stay quiet. If she made a sound, a move, they could rip her limbs before she could even register what was happening. She wondered if they were looking at her, sniffing her blood, or the blood of the witch that covered her chin and sweater.

   The inside of the house was different from the courtyard. The light was brighter, the atmosphere was heavier. There was a silence in the house that made her feel uncomfortable. Ever since she began to live with Nemiah and Agnes, she never knew silence. Unless she was sleeping. The house had been loud, the outside had been loud—the Deep Water Pack was loud. The silence in the Mikaelson house was uncomfortable.

   Klaus Mikaelson led her to the last room in the hallway upstairs. He opened the door and pointed inside with his arm. "For tonight, this will be yours."

   She did not dare cross to the bedroom. "Why?"

   "Because I intend to find out why you seem to appear when I least expect it."

   She rolled her eyes until they landed back on him. "I don't know if you know this, but coincidences exist. I was at the church because that is where you wanted the pack to be; I saved your friends' ass because I just happened to be there at the right time. These are all coincidences."

   Klaus shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. It wasn't happiness, or sadness, but a hint of bitterness and curiosity. "No, I don't mean those times..." He trailed off as his eyes fell back on her, eyes squinting as if he were deep in thought. His eyes widened and he inhaled.

   Roseanne saw the colour of his eyes. A burning blue that moved with the dim light overhead—a frozen rage. With short lashes that were a mixture of blonde and black. He looked tired, of everything. She wondered if the frozen rage ever thawed out and became the same raging anger she had in her blood.

   "Brother, what have I told you about taking prisoners into our home?"

   Roseanne turned to see another man staring at her. Tall and handsome, a muscular body hidden underneath a tailored suit, brown hair with soft brown eyes. He resembled the Hybrid in looks but appeared to be more mannered. A stag. She could just imagine a bright halo at the back of his head as he entered the bedroom, the angels singing some hymn as the man tilted his head slightly to the side to stare at her. 

   "Not a prisoner," Klaus said, "a suspect."

   She rolled her eyes at his comment and made a face, but held back and crossed her arms in front of her.

   The man stepped closer to her but kept her at arms distance. "Elijah Mikaelson." It wasn't just a name, but his. He introduced himself with such modesty that it surprised her. Whenever she thought of the Original family, she thought of cocky bastards like the Hybrid that wore blood on their mouths like tattoos.

   "Roseanne," she said. Simple. Her first name, because there was no need for them to know who she was. She only needed answers, not to make friends with progenitors of a species she hated.

   Elijah nodded. "Well, Roseanne, welcome to our home." He looked at the man beside her and arched a brow. "Now, tell me why you brought this young woman here. A suspect for what, Niklaus?"

   Klaus had his hands behind his back, like a toddler who knew he was doing something bad and relished in it. "I want answers."

   "You can't ask questions outside?" Roseanne asked, her voice laced with annoyance. She made a face as she looked at him. Pure disgust. He was a vampire, an Original. For all she knew, it could have been him that killed her family. At that simple thought, her hands balled into fists against her chest and she had to inhale deeply to calm herself. 

   He looked at her with incredulous eyes. "Do I need to repeat myself? Werewolves are not allowed at the Quarter. You should be thanking me. If it had been any other, you would have been dead."

   "If it had been any other, you would have been dead." She mimicked him, exaggerating the movements on her face. It was childish, but she took great pleasure in seeing the anger and surprise on the Hybrid's face.

   He took a deep breath and turned to his brother, giving him a tight smile. "Question her. Find out everything about her. If she doesn't talk, make her."

   Elijah raised a brow and watched his brother leave the bedroom. "And where are you going?"

   Klaus walked backwards with a grin, spreading his arms. "To make a speech to my kingdom." He turned and disappeared.

   Elijah let out a sigh and turned towards her. "I believe I need to question you." He didn't push her deeper into the bedroom but signalled for her to move. his hand pointing towards it.

   The bedroom was full of old furniture, just like the rest of the house. Unlike the rest of the house, there wasn't as much dust as she thought it would have. The bed was in the centre of the room, a bedside table on each side with two lamps, a dresser to the right wall, a half-empty bookshelf on the left wall. There was a loveseat by the wall, facing the bed. Elijah stood by it and watched her.

   "You can sit," he said, pointing to the bed with his hand.

   "I'll stand." She ambled to the bookshelf, her eyes scanning the spines of the books. From what she could see, the books were old. Names in gilded gold, plated in what she thought could be leather, languages she was not familiar with. She knew a few of them to be Italian because the names resembled what she learned—or thought she learned—in the few Spanish lessons she had with a Mexican werewolf during the first few months of her new life. 

   Elijah sighed. "My brother wants me to question you. I wish I knew about what, but he has his own intentions. So, I will start with a basic one: why are you in New Orleans?"

   "The same reason why every other pack is here," she said, taking a quick glance at him as she pulled out a book. Old from its yellowing pages, the scent hit her hard as she began to skim through the pages. Sketches of herbs and what they were for were written so carefully by their side, that she stopped in the middle to stare. It was not a print, but actual sketches done by some artist.

   Roseanne closed the book and put it back in its place, then turned to face Elijah. She wondered if he would allow her to leave back to the church if she answered his questions. "They all want to see the miracle baby. You know, the half-werewolf and vampire kid."

   He nodded. "Then, why does my brother think you have other intentions?"

   She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Because he's paranoid." The words left her mouth without hesitation, a quick response. She didn't mean to say them out loud, just think about them. But the words had flowed from her mouth as easy as a curse. She straightened her posture and opened her mouth to apologise.

   "My brother is paranoid," Elijah agreed with a smile, "but, there's always a good reason why. You just happen to be a reason. Why is that?"

   Roseanne shrugged her shoulders again. "He doesn't believe in coincidences."

   "We have lived far too long to think anything is a coincidence," he said with a flick of his hand. "You see, we've learned everything that happens in our lives is for a reason. Every person that crosses our way has either been sent or will be part of our plan, in one way or another. So, tell me, who are you?"

   She stared at him. Although he was a vampire, he had been far more gentle than the Hybrid. Instead of asking by force or threatening her, he stayed calm and collected. She licked her top lip and took a seat at the edge of the bed. 

   If she told him who she was, maybe he'd have answers.

   "My name is Roseanne Song," she said and swallowed hard. Her name was hard to say, a reminder that her parents were no longer there. The anger was easy to rise in her, like pouring gasoline over a small fire. "I don't know which pack I actually belong to. You can call me a mutt." The words had always been strange to her, as if they were a joke. They needed to be a joke because the supernatural did not exist. 

   She knew that was a lie. 

   She could vividly remember the night where the scent of petrol surrounded her and her bones began to break for the first time.

   Elijah's brows furrowed as he tilted his head to the side. He moved a bit closer to her but still kept his distance. "You seem to have questions. Perhaps, you're wondering about your family. . ."

   "No, I'm not wondering about my family. I know who my family is!" Her anger was rising. More gasoline poured into the raging flames inside of her. At the same time, it was as if there was salt being poured to stop the flames. She pressed her hands together, extending her fingers to crack the air between her joints. "I want to know who the fuck killed my family."

   Elijah was silent for a moment, then he let out a hum. "Well, this appears to be more complicated." He tapped the arm of the seat, his fingers making a rhythm for several silent moments. He nodded. "I have a friend that was in a similar predicament. She might be able to help."

   Before she could open her mouth, he had stood and walked out of the room. He appeared several minutes later with a pregnant woman by his side. She recognised the woman as the same one that had been to the church with the Hybrid. The young woman was striking, tall with hazel coloured eyes and brown hair that reached her shoulders. 

   "Hayley, this is Roseanne," Elijah said, glancing at the girl as she said her name. "She is in the same predicament you were."

   Hayley's eyes widened. "Klaus got her pregnant too?"

   Elijah seemed to almost laugh, but held himself back by clearing his throat. "Roseanne doesn't know what pack she's from, just like you didn't know. I was hoping you would help her out."

   Roseanne stared at Hayley. Between werewolves, even those that had not triggered the curse, there was an unwavering sense of loyalty. Even if she had met Hayley twice, spoken to her once or none at all, there was a sense of loyalty to her.

   And the child she carried.

   "How can I help?" Hayley asked, crossing her arms and shifting to one side. "Remember that I only figured it out 'cause Eve left the Labonair Family bible outside the door at the cabin. I can ask Jackson if he knows anything and if there are others that can help, but..." She trailed off as her eyes landed on the other werewolf in the room. "We'll try."

   Roseanne wasn't expecting them—any of them—to help her. Even when Agnes mentioned that Klaus Mikaelson could, she never believed it. But there had been a small piece of hope that she clung to, tightening around her hand until she cut her circulation. 

   It was dim now, fading like a dying fire.

   The night continued with Hayley and her speaking—the unwavering sense of loyalty. Elijah listened, input his thoughts here and there. Roseanne saw the looks crossed between them, almost the same looks Agnes shared with Nemiah. They weren't mates, she knew that much. A werewolf could only be mates with another werewolf. Being mates with another species was unheard of, a myth. But Hayley's feelings for Elijah, his feelings for her, were clear in just the way they sat. Shoulders pressed together, hands and fingers brushing, the longing looks, and the small smiles.

   It made Roseanne want to vomit.

   When morning came, Elijah allowed her to leave the room with Hayley. He had looked into her mind by laying his hands on the sides of her head. As the images passed between them, Roseanne's eyes teared up. She didn't mean to, she didn't want to. The image of her family's lifeless bodies on the living room floor made the both of them flinch, one out of pain and the other out of pity. As soon as he finished, she pulled back and wiped away the tears with the bloodied sleeves of her sweater.

   "Hayley, would you mind finding some clothes?" he asked as his hand moved to one of the buttons of the jacket of his suit. "I don't think our guest wants to wear that filthy thing all day."

   Hayley nodded. "Yeah, sure. Come with me." She turned with a tired expression and ambled out of the room, a bored expression as she walked. Her shoulders slumped, her lips were set in a permanent pout, and she seemed too tired and bored to even help her. As they made their way towards her bedroom, Hayley pointed at the place like a house tour. There was a bathroom. There was another bathroom. That's a bedroom. Down there is the living room, to the right the kitchen.

   Her bedroom was just like hers, big and spacious and with old furniture, but hers was to the front of the house with a view of the lively street. Hayley went towards a closet and hummed as she picked through it. A moment later, she had an olive green sweatshirt in her hand. "I figured you like wearing cosy things. Here." She threw the sweater at her. "You can leave your sweater there, by the hamper. The perks of living with vampires are that they know how to take the hard blood stains out of clothes."

   "White vinegar or hydrogen peroxide," Roseanne said as she pulled off the old sweatshirt. When it fell on her hands, she could not help but stare at it. The sweatshirt was given to her by one of the women from the Deep Water Pack the night she had arrived with Agnes, a smile on her chubby face as she said that it was a welcome present. The woman had been nothing but kind, and Roseanne could not help but feel something in her chest as she thought about the vampire accident that ended up in her death.

   The young werewolf shook her head and took off her shirt and pulled on the sweatshirt Hayley had given her, brushing her hand down the fabric as her eyes scanned the room. It was more lived-in than the rest of the house, the bedsheets slept in with countless drawings of what appeared to be made by a child, and the drawers half-pulled out and rings on top of the dresser along with a wrapper from a candy bar. Lived-in. Almost homely, and she could not help but think back to her bedroom in Washington.

   A pull at her chest brought her back to the room. The full moon would come at night.

   The night was supposed to be spent fighting her friends, knuckles covered in blood and new bruises forming everywhere in her body. Instead, she had been locked in a room with the woman considered the new Virgin Mary—not a virgin—and an Original vampire. It left her bones itching, ready to lock into something and destroy it.

   Hayley was by her bed, staring at the drawings that made no sense. She shuffled through them, moving them until they formed one large portrait of a woman. For a moment, she wanted to ask what she was doing and who the woman was, but she kept quiet. She wasn't here to make friends with the mother of the Miracle Baby, or the Noble Original, or the Hybrid, or any other werewolf and vampire that appeared in New Orleans. She just wanted to find her family's killer, and avenge her family.

   Hayley ran out of the room. 

   Roseanne stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do, but then she moved towards the small balcony in the room. She laid her hands on the iron handrail and focused on the street and its contents. Countless people walked through for such an early morning, their idle conversation an itch at her ears. The day was bright and sunny, with a little wind that pushed the disgusting scent of Royal Street: horse manure, piss, cigarette smoke, vomit, and dead fish.

   The pull of the full moon was strong, like a string attached to every muscle in her body and it pulled in different directions. It twisted and twisted, begging her to turn when the time came. The day of the full moon had always been full of a panic at her chest, even more since she was trapped inside. In city limits. 

   She was a wolf, she needed to be outside of that Mikaelson Prison.

   Her mind wandered to Reese, the blue-eyed man that teased her too much. She wondered what he was doing, whether he was worried about her or not.

   Hayley returned with Elijah, who looked as noble with a different coloured suit. Roseanne wondered if he only owned suits or if they were the only preferable piece of clothing he liked. An armour, for the vampire who killed many, to protect himself from the pain of it. She huffed to herself, thinking too deeply about a vampire wearing a suit. But she knew better than that. Her own armour were sweaters, long-sleeved shirts, jeans. Anything to cover herself. 

   She was a wolf in sheep's clothing. 

   Literally.

   Elijah cleared his throat and looked at her. "You will be leaving with Hayley and Rebekah, staying somewhere else while we try to fix a problem."

   Roseanne raised a hand to stop him from continuing. "Instead of letting me go back to the pack, you want me to stay a prisoner?"

   "You're not a prisoner, Roseanne," he told her. "In fact, I believe you never were. You followed Niklaus of your own will because I did not see him drag you here. If that had been the case, then yes, you would have been a prisoner."

   She opened her mouth to oppose him but closed it right away. He was right. At first, he had grabbed her arm and pulled, but then let go. She wondered if she should run away, could have run away, but the small bit of hope inside of her told her to follow him. So, she did. And she ended up in the Mikaelson Prison.

   "It's also the full moon," Hayley added as she crossed her arms in front of her. "It's out of city limits, so you can turn freely."

   The house they were going to had been a former plantation owned by the governor of New Orleans in 1820. Rebekah, whom Roseanne learned was the sister of Elijah and the Hybrid, had told her as she drove. Although she was a vampire, Roseanne felt sorry for the girl. She was younger than her, at least seventeen or eighteen.

   Everywhere around the house smelt of apples from the orchard, and it made Roseanne stop as soon as she took a step out of the car. The simple scent of apples reminded her of her mother. When she was little, her mother used to peel the apples for her and cut them into slices. They sat on the living room floor, mouths full of apples, the TV set on a rerun of a Korean drama from the late Nineties. She stiffened and pulled the sweater over her nose, the fading scent of her perfume being the only thing she smelt.

   She grabbed her bag from the backseat and closed the door, just in time to see some man wheel a dolly past her. He moved towards a white truck, came out with a keg, and wheeled past her to the house. She followed behind him, her bag slung over her shoulders. The inside of the house was more modern than the Mikaelson Prison in the centre of the French Quarter. The furniture was new, the scent of wood and apples, and the force of the full moon pulling at her.

   "Your room is this way," Rebekah said from the bottom of the stairs. She motioned for her to follow with a shake from her fingers, then made her way up.

   Roseanne followed after her, staring at the white walls as she ascended the stairs. White and plain, not at all like a family home. Or at least, a family home with too many painful memories. She found herself wondering if the vampires that had lived in the house, of their long lives—had it been good or bad?

   "Welcome to your new bedroom," Rebekah said as she opened a door. The bedroom, unlike the one in the prison, was smaller and more comfortable. Brighter. A large window to the other side of the bed that led to the orchard, illuminating every speck of dust that hadn't been cleaned. "You can stay here until you need to leave for the night."

   Roseanne threw the bag on the bed and turned towards the Original vampire. "So, I won't be tied down in the basement?"

   "Of course not." Rebekah's face showed disgust and humour. "I don't want any werewolves to ruin the beautiful facade of this house, so no. You'll be free to roam around the orchard and the surrounding woods, all close enough for Hayley and I to keep an ear on you."

   "An ear on me?" She raised a brow. "What, you're gonna hear me howl to the full moon and whimper as my bones break?"

   The humour on the vampire's face faded to anger. Her lips pursed, her eyes hardened, and she straightened her figure. "Listen, I don't know you and I don't know what happened to you for you to hate vampires. But, I am not them. I have nothing to do with them, and you best get that through your thick skull if you want our help to find out who killed your family." She turned and slammed the door closed.

   Roseanne's jaw tightened as the vampire's words rang through her mind. There was no reason for her to hate vampires, but the hatred had always coursed through her veins. A simple hate for vampires, enemies by nature. It was the way it should be. She had to hate them.

   Hayley appeared a few moments later, a smaller bag in her hands. "I've brought more clothes for you for when you turn back," she said, lifting up the small bag. "I'm gonna leave them on the back porch."

   Roseanne nodded as thanks.

   Hayley hesitated by the door and turned back to her. "I get it, okay?" she softly said. "I was basically drugged and kept prisoner by witches in a cemetery. If it wasn't for Elijah, I would be dead. He doesn't want to kill you or do you any harm, he wants to help you. So does Rebekah. They're vampires, yes, but that doesn't stop them from wanting to help. Just like I will." She pointed behind her, to the door. Maybe somewhere further than that. "My pack is coming over tonight and I'll ask them."

   Roseanne's jaw clenched as she swallowed hard. She didn't know what to say, whether to thank her or to tell her the entire family history she knew. All she knew was that the small bit of hope she had held on to had grown. 

   It made her chest tighten.

   "You're lucky you don't have to turn," she softly said, her voice slightly breaking. She didn't know how to thank someone, or how to apologise. Those two things had all become strange after the death of her family, after she triggered the curse. Although she tried her hardest to hold onto them, they had slipped until the shell of the girl she used to be remain. Just that, a shell. Empty.

   Roseanne decided to help Hayley set out clothes for the pack. She hung them on several clothing lines, watching the sky as the pull of the full moon got harder and harder. It was as if the string that wrapped around her muscles tightened more, cutting circulation and no longer begging. It commanded her to turn.

   When the tug of the moon got stronger, she bid goodbye to both Hayley and Rebekah. She walked through the apple orchard, her hands shaking as the pull became a burden. The sounds became louder, her sight blurry, and her heart beat faster. A scream erupted from her throat as she fell to her knees, fingers digging into the moist ground. Another scream got choked in her throat as the pain began. It always began with a single snap, the moon watching over her like a caring mother. But that night, the snap began at her chest. Not her fingertips, her chest. It was as if someone had tightened their hands around her heart, fingers digging into the muscle. Blood fell from her mouth, just like the nights she used to fight back at the farm. The blood wasn't from her cheeks or from her gums but from somewhere inside her chest.

   Another scream of agony tore from her mouth. It echoed around her, sending birds flying from their perched branches. Then her bones began to snap, but the transformation never came. Snap after snap, cry after cry, but her human form stayed. 

   She was still Roseanne Song. Human.

   She didn't know how long it passed until the pain consumed her. What woke her was growling and the sound of paws hitting the ground. Roseanne pulled herself up and took several deep breathes, the faded pain still lingering on every part of her body. For a moment, she thought she was a wolf until she looked down at her hands. There were no paws, but her ordinary hands with chipped nails and old burn scars. 

   The growling got louder. 

   Roseanne stood and felt her feet drag her in their direction. She knew what the growls meant, had become practically fluent in the language of wolves They were going to attack. And she was headed in their direction. Her feet moved faster than they normally did, the wind rushed through her hair and the scent of apples was stuck to her clothes and skin. 

   She sped in front of whomever the wolves were going to attack and growled. The growl was loud, just like her screams. It began at the pit of her belly and made its way out of her throat. Like the call of a warrior. The wolves took a step back and whimpered at the sound, golden eyes staring back at her. 

   "Roseanne?" The person behind her asked.

   She turned her head to see the Original vampire stare back at her.

   Rebekah's eyes were wide, surprised and frightened. "I thought you turned in full moons," she said, swallowing hard and taking a step back. Her eyes fell onto her stomach for a single moment.

   "I do," Roseanne answered, her voice hoarse from the screaming. She turned back to the wolves and took a defensive stance, how she had learned from Nemiah. "I don't know what happened."

    She wondered why she was standing in front of Rebekah, trying to protect her from her own people. All she knew was that something told her to do it. Some sense inside of her that made no sense at all.

   "How dangerous are a werewolves bite to an Original?" Roseanne found herself asking. She took a step back as the wolves advanced on them, their growls louder. They wanted to attack. 

   "Not deadly, but I'd prefer not to be bitten by one," Rebekah answered. "What about to a werewolf that didn't turn in the full moon?"

   Roseanne stayed silent for a moment. "I don't know."

   The werewolves pounced on them. It was a commotion at its finest. The scent of apples and blood surrounded them, as well as some burning scent that lingered in the air. 

   Roseanne felt the fire inside of her surge large as if it had been fed petrol. Her mouth was covered in blood, fur, and mud. She didn't know if she had bitten off a chunk of skin from a wolf or if she had clawed at them. Or if they had done the same to her. The pain was in every movement, in every hit. Needles digging into her skin and ripping at her flesh. She was supposed to be a werewolf, supposed to be attacking the Original vampire that fought alongside her. Why was she protecting this girl that meant nothing to her?

   The werewolves laid dead around her, their blood-soaked onto the ground and her skin. She could smell them, smell their blood, hear as their bones began to break back into humans. But, she couldn't move. They had bitten at her, tore apart bits of skin. If she was human, she would have been dead. But, she was part wolf, a supernatural being that could heal fast. 

   Especially under the full moon.

   Roseanne let her eyes wander up to the sky, the full moon shining brightly down at her. She silently cursed it, for every broken bone and every scream that had left her mouth. She cursed it for the bites in her body, for the werewolves that laid dead around her. She cursed it for being bright, for being a blessing and curse.

   The noises around her were both loud and quiet. She heard Rebekah speak, a woman answering back with a threatening tone. But, she couldn't focus on what they were exactly saying. Their voices came and went until it was the silence of creaking branches and chirping crickets, and her own heavy breathing. She was healing, slowly. 

   "Roseanne?" It was a soft voice, followed by a soft and cold touch on her forehead. 

   Her eyes opened to see Elijah standing over her, his brows creased together. His mouth moved, but no noise came out. Just like the sounds around her, his voice tuned in and out. It was like having broken earphones, moving the cord to a specific side to hear the music but nothing came.

   "Roseanne. . .listening to. . .where is. . .you okay?" Elijah's hand on her forehead was soft. Cold, but soft. She wanted to pull away from it, but any small movement would cause a scream to rip through her chest. 

   He suddenly stood and turned. The voice of another woman came to her, tuning in and out like everything. Her voice was rough, full of hatred and amusement. Then she heard Elijah scream out in pain, his body fall to the ground. He laid still.

   Another hand touched her cheek, warm. Human. She looked at the owner to see a black woman with red lips, smiling wide. "Look at that," she hummed softly, almost like a lullaby. "We've found ourselves another little wolf." She brushed a hand up Roseanne's cheek and towards her hair. "I wonder how much you mean to the Mikaelson's."