The scent of blood bothered Roseanne Song. It had always bothered Roseanne, to the point where she had been terrified of having her blood drawn. The bother became disgust since she came home to see her family covered in it. Ever since that night, blood became a trigger of thoughts.

   She remembered her mother's face. Her brown eyes were wide and her mouth hung open, frozen at the beginning of a scream. The simple silver wedding band on her finger was stained red, its perpetrator a long gash on her arm. She laid face down on the kitchen floor, arm extended towards the entry to the living room.

  She remembered her father's face, eyes closed as if he were asleep. His mouth was agape, an arm reaching out towards her mother in the other room. His other hand clasped a scrunched up piece of paper, stained red. With trembling hands, she reached for it and read his scratchy writing: Run, Hae-soo. It was written in messy Hangul, the Korean alphabet. Although he had learned to read, write, and speak English, he had always preferred Korean when at home.

   We are Koreans, he had told her once in the middle of the supermarket. Korean should be your first language, English second. It's in your blood, Hae-soo.

   She remembered her older brother, body slumped on the stairs with his hand hanging between the bannister. His blood slid down the dull, yellow wall and onto the carpet on the floor, sometimes a dull drip echoed in the silent house. Just like her blood then.

   She remembered her little sister, face down in the upstairs hallway, just in front of her bedroom. There was a long gash on her back, mirrored ones on her legs and arms. She had died screaming, crying, fighting. Her blood pooled around her, like a small lake that made its way beneath the doors and into the close bedrooms.

   A scream tore from her chest. It was sudden pain and harsh as if someone had cut from below her breasts to the top of her belly button. It echoed around her like the drip of her blood and the howling of the wind. Leaves rustled around her and against the windows, another shiver tore from the small of her back and made her gasp in pain. If she counted correctly, she had been there for more than half a day. She had been in and out of consciousness ever since that woman brought her to the room, saw the shadows dance against the wall as the sun came and then disappeared behind clouds.

   Time became transitory. One moment it was night, the moon shining through the window, the next moment the sun was high in the sky and birds sang their merry songs. But she had felt those moments pass. Each agonising second.

   Roseanne decided to roll out of the bed, landing on the floor on her knees. The sudden impact caused her to choke on a breath. She bit back a scream. It was like suddenly standing and the heels of the feet got the impact, causing one to stand still for several moments as the pain subdued. For her, the pain was everywhere. She breathed in and pushed herself up to her knees. Breathed again, and stood. The room swayed around her as she leaned against the bed, the small bit of sunlight coming through the dust-covered window. It was a hospital room, old and abandoned by the amount of rust and dust.

   "Hello?" she called out. Her voice echoed around the room, out the doorway and into the hallway. There was no response, just the shuffling of leaves and the wind coming through the cracks of the windows.

   Roseanne breathed deeply as she limped out of the room. She held to the wall and the doorways as she walked, the shuffling of her feet the only other sound. If she listened closely, the only other sound she heard was smooth jazz echoing from another part of the hospital. She stopped to listen. The jazz suddenly stopped, a loud groan following afterwards.

   She hurried towards the sound, only to find the female Original doubled over in pain. Rebekah held her hands over her ears, tears down her cheeks and she muttered something inaudible. A scream broke from her throat, a loud no.

   Roseanne stared at the vampire with wide eyes. Not once did she imagine that vampires had emotions, especially an Original that she heard so many nasty things about. But, there was Rebekah Mikaelson, breaking apart on the floor because of something that rushed through her head. It only took Roseanne a moment to remember that she was taken by a woman with extreme power. In other words, what was happening to the vampire must have been the work of a witch. Or witches.

   There was a shuffle of feet coming closer to them. Roseanne limped towards an open room and leaned against the wall, covering her mouth as her panting became louder. She didn't want whoever it was to know she was there; whoever had brought her to the hospital wasn't a good person. 

   The shuffle came closer, then stopped as someone clicked their tongue.

   "Just give it up, Rebekah." It was a gentle woman's voice. "It's inevitable at this point."

   "Sabine," Rebekah breathed. Even that simple breath was full of rage. A bit of despair.

   "I prefer Celeste, actually. All these names I had over the years, and I still prefer the first. Perhaps it was the way it sounded on Elijah's lips, like a declaration of love." A breath. "Oh, he was a good liar. All of you are."

   "Say what you want about me, but Elijah is a good man."

   It dawned upon Roseanne that the Originals cared for one another, as surprising as it sounded to her. She had always thought of vampires as bloodsucking parasites, no emotions except the flourishing appetite that made them ravenous beast as werewolves during the full moon. That's what she thought they were, beasts with no control. As she heard the Original woman speak with so much emotion brought surprise and hate. She still hated vampires; it was in her blood.

   "Still defending him, even until the bitter end. I'm counting on that familial love. It'll be the ruin of you all. Now that Klaus knows what you've done, he'll never stop until he's had his revenge. He'll kill Marcel. Do something horrible to you. Elijah will never forgive him. Your betrayal will ultimately pit brother against brother. And the fabled Mikaelson bond will crumble."

   "I'll kill you, you bitch!"

   There was a pause. "You already did. Though at the time, I wore a different face."

   Another pause. In the silence, she heard the vampire take a small gasp. "You were the other one. Clara. You should have minded your business."

   "I suspected my friend was being exploited. It was my business." A hum, from the woman. She told the story about how she found Rebekah with a bloody rag to Genevieve's mouth, infecting her with influenza. Then, Rebekah had turned on the woman, who was then either named Clara or was in the body of a woman named Clara. The details had become fuzzy to Roseanne, the pain from the bites creeping at her. The weight of herself on her feet was enough to elicit silent tears from the corner of her eyes.

   "You compelled the orderlies to keep us in quarantine until the day we died," the woman said, spite in her tone. "I tried to do the same to your little friend, keep her in quarantine until the fever makes her insane, but she seems to have escaped." A chuckle escaped her mouth, just as a shiver ran up Roseanne's spine. "Fortunately, I took another body. Genevieve wasn't as lucky. Well, now that she's back, you're the one whose luck ran out." She moved, the shuffling of feet become louder and louder. Her body appeared in the doorway, her head turned directly at her with a small smile. "There you are."

   Roseanne pushed herself into the corner of the room, bloodied hand against the wall while the other held to the bite on her side. A loud growl came from her chest, like a terrified dog that had been cornered.

   "Leave her alone!" Rebekah yelled.

   The woman, who preferred to be called Celeste, raised a hand. The vampire stopped and fell to her knees as a yell of pain escaped her mouth. Celeste's smile grew, then her head turned back to her. "Now, why don't you come with me. I want to figure something out." She moved a finger, a signal for Roseanne to follow.

   She didn't. She stayed put and shaking, fingers digging into her own skin as if that would stop the pain and the shaking. If she followed her, she would die.

   Celeste muttered something under her breath. Roseanne's vision became dotted with black until her body slumped on the ground and her head followed with a thump. When she woke, she was in a smaller room.

   Confinement. No, quarantine. The metal door was a boney white that made a shiver run up her spine. Or the culprit of the shiver could have been the metal straps that held her down or the cold hands that ran down her cheeks. Celeste stood over her, sleeves pulled back and the heavy scent of herbs all around the room. The pure scent of a witch.

   "Welcome back," she said as she pulled back. She stood by a small table, full of herbs and a mortar with a pester inside. "Now, we can actually get to work."

   "Let me go!" Roseanne growled, pulling at the restraints.

   "Now, why would I do that when I have so many questions?" Celeste worked behind the table, pulverising the herbs in the mortar with precision. "First, who the hell are you?"

   Roseanne responded with a low growl.

   Celeste huffed but smiled as she stopped for her ministrations on the mortar. "I guess we're going to have to do this the hard way." She poured something red onto the herbs, uttered several words, and brought it over to her. With cold fingers, she pinched Roseanne's cheeks together and brought the mortar to her mouth.

   The liquid full of herbs fell in her mouth immediately, like thick slime that threatened its way down. She tried to spit it out but it pushed its way down her throat until she had no other choice but to swallow instead of choking. The taste was bitter. Along with the herbs, she tasted something metallic and strange. Her eyes widened as she realised the crazy witch had given her blood. Once the mortar was pulled from her mouth, she began to cough. She tried to pull the concoction up her stomach, vomit it out to the floor, but it had settled inside her. 

   "Let's get started." Celeste took a stance behind her and laid two fingers on each side of her temple. She began to softly chant, the words a jumble to the young werewolf's ears.

   Roseanne gasped for breath and gripped the mattress. It was as if Celeste's fingers dig into her skull, nails picking at her brain. The very feeling was pure discomfort, then it turned into pain. She bit her lip to cover a scream until blood pinched between her teeth and fell back into her mouth. Images began to flash through her mind, from the day before to her childhood.

   The laughter of her family rang in her ears, followed by their voices. It was a recollection of things they had told her, from the simplest words of hello to the deep conversations they had shared over nightlights in the floors of their bedrooms. Her mother's gentle words after she got her heart broken when her date stood her up for the winter dance. Her father's booming laugh after he watched an episode of Gag Concert or singing along to someone's new song on Inkigayo. Her brothers bothering and teasing her for no absolute reason at all, just for the laughter that would echo around the house. Her little sister borrowing a red blouse and never giving it back, then a grey sweater and claiming it was hers. 

   The images went further back, to a time she didn't recognise or know much about. She saw her parents fall in love in the small village in Korea, saw them smile at each other while at school and walking home and secret meetings in the middle of the night. She saw older people with her parents, greying hairs on their heads and wrinkled hands on top of her parents' shoulders. She thought they could have been her grandparents, people she didn't know or had ever seen. Her parents never spoke about their family.

   The images went further back, to a time she didn't know or recognise.

   Strands of gold, a frozen rage in blue, a wicked smile, and a rage that made her insides churn. This wasn't her. These images, or memories, belonged to someone else.

   "Roseanne Song," Celeste hummed her name, the answer to a question she had been asking for a long time. "That's who you are. What a strange and curious werewolf, aren't you? Someone with no pack, searching for your own only to find that you're all alone in the world." She chuckled and her fingers dug deeper into Roseanne's temples. A gasp escaped Celeste's mouth as she pushed herself back. "Now that is interesting. Who would have thought that—"

   There was a thud from outside the door, followed by loud voices. When Roseanne looked to see where Celeste had gone, the witch had disappeared and the metal door was ajar. The young werewolf tugged at the restraints, pushed through the pain and tried to use whatever power she had left to break them. The memories that Celeste had brought up, the memories that belonged to someone else, made her weak. Roseanne Song has taught herself not to cry after so much pain, but at that moment there were tears in her eyes. 

   The memories of her parents and siblings made her want to finally let everything she had held inside free.

   A scream tore from her mouth, just as the pain in her chest got worse. It was like the night before, when she tried to go through with the transformation. The pain was a stab, and she didn't know if it was because of the memories or because the witch did something to her. When the pain died down, she whimpered and closed her hands into fists. She knew that if she ever caught whomever or whatever killed her parents, she would tear them to shreds.

   Roseanne Song would eat them raw.

   The metal door creaked wider. Elijah Mikaelson stood there, a hand on the door while the other rested in the pocket of his well-fit trousers. "There you are," he said as he walked in. There was a look of surprise in his eyes as he took her in, from each bite to the wild look in her eyes. He moved slowly, as if she would bite him with any harsh movement. "What happened to you?"

   Roseanne answered with a hiss as his cold hands broke the strap on her left arm. There was a bite right there, one of the worst ones. It was red and raw, blood trailing from the bed to the floor.

   "I'm going to feed you my blood," he carefully said.

   "No," she breathed. Even the sound of those words made her want to vomit.

   He took a step back, eyes glued to one bite and then the other. "Those wounds don't look as good as they should. For a werewolf, I thought you would be good at healing."

   Roseanne shut her eyes to stop herself from rolling them. She wondered how the hell was a thousand-and-something-year-old vampire full of sarcasm. He needed to stop.

   "It's better to drink and heal, Roseanne," he said. "Or would you rather we send you to a hospital? You can try and explain how you got those bites to whatever doctor treats you." Her silence told him his answer. With a curt nod, he bit into his wrist and pushed it to her mouth.

   The taste reminded her of the herb concoction Celeste had given her prior to him arriving. It was metallic, thick, and disgusting with that certain taste that told her the blood belonged to a vampire. Almost like the scent of rotten meat. She tried to spit it out, but Elijah pushed his wrist more. When he pulled away, she began to cough. She turned to her side and coughed to the floor, tried to force something up. The bites began to heal at that moment, slowly, but better than before.

   Elijah grabbed her, an arm under her legs while the other was at her back. He carried her out of the room with ease. "Before I arrived, you screamed. What happened?"

   "I was in pain," she answered, trying to pull herself away from him. Even if his blood had helped her wounds heal, they were still there. She was still weak. Did Celeste's concoction have something that slowed her healing?

   "Did the pain happen in your chest?"

   She nodded.

   The Original stopped, brows furrowing. "Whatever the witches are planning, it appears that they have included you."

   She didn't answer, instead, she fell into that deep slumber she had wanted since the night the Hybrid took her to the Prison. She wanted it to be dreamless, but she dreamt about the scene before she arrived at her home. Her parents screaming, her brother running up the stairs, her sister trying to lock herself in her room, her other brother killed in his bedroom.

   Roseanne woke with a gasp, her heart beating quicker than usual. Her breathing hurt her throat, the small movements on her fingers aching the rest way up her arm. With little strength, she pushed herself up to sit up against the headboard. She glanced around the room to realise she was back at the bedroom that was given to her by the Hybrid. Old furniture, an old scent of dust, and a strangely comforting feeling in the darkness. It made Roseanne feel strange.

   "You shouldn't stand when you were just on the verge of dying."

   She looked to the doorway to see the Hybrid leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. As she stared at him, she noticed that he fit well with the old furniture and the old feel of the house. She knew well enough that he was over a thousand years old, and the house was younger, but they fit well together.

   "I'm fine," she said, pushing the covers away from her and pushing herself to stand. A step up, and she was back on the bed. It was as if electricity ran up her legs from the heels of her feet, causing an ache at the bite on her side.

   "Yes, of course, you're fine," the Hybrid hummed, a soft chuckle appearing afterwards. "I forgot that the definition of fine meant almost dying because of werewolf bites."

   Roseanne rolled her eyes and pressed her hand on the bite. It was a sting like a needle pressed to the skin. She hissed and lifted her shirt up a bit to see a bloody gauze. With cold and trembling fingers, she peeled it back to look at the wound. She hadn't seen it, but she had imagined it to be red and raw to the point her muscles could be seen. Instead, it was only a large bruise in deep blue and purple.

   "I believe Elijah's blood healed you," the Hybrid said as he walked in the room. "Not all the way, but close enough so that you wouldn't die."

   She made a face, a mixture of disgust and displeasure. The reminder that the Noble Original had made her drink his blood caused a shiver to run down her spine. That small reminder made her want to throw up whatever contents she had left in her stomach. Although it had been some time since she drank the blood, the remainder of the taste caused her to let out a gag.

   "You've been asleep for several days," the Hybrid continued. He walked to one corner, then the other, eyes moving to every inch of the room until they finally landed on her.

   "Don't worry, I'll leave." She pushed herself to stand, but the first step caused her to stumble back into the bed. A hiss escaped her mouth as she clutched the bruise on her side. "Shit!"

   The Hybrid let out a soft laugh that sounded more sarcastic than funny. "You see, that's the problem, Roseanne. Somehow, Celeste bound us together. Every pain I feel, you feel it as well."

   Roseanne's hand closed into a fist around the covers, a soft and sarcastic laugh escaping her mouth. "Everything I feel, you'll feel as well," she said, low enough for him to hear. "And we don't want that, do we?"

   "Which is why you need to be under supervision until we find a way to undo this spell."

   Roseanne scoffed and shook her head, stood and pushed back the pain. Her anger had washed out the pain, a forest fire consuming half of the forest. "There is no way in hell that I'm staying here with a bunch of vampires!"

   "My supervision," he asserted. At the same time, he stood straighter, a sense of power emitting from his very being. His face collided with a face she had seen in those images that pushed through her mind, two of him in different moments of time colliding with each other in the darkness of the bedroom. 

   She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against them for a few moments. When she opened them again, there was only one hybrid in the room. A soft breath left her mouth and she licked the corner of her lip as shook her head in disbelief. "I get that you're the Big Bad Wolf and have been used to everyone doing everything you want, but I don't care. You don't like me, I don't like you—let me return back to the pack."

   "It's strange that you don't say they are your pack."

   Roseanne looked away from him and clenched her jaw. "Because they're not," she admitted. Those strange words caused her chest to have a gentle sting, a bee right where her heart was. "I'm sure the witches had you look into my mind, or whatever."

   The Hybrid's shoulders went rigid. His lips were slightly pursed, a mixture of anger and understanding. "Memories are different to each person," he said. "For one they can be of fright, but for another, it can be clear hatred. What I saw is not a clear indication of you, unless it's rash decisions."

   The thing about Roseanne Song was that she made impulsive decisions without thinking of the long-lasting consequences. Her anger made it worse. Once she set her mind to one thing, she would do it without a second thought. When one sees a dead body, the first emotion is shock, then fright as they hurry to call someone for help. Roseanne's first instinct was to throw several matches into the curtains and watch them catch fire until it was hard for her to breathe. Outside of the house she had called her home since she was a child, she watched the flames rise and swallow it whole. She watched neighbours run from their houses and scream in horror, watched firefighters work for hours to stop the fire, watched police officers confirm the death of her family, watched it unfold with so much horror that she wasn't able to move until the sun was high in the sky and the scent of burned things was stuck to her clothes. There were times where she still smelled that terrible scent, a mixture of burnt plastic and wood and skin. She never thought about having a funeral for her family, having them rest peacefully instead of being half-charred.

   Roseanne cleared her throat and looked away from him. "I'll leave," she said as she stood. "Don't worry, I'll try to stay alive so you don't get hurt."

   Klaus Mikaelson smiled. It was an actual smile that made her stop and admire, wonder how can a man that had been described as a monster smile like that. He shook his head with amusement and looked at her. "And here I thought I would need to protect you," he mumbled. "It appears you can protect yourself, considering you were attacked by your own kind and survived to tell the tale." He stepped back, towards the doorway, but kept his eyes on her. "You can stay, Rosie, until you see yourself fit to actually walk without wanting to fall back."

   "Roseanne," she corrected him. "My name is Roseanne."

   "Rosie sounds better, no?"