through the night. For once, she was not woken by nightmares or by Akela forcing her to train harder, faster, stronger. No, instead, she slept uninterrupted, draped in the sorrows of her discovery and left alone in the attic to ponder the meaning of it all.

It was the light from the window that had finally woke her up. Mercy shifted, her face laying on an open page of one of her werewolf books. She groaned slightly to herself, peeling her face away from the paper as she sat up, rubbing her head tiredly. The floor was hard on her body, but she found the weight in her heart caused much more pain than that. She remembered the events of last night, and immediately wanted to cry herself back to sleep, not wishing to interact with a world that was so hell-bent on making everything in her life difficult or painful. She just wanted to be able to breathe, but even then, she was bombarded with thoughts.

"It's my parents. I think there's something... wrong with them."

"I owe nothing to her. Nor to you."

"Keep the knife, keep it away from them."

"Sweetheart, please, just let me—"

She shook her head, wishing the thoughts would go away and leave her at peace. She kept seeing her father's cold and calculating stare aimed at her Uncle Kol; it was a look filled with coldness that almost matched the Hollow's, and that alone horrified Mercy more than anything. She didn't know what to think about her father, or about Noah, or about the Hollow and her plans with Lucy and Caesar Day. She didn't know what to think about any of it, and not only that, but she felt betrayed.

Her mother had constantly told Mercy and Hope that family was an oath promised to stick by them, always and forever, no matter what they did or what the consequences of your loyalty would be. Mercy had understood this oath from the moment she could remember it, but still, there was a nagging voice in the back of her mind that reminded her of what her family was.

Uncle Elijah: he had been revived to his original body last night, but despite his rebirth, he held a long list of kills just as brutal as her father's. The blood of innocents stained his hands, and he didn't seem bothered by it, preferring to keep up the facade behind a pressed suit.

Aunt Freya: she was a powerful witch indeed. However, Mercy knew that power like that didn't come from clean origins, and from what she had heard of Dahlia, she knew that Freya wasn't innocent either. She had killed, she had slaughtered, despite her being a witch. She was dangerous, just like her uncle.

Rebekah and Kol: they were the same in many ways. Even from the few meetings Mercy had with Rebekah, the little girl could tell that the older woman was cunning and clever. She was also very beautiful, making it perfectly easy to lure people into a trap just before she strikes. Her Uncle Kol, wild and mischievous, but this mischief stemmed from bloodlust, from the euphoric feeling of killing. He could also lure people in before he pounced ruthlessly.

Her father: he was certainly a big factor. It had been no secret of what he was, but Mercy had never seen his callousness first hand. She had never felt so afraid for her Uncle Kol than when his voice shook, begging his brother not to hurt him. Mercy didn't need to know anything else to know that Klaus was feared by many, even his own siblings.

And her mother. Hayley had killed in order to get their family back together. There had been one night—what felt like forever ago—where Mercy had walked in on her mother changing. Only instead of normal clothes being thrown in the hamper, her attire had been drenched in a dry, red substance, resembling the color of rust. Mercy had never known what it was, but she did now.

Blood.

The same substance that sustained their life was also the one that gave life to others. She should've known beforehand that her family was a rag-tag group of killers, but the thought had never crossed her mind. She was blissfully unaware of the kills they took credit for, and now, she was paying the price.

Mercy curled in on herself, bringing her knees to her chest at the same time that she lowered her head. Pressing her forehead against the bones of her knees, Mercy tried to control her breathing. She could feel that same anger from last night, threatening to take control, to rip her apart with the same fierceness as it had her father. She could feel her body shaking in turmoil, suddenly wishing for the first time in her life that she had been born normal.

She could almost see it, her childhood in a mundane family. She could see toys of simple markets, feelings that were normal for humans. She could taste ice cream on an ordinary sunny day, wallowing away in her ignorance until death had come to collect. She could see an entire life, played out like a movie, in front of her, where she was happy, and she didn't have the responsibilities that she had now.

But it was only a dream, one that faded as quickly as it came. She wasn't normal; in fact, she was pretty far from it.

She was the daughter of the infamous Klaus Mikaelson, Original Hybrid. Her mother was once the Crescent Alpha, and Mercy's grandmother was the Original Witch who casted black magic like it was nothing. Tracing her mother's lineage back brought them to the Hollow, an untamable dark witch. Not a single thing of Mercy's heritage was normal, and by extension, she would never be either.

She was a werewolf and a witch with vampire blood in her system. She was to be a warrior that would be trained to save the werewolf species from going extinct. She was fast, much faster than any normal girl her age would be. She could leap into the air, a vast expanse of empty air underneath the soles of her shoes. She could see wolves that had already passed; she could even talk to them. Oh, and her eyes had the ability to glow golden whenever she was messing with magic.

She was the furthest thing from normal, and Mercy hated herself for it.

Even Noah, a child of the wolves, was more normal than her. Even Hope, her twin, was more normal than her. At least Mercy's sister didn't have to deal with this ridiculous expectation that she needed to save thousands of lives. At least Hope was oblivious of the monsters and horrors most of the time. Mercy had seen them all up close, had seen the tricks they could pull, and what she saw had scarred her.

She gripped her legs, feeling her fingernails bite down into the skin harshly, almost drawing blood. She felt helpless to the emotions she felt. Despite having a family as large as hers, Mercy felt alone.

Tears streamed down her face steadily now, but she didn't move to wipe them away. She welcomed this sadness, this hurt. It was a familiar emotion among so many unfamiliar things. At least with this sadness, she could let out her troubles silently instead of loudly with anger the night before.

She glanced up around the attic, seeing that she had made quite the mess. Boxes and books and paper were scattered all over the floor, torn to shreds. Even the trunk that spelt "Marcellus," on the side of it had been upturned, old kid books and toys falling out.

She remembered hesitating at the sight of the toys. The little soldiers winked at her, as if knowing that she longed for her childhood to come back. The soldier man's silent stare urged her to play, to have fun.

Mercy didn't do what he wanted.

Instead, her eyes had hardened, and she set the toys on fire with her magic, watching silently as it burned in its contained spot. She had stared into the flames so deeply last night that she almost felt the heat behind her eyes now that she was awake. She had watched the colors dance freely, with oranges and reds, wishing desperately that she could be as free as the flames.

Speaking of fire and destruction, Mercy's eyes trailed back to yet another problem in her absolutely chaotic world. The knife had returned back to its unknown language with the lowering of the moon, but she remembered the words nonetheless.

Water to Blood, Flame to Fire, Wolf Undone with a Band of Liars.

The words were as ominous and vague as something Akela would say, and if Mercy had been in a better mood, she might've chuckled at the thought. Instead, her eyes remained unchanging, closed off from the world as her thoughts raced in her head.

She wondered why Lucy and Caesar Day would have the knife. She questioned how they were meant to use the weapon, but with the Hollow's presence more than likely guiding them, Mercy didn't have to ponder for long before she came to a theory.

She wouldn't be surprised if the weapon was meant for her. Between her and Hope, Mercy was a bigger threat to Inadu, not only being of her bloodline—something that weakened her power—but also because of her connection to the wolf ancestors. Mercy had the knowledge of thousands of lives at her fingertips, and Inadu was scared of this knowledge coming back to bite her in the—

A knock startled her, making her jump slightly at the noise as her head whirled toward the locked door. Instinctively, Mercy snatched the knife from its spot and hid it in the waistband of her jeans; she hadn't changed from the night before, so the knife was safely stored where it wouldn't bite into her skin. The knock had been quiet, almost hesitant, and Mercy narrowed her eyes, wondering who it was this time.

"Mercy?" The little girl's eyes closed tightly at the sound of Hayley's gentle voice. "Baby, please let me in."

Mercy made no movement to do anything of the sort, her eyes still shut as she tried to will the tears away. She wiped at her face quickly, but she knew that her eyes were probably red and swollen; she couldn't hide that.

"Mercy," her mom tried again, and the little girl opened her eyes at the sound of her voice. It was becoming strained, as if she were holding tears back as well. Mercy focused on the werewolf bond, finding that her mother was feeling fear, regret, and guilt. "I can help you. I can answer all your questions just, please, let me in."

Mercy's eyes softened. Her mother always had a soft spot for the younger of the two twins, maybe because of the girl's inclination to her werewolf side. But either way, she knew that her mom was hurting now, and she probably had been like this the entire night. Her pain matched her child's, and with a small sigh, Mercy flicked her wrist toward the door.

It unlocked and fell open, revealing Hayley in the threshold. Mercy studied her mother closely, seeing that she had deep bags under her eyes—the child wondered if her mom had slept at all last night. She was leaning against the frame, as if she would fall any moment, but when the door opened, she immediately straightened and schooled her features. Mercy wondered if she got that trait from her mom or her dad; they were both fantastic liars.

Hayley moved forward, immediately coming to Mercy's side on the ground. A few papers shuffled and moved as she bent down on one knee, reaching out as if to bring her daughter in for a hug.

Mercy raised a hand, her own features blank despite the obvious stains that the tears had left. Hayley stopped, looking confused and more lost than Mercy had ever seen her. A flash of hurt crossed her eyes before that, too, was gone.

"I want to talk first," Mercy said quietly, happy that her voice didn't crack. She knew that if she allowed her mother to hold her that she would only break down under the pressures and problems once more, and she couldn't do that. She needed to know what her mom had to say before she did anything else.

Hayley nodded, swallowing thickly as she sat back on her butt next to Mercy. "Ask me anything," she declared honestly.

Mercy stared at her mom for a long moment before she finally asked. "Are we the bad ones?" she spoke, seeing her mother unable to conceal her surprise. "The entire time we've been in New Orleans, we've been worrying about the Hollow, about what it could do to us," Mercy continued, looking away from her mom to stare into the floor of the attic. "She lies, and she kills, and she doesn't care about the consequences of her actions. She feeds off of dark emotions." The little girl paused. "I guess I just never realized until now that our family isn't much different than her."

"Mercy—" Hayley started, but the girl wasn't finished. She spoke again, not making a move in her body or in her face. Hayley was almost afraid by her empty expression.

"I saw the way that Dad made Uncle Kol afraid," she explained. "I knew that fear from somewhere, from someone. I understood it, but it wasn't the Hollow standing there. It was Dad." She sighed, bringing her knees closer to her chest slowly. "And always and forever? It didn't apply there, so how does it apply at all? You can't just make exceptions to something like that. So, Mom, I'm asking again. Are we the bad guys in Uncle Kol's story? Is our family villains in other people's? Do they have a right to feel afraid of us?"

Mercy's memories flashed back to Noah's Uncle Parker, of the way he had pushed Noah behind him when he saw Elijah and Mercy on his front porch. The way that he had glared and stated that vampires weren't welcome. The way that his hands shook even as he displayed a brave face.

Hayley was silent at the words, unprepared for such deep and complex questions to come from her daughter, who was still so young. It took a moment for her to respond, but Mercy was patient, sitting still and quiet, something much different than her usual outgoing behavior. Hayley's heart cracked at the sight.

Eventually, she sighed. "Your father..." she trailed off, unsure where to start. "He's gone through a lot in his life. Living for as long as he has, he's been through heartache and betrayal and pain ten times over." Hesitantly, she placed a hand on Mercy's small shoulder. "He's been hurt for a long time, and it'll take a long time to heal it."

Mercy glanced up at the words, her face remaining unreadable. Hayley thought that Mercy would cry, but it never happened; she stayed emotionless. "I don't believe you," she whispered. "I believe we're all monsters, every single one of us. Even me and Hope." She looked away from her mom's face, shaking her head. "And deep inside, I think we deserve what we're getting."

"Mercy Mikaelson!" Hayley grabbed her daughter harshly, her eyes angry but also scared. Her daughter was saying things that should never come out of a seven year old's mouth. "It's not like that, it's never been like that! You don't understand—"

"No I understand perfectly," Mercy ripped herself out of Hayley's arms and stood up. She was now over her mother, staring down into eyes so similar to her own. The little girl's gaze softened. "I wish I could make you understand," she whispered again, her voice almost too quiet to be heard. "The wolves have taught me a lot, but nothing more than the purity of a bloodline. The importance of your ancestors passing down whatever they had created to the next generation, and the cycle continues. But all that our family has created for me and Hope is death and destruction and terror!" Her voice grew louder, but Hayley was just glad to see some kind of emotion in her daughter's face, even if it was anger. "Even from your side!" she pointed an accusing finger at her. "We're directly connected to the Hollow, who's done even worse than Dad and his siblings, and that's saying a lot!"

Hayley was speechless. She didn't know what to say or how to convince her daughter against the words she was speaking. After having just debated her own relationship to Elijah and the safety of her children in this family, she couldn't deny Mercy's claims. She had thought almost all of the same things when she was first pregnant.

Mercy shook her head sadly, and Hayley realized just how much older her daughter looked, standing over her with such complex emotions pouring out of her. She didn't know Mercy could even think like this, but it was clear that she had underestimated her daughter's abilities to handle such complicated things as the Mikaelson family. She was smart, and she could see straight through any and all of Hayley's arguments.

"Me and Hope will end up following the exact same path of our family," Mercy declared as if it were a known fact. "And you know it too."

Without another word, Mercy turned and left her mother in shock, her jaw open but words unable to be formed. The little girl didn't look back as she walked away.

Mercy couldn't take it anymore. She didn't need the comforts of her mother, who was as guilty as the rest of her family when it came to having blood on her hands. No, Mercy needed her sister, the only one who could truly understand even a fraction of what she was going through.

She rushed through the now familiar halls to her and Hope's shared room, but she could've never been prepared for what she found. She abruptly stopped in the doorway, her eyes growing wide when she saw her sister standing over the body of their Aunt Rebekah, a piece of wood poking up from her aunt's back, where her heart would be.

"Hope?" Mercy asked as her twin looked up at her. "What happened?"

Hope smiled a strange smile, a look that Mercy had never seen on her twin's face before. She moved around Rebekah with slow, deliberate steps, like a cat's. Her hands hung at her sides confidently, and as much as Mercy loved her sister, she knew that Hope was much too shy to stand like that.

"I was wondering when you would show up," her sister said, but her voice was void of feeling; the sincerity that had been there the day before was now gone like the flash of a picture. "I was quite disappointed to not find you at my side when I woke up."

She spoke of the spell that she helped Uncle Kol with, but her words were even more unlike her than her movements. Hope didn't say things like "quite disappointed," and she surely didn't ever tell Mercy whenever she was upset with her. No, Mercy would've had to get her true feelings out after weeks of asking and begging her twin to explain what the younger one had done wrong.

Mercy's eyes narrowed. "It's you," she said instead of replying to her sister's statement, or at least, she had the face of her sister. "Inadu."

"You've grown since the last time we met," Hope, or rather the Hollow, spoke wryly, mocking the girl. Mercy remembered what she spoke of: when Mercy had carelessly interrupted the spell that would've ended with the sacrificing of four kids. Mercy had distracted the Hollow for enough time that her father and Marcel could break free of the circle that had encased them. It ended up being useless either way; the Hollow still got what she wanted. "So much more maturity in a face so young."