This is the story of a girl called Astrid, and it starts with a prophecy.
A prophecy of a life that is not hers but one that will be forced upon her nonetheless.But prophecy are always up to those you believed them, and Astrid didn't think further o...
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My mother had never spoken much about her pregnancy with me, neither did my father. And did I ask.
But as I stand outside the Mikaelson hovel with a belly the size of a melon, I can't help but wonder what experiences they wrestled with during those long nine months.
This pregnancy had been something of a bumpy ride.
At first both Esther and Mikael were mad when they learnt the truth about the child I was carrying. It wasn't just the fact of my condition, though, that had riffled their feathers. I was unmarried, and the father—well, it was one of their four sons.
"A child?" Mikael roared, his voice echoing in the stone walls, reverberating the harsh truth. "In such a time as this? You bring this curse upon us?"
Esther's anger was less of the fiery sort, more of a slow burn.
Her eyes, always so full of warmth and understanding, had gone cold the moment the words slipped from my lips. She didn't say much, just turned back to her tasks until I felt like an intruder in their family home.
It was such a sharp contrast to the love and acceptance they had lavished on me before this.
"That child is not a curse, it is a blessing," she would say, her fingers tracing the wooden table in a way that suggested she was holding back a lot more than words. "But the circumstances... they are far from ideal."
The next morning, they held a meeting with their sons to decide what should be done.
Esther and Mikael sat at the head of a long, wooden table, polished to a smooth shine. Their sons - Elijah, Niklaus, Finn, and Kol - ranged around them, their expressions sombre under the weight of the situation.
"Before we begin," Mikael started, his voice gruff yet holding a note of seriousness. "I want you four to remember, this is not a pawn's game. This is about our family, our honour." His eyes swept over his sons, pausing at each of them, evaluating their reactions.
The Mikaelson boys, having grown up with a code of honour instilled by their father, were a sight to behold - grim-faced and brooding.
I watched from the shadows, gripping my swollen belly, and holding my breath as Esther began to speak.
"We must determine," she said, her voice steady and measured, "which one of you is responsible."
The silence that followed was deafening. None of the brothers dared to meet her gaze. Instead, they kept their eyes fixed on me as though they knew I was there the whole time.
"Responsibility," she continued, "is not a burden. It is an honour. You four have been raised knowing this, and as such, I expect one of you to step forward."
Again, silence reigned in the room. The only sound was the soft creaking of the wooden beams overhead.
Esther's gaze was as hard as steel, her voice a soft whisper that carried a weight greater than any shout. "Speak now," she commanded, "for if the time for confession is not now, it will never come."
