IN WHICH - The last thing that Hope Mikaelson expected when she came out of Malivore was to still be alive, the second last thing she expected was to be disowned by most of her living family, and the final last thing she expected was some ancient be...
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THIRD PERSON POV
CHAPTER 35
The sun beamed softly through the cellblock windows, painting the concrete floor with stripes of golden light. Hope sat on a padded bench, cradling baby Judith Faith in her arms, rocking gently to soothe the infant's soft whimpers. A heavy weariness hung around her shoulders—too many days without proper sleep, too many new wounds, and a heartbreak she was still grappling with. Yet, she held Judith with remarkable tenderness, as though the child's tiny presence were a balm against the darkest corners of her grief.
Merle lurked by the opposite wall, arms crossed, gaze locked on Hope and the baby. He'd been quieter than usual since the night of carnage, his sharp tongue muted by the horrifying truth of his nature. Blood still stained the edges of his clothes—though his injuries from Hope had healed, the memories lingered like fresh bruises on his mind.
"You keep saying you tore through those people," Hope began softly, watching him with a solemn gaze. "You talk about not being able to control yourself—about going into a frenzy where everything around you was just... food."
Merle's lips pressed into a tight line. He swallowed hard, folding his arms defensively. "Don't gotta remind me," he muttered, voice laced with both shame and anger. "You saw what happened outside. Saw the blood."
Hope sighed, pushing her hair back. "Yes, I did. And you're not the first vampire I've seen slip into that state," she said, recalling her knowledge from her former world. "It's called being a Ripper."
Merle frowned, brow creasing. "Ripper," he echoed quietly, as though tasting the word on his tongue. "What the hell does that mean, exactly?"
"It's a specific kind of vampire bloodlust," Hope explained. Her tone wasn't reproachful, just steady. "It's intense. Overpowering. When you're in that blood haze, you don't see friends, family, or foes—everyone is just prey." She paused, recalling her own experiences. "I've seen it before. It's brutal and uncontrollable. Not every vampire is like that, but you are."
Merle's jaw clenched, and he glanced away. "So I'm some kinda freak among freaks," he muttered bitterly.
Hope's eyes softened. "It's not about being a freak, Merle. It's about having a condition—an extreme form of bloodlust that you can't just switch off." She hesitated, guilt welling inside her. "And... it didn't help that I let the initial spell fade when I was out for two months."
His eyes flicked to her, brow knitting in confusion. "Spell?"
She nodded, stepping forward slightly. "Yes. I cast a spell to dull your cravings—to keep you from tipping over into that Ripper state. But it wore off when I was unconscious after the farm fight, and I never renewed it. I... I forgot." The admission weighed on her chest, tears threatening. "I was so consumed by everything else—building a place for us, getting everything set up, the people we lost... it slipped my mind."
