The secret Mikaelson child

Home sweet home, I think?

Some people call it destiny, fate, predestination. I call it coincidence, I don't have the privilege to believe in things such things.

Being back here in New Orleans, is-it's surreal to me, I was born here, however me and my mother moved to London a few months after my birth, work opportunities she called it, I knew the real reason, she was running, I tried to question it, I was a curious kid, after a while I gave up, figured it was best to leave it in the past. Now here we are, back in the very city we ran from.

Her father, my grandfather had recently passed away, we moved back to help the family.

"Y/n, come on I need you to help me bring the rest of the boxes in."

"Coming."

She looked tired, if I didn't know better I would've said it was because of the 13 hour flight we were on, but in reality it was because after 16 years, she's being forced to return and face what or who she ran from.

Looking up she inspected the room we were standing in, then directing her focus at me she sighed " have your dress set up for tomorrow, then go and change, we're going to your grandmothers house,"

"Mum, are you sure you're ready to-"

"I'm fine, I need to do this y/n, besides, it's high time you meet your family"

I'm pretty sure I was visibly shaking as I walked away, I've never spoken to my family before, my mum never talked to them again after we moved, her dad dying was the first time she had any contact with them. I always imagined what they'd be like, were they nice?, or were they wicked?, anything to help me try and understand why my mum uprooted us from her home, from everything she had known and move us halfway across the world. I also wondered if they would like me, would they be accepting of me?
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"Okay... Nope, no this won't do."
Frustrated I paced towards my scarcely filled wardrobe, reaching in and gliding my fingers across the twelve hangers that held the items that I bothered to unpack.

Making the decision on a jean skirt paired with the same cropped hoodie I previously chose but this time in a crimson red, I marched over to the wall near my bedroom door examining myself in the full length mirror, I stood in the corner of my barely decorated bedroom irritated by the fact I couldn't make something as simple as a decision on what to wear.

After anxiously shrugging on my jean mini skirt and cropped hoodie I then tied my curly 4b hair in a messy top bun and laid down my edges, walking myself out of my room and down the creaky 1920 style metal staircase. It only took me until I was downstairs and about to walk out the door until realising that I was missing something,

My shoes!

"Mum have you seen my converses?"

Frantically searching the foyer for my missing converses, my mother walks in looking at me whilst I was on all fours head burrowed underneath the coffee table we converted to also hold a shoe rack underneath, she was staring down at me like I was a madman.

"I don't know, have you checked upstairs?"

"No..." I mumbled out

"How about you go check upstairs and I'll check in the kitchen?"

"Right." Darting back upstairs I swing open my bedroom door and instantly throw myself on the floor directly near my bed, with a clear view underneath twisting my head in every different angle known to man, with no luck found I walk towards my bedroom window where the box with all my shoes are located, halfway through rummaging through the contents of the box I give up and stick on a pair of suede red booties.

Making my way into the foyer my mother turns towards me whilst putting on her jacket "You find them?"

"No, I gave up and put on something else, figured you'd rather leave sooner than later"

"Smart girl" she hummed as she opened the front door.

Confusion washed over me like a tidal wave when I noticed my mother going in a different direction than me, "aren't we taking the car?" I asked using my hand to cover my eyes, it was midday but the sun was glaring down straining my eyesight.

"Why would we? Honey we're in the french quarter, it's much better to walk everywhere"

We walked for what seemed like forever, however there was such a difference between the french quarter in New Orleans and the town I grew up in from London. The atmosphere was different, in every corner you'd turn you could hear jazz music and people cheering, the laughter, it's a complete contrast from London, where all you'd hear is traffic and people swearing at each other over anything and everything.

Maybe it wouldn't be too bad here.

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