Chapter Text
There is a parasite growing inside her, Meeka knows. Something rotten, decayed, taking up space in her womb and eating away at her organs. She had done a spell in the early hours of the morning, aching to find out whether her child is female or male. She's still in the early stages of pregnancy, so the spell wasn’t one hundred percent accurate, but she’s fairly sure that the baby in her tummy is a girl.
Meeka does not want a girl. She does not want to be pregnant at all, but she must, for the sake of the coven, but the fate for her daughter is much worse than the aches and pains she’ll have to endure to be pregnant and bring glory to the coven.
The babe is a girl, she knows. No matter how much she tries to deny it, tries to ignore all the signs pointing to ‘yes’ that the spell gives her, ignores her husband asking if she had used magic today. She will bring shame to the coven, not glory, if her babe is a girl.
Her parents are adamant that her babe is a boy, that she will bring glory by birthing the first-born son of this generation, like they did for their generation. They say that the bloodline is pure, and that their ancestors wouldn’t let them down now. But Meeka knows that all bloodlines in the coven are pure; brother marrying sister, parents marrying their children if their spouse dies. Uncles and nieces, aunts and nephews, cousins and cousins are acceptable, but siblings are preferred.
Meeka had gotten a glimpse of what the world outside of the coven was like when she was eight, and she had ached for it ever since. She doesn’t want to be married to her twin brother, she doesn’t want to be pregnant with his child, she wants to be free. Free from the coven, free from glory and disappointment, free from hunts and slaughter. She’s only thirteen.
Meeka can feel the scathing looks from across the room, her mother being able to smell the magic on her probably. She’s not supposed to cast spells while pregnant, it could harm the baby. She doesn’t want the baby; the rotten parasite growing in her womb.
“Meeka, we have visitors today, at least try and not be as bitter as you usually are.” Her mother says pleasantly, eating her breakfast slowly.
“Can’t help it, Mother, my name literally means ‘bitter’.” Meeka responds, rolling her eyes.
“Put the attitude away, your name means ‘sea of bitterness’, stop twisting it.” Her mother says, placing her cutlery down stiffly.
“Same thing,” Meeka huffs, standing up.
“Sit down, young lady.” Her father demands, the lights flickering with his magic.
“Sit down, please, Meeka,” Her husband tries, softer than her father, but still demanding.
“Keep her away from our visitors, we don’t need her attitude getting us all killed.” Her father demands of her mother.
“Frederick, they want to see all of our family.” Her mother says.
“Gemma, they can’t always get what they want.” Frederick denies. “Go to your room.”
Meeka rolls her eyes and walks off up the stairs, ignoring her husband following her. When she gets to their shared room, however, he grabs her and pins her harshly against the wall.
“Drop the attitude,” He growls, “I don’t need Father getting mad at us.”
“Get your hands off of me.” Meeka grunts.
“Meeka, don’t make me punish you.” He warns.
“Get your hands off of me, Mike .” Meeka rolls her eyes, pushing against her brother’s hold.
“Father said the visitors are in need of magic, he said that maybe I will be the one they pick for the job. I don’t need your attitude ruining that for me.” Mike warns, pushing her against the wall harder.
“They know what the real world is like, they won’t stand for what’s going on inside this coven.” Meeka laughs bitterly.
“You’ve seen the outside?” Mike asks softly, letting her go.
“It’s beautiful, Mike. None of this glory and disappointment, none of the hunts and slaughter of our own kind. Sure, there is bad parts about it, but it’s better than this miserable existence.” Meeka offers, allowing the awe she’s always felt for the outside world slip into her words.
“I have to tell Father.” Mike shakes his head.
“Don’t,” Meeka begs.
“I have to. But not right now, after the visitors have gone.” Mike gives her a soft, disapproving look, walking off down the stairs.
Meeka stays in her room, reading through the grimoires her family have collected. After at least an hour, she hears a knock at the door and doesn’t hear anyone get up to go get it, so she huffs, grumbling about ‘making the pregnant girl do everything’, and goes downstairs to open the door.
When she does, she’s greeted by a blond man and a beautiful dark-skinned witch.
“Hello,” Meeka says lowly, giving them both questioning looks.
“Hello, Sweetheart,” the blond man says curiously, “May I inquire as to where your parents are?”
“You’re the visitors?” Meeka asks, slightly unimpressed.
“Yes,” The witch says kindly.
“Mr Mikaelson, Miss Martin, it’s a pleasure to see you,” Frederick simpers, placing a hand on Meeka’s shoulder. “Go to your room, Meeka.”
Meeka rolls her eyes and goes to wander off, until she’s interrupted by Mr Mikaelson speaking up.
“I believe I asked to see your whole family, Mr Jaspers.” He says falsely understanding.
“She’s only thirteen,” Frederick counters bluntly.
“So is your son, and I can hear him in the living room.” Mr Mikaelson says, dropping his fake smile.
“She has no magic,” Frederick argues instead.
“She has plenty, Mr Jaspers,” Miss Martin says easily. “In fact, from what’s coming off of her core, she has a lot more than you do.”
“How dare you?” Frederick snarls, stepping forward.
“I know all about your coven, or should I say, rather, cult , Mr Jaspers,” Miss Martin explains, “You think women’s magic is inferior to men’s, when in reality, a witch’s magic is almost always more powerful than a warlock’s.”
“Get out of my house.” Frederick growls, the lights flickering.
“Dad,” Meeka starts.
“Not now, Meeka. Get out!” Frederick waves off, smacking Meeka on the shoulder in an attempt to get her away from the other witch.
“Now, now, Mr Jaspers, we had a deal, you would hate for me to take something of yours instead of the deal, like, let’s say, your life?” Mr Mikaelson offers charmingly, clasping his hands together in front of his hips. Meeka has to hold in a laugh.
“Now, can we come in or shall my friend here relieve you of your head in front of your lovely daughter?” Miss Martin smiles sweetly.
“Come in.” Frederick growls reluctantly. “Meeka, go.”
“No, she stays.” Miss Martin orders. Mr Mikaelson steps his foot in the door, entering Meeka’s family’s wards, and then she can sense the magic coming off of him.
It’s old, ancient even. It’s laced with love, devotion and determination, but also with grief, longing and regret. Meeka can tell it’s not his magic, it’s a spell on him, but there’s also another spell on him, a black one. Meeka can sense the emotions the witch who cast the spell’s emotions; regret, disgust and guilt.
He’s not a witch, well, he might have been one, once, but whatever he is now cancels it out. But it’s also plausible that the magic she senses on him is a family member’s magic. They end up the backyard, Meeka’s mother fawning over her as a shield. They’ve already seen how the patriarch of the family treats his daughter, they can’t see how the rest of the family treat her, Meeka supposes.
The rest of the coven meander out into the giant conjoined backyard they all share, watching with bated breath as the visitors watch them all.
“You need a warlock to help with breaking the curse placed on you, correct?” Frederick sighs, facing Mr Mikaelson.
“Witch or warlock, it doesn’t matter to me. Though, lovely Miss Martin will choose, as she has the best judgement.” Mr Mikaelson smiles. Meeka likes his smile; it dimples his cheeks.
“We only offer up warlocks, I’m afraid.” One of the other coven members speaks up, Gavin, Meeka thinks is his name.
“You’ve got perfectly good witches here, especially young Miss Jaspers over there,” Miss Martin smiles, gesturing towards Meeka, who’s absently twisting a small section of her hair. All eyes are on her now, and she shrinks silently.
“You’re not taking my daughter.” Frederick growls.
“That’s not up to you, Mr Jaspers,” Mr Mikaelson says, almost friendly.
“She’s my daughter!” Frederick yells. It starts a coven-wide yelling matching and Meeka shrinks back, but it doesn’t stop the noise, and she can feel herself becoming overwhelmed, which is bad. When she gets overwhelmed, her magic lashes out, and has destroyed rooms before. No one else in the coven has had that badly controlled magic before.
Meeka tries to calm herself down by covering her ears and closing her eyes, but the feeling of touch just overwhelms her more, and she’s struggling really hard to keep her magic controlled so she doesn’t end up accidentally levelling the backyard.
Suddenly there’s a scream, and Meeka can’t tell if it’s from her or her mother. They do sound terribly alike. It all goes silent, then, and Meeka hesitantly lifts her hands off of her ears, standing up straight, but she gets a sharp cramp in her stomach, and it pushes her to the floor. When she looks up, she’s horrified at the sight.
There are headless bodies all over the backyard, brains squished into the grass and blood splattered everywhere. Worst of all, Mike is closer to her than she thought he was, obviously he had been in the process of trying to get to her.
Mike and the visitors are the only ones who didn’t get their heads imploded, but the visitors are unharmed completely, Mike is not. His throat has been blown open, and he’s actively choking on his own blood, his hand reaching out to try and get to Meeka still.
Meeka lets out a keening cry and ignores the horrible cramping in her stomach to crawl towards her brother. When she reaches him, she sits up and cradles his head in her lap.
“I’m sorry,” Meeka gasps, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”
Mike reaches his hand up shakily, aiming for her cheeks to wipe away her tears like he did when they were little, but his hand doesn’t make it, it drops lifelessly onto the bloodied grass and Meeka sobs.
She doubles over his dead body when the cramps in her stomach become worse.
Meeka is shaken out of her grief and pain by Miss Martin coming to kneel behind her, approaching her as if she’s a cornered animal.
“I didn’t mean to.” Meeka whispers.
“I know.” Miss Martin sighs.
“Are we going?” Mr Mikaelson asks unpleasantly.
“Klaus, we can’t just leave her.” Miss Martin protests.
“We’re not. You needed another witch’s help, right?” Klaus sighs, rolling his eyes.