white flag | hope mikaelson

chapter eight

(When the Saints Go Marching In 5.13)

Lilah frowns as she realizes they've been here before— her lingering outside the door, feeling the waves of sadness radiating off of the Mikaelson. Except this time, the room was unnervingly silent.

"Hope?" Lilah calls softly as she enters the room. Her lips twitch into a sad smile when Hope gazes at her from the bed, the dried tracks of tears the only sign that she'd ever been crying.

Hope doesn't reply, moving from the middle of the bed onto one of the sides. Lilah rounds the free side of the bed and slides under the covers, turning toward Hope. "How are you feeling?" Her voice comes out a whisper.

Hope swallows thickly, "empty."

Lilah moves her hand, lightly threading their fingers together. "Can I tell you something?"

Hope nods, eager for the distraction.

"The reason I don't, um, spend a lot of time with Caroline is—" the Saltzman pauses, her eyes meeting Hope's. "Caroline isn't my Mom."

Hope's lips part in shocked confusions. "That's not possible, you're— you're a triplet, Lilah."

Lilah heaves a sigh. "After Jo died, Dad needed something to keep him going. He needed a reason to live— to fight for happiness again. A few weeks after her death, he got a call from an old friend of hers. See, she had— she had a baby, but she couldn't keep it. She said she was going away, and that, um, it wasn't possible for the baby to come with. Dad met the woman and they talked— for hours, is what he told me. He said by the end of it, he felt like this was his chance. To do right by Jo, and, um, do right by me."

"You were the baby?" Hope questions in awe, her eyes wide.

"Yeah," Lilah whispers meekly. "Caroline got pregnant with the twins not long after, so they created a story that wouldn't be questioned. We were close enough in age that if anyone outside of their inner circle asked, they could be easily persuaded to believe I was a biological Saltzman."

"Is that why you can't do magic?" Hope wonders, squeezing Lilah's fingers between hers.

"Yeah," Lilah hums. "A few weeks after Dad took me back to Mystic Falls with him, my biological mother sent him a letter. It only had one word on it: Coldwell. Her last name,"

Hope squints at nothing in particular, "Coldwell?" She murmurs.

"Dad's been looking for years, but it's just a blank slate. There's nothing about the Coldwell's anywhere."

Hope furrows her eyebrows, "how did he figure out your magic was—"

A shy smile graces Lilah's lips, "I did magic once," she says it like a secret.

Hope's eyes glimmer as she grins, "really?"

Lilah nods. "It was when the school first opened," she begins. "We had a green house full of so many flowers and plants. Dad never hired anyone to take care of them so they just...died." Her face falls. "I remember walking in and just being so sad. I was around four, I think. I was so young but I— in that moment, I knew that it resembled more than dead flowers. It was a lack of life— a lack of hope within the walls of the school. It felt a little like becoming in tune with nature. Every little flower I brought back became a part of me. I've never— it was something I've never felt before."

"Your Dad got upset?"

"He was more concerned," Lilah tells the Mikaelson. "Although he couldn't find anything on the Coldwell's, he remembered a brief conversation he had with Jo. He said she'd gotten word that her friend was pregnant, and that— and that he had never seen her look more terrified than when she got that call. Jo never said anything specifically but she'd say things about that poor baby and so much dark magic in that family. It just...unsettled him that I was able to bring back a whole green house of flowers without practice, or— or even learning any magic."

"I don't think your magic is dark," Hope murmurs softly, moving closer to the girl. "It can't be— not with how you're so gentle."

Lilah blushes, pressing her face into the pillow.

"Is it okay if I fall asleep?" Hope yawns.

"Yeah," Lilah cuddles into the blankets. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Hope gives her a fond look, "I don't doubt it."