Sienna's heart felt like it had been replaced by a heavy stone as she discovered her mother's lifeless body, discarded on the footpath leading to their home. The initial shock of the discovery was quickly replaced by a wave of grief, mingled with the unsettling sight of her mother's partially decomposed face, frozen in a mask of fear. The knowledge that her mother had been killed swiftly provided little solace, overshadowed by the haunting image etched into Sienna's memory.
The carriage, now a somber vessel, carried her mother's body back to the place they once called home. The journey was marked by an oppressive silence, broken only by the creaking of the carriage.
Sienna dug a grave near the east end of the property, where another small grave – a child's grave – had already settled, yellow flowers blooming among green grass. No questions were asked about the other occupant of that grave, a silent acknowledgment that whoever rested there would now rest beside her mother.
Elijah and Klaus both moved to help her dig the grave, but she insisted upon doing it herself. She needed to carry this weight alone, and they could only respect that.
As the shovel but into the earth, and with each scoop, she would see another memory of her mother in her mind. Good and bad flashes of the past flooded her mind in a cadence with the grave she dug.
Her mother, pale blonde hair falling around her face as she bent over the garden, pointing at something in the soil as she spoke. She was in teacher-mode, delivering a lengthy monologue, brows knit together in the seriousness of her lecture. Sienna looked as if she was listening attentively, nodding when appropriate, but she was not really listening.
Her mother knew this – she could see it in the way her eyes glazed over and her back slouched. She stopped suddenly and frown, then whacked Sienna on the top of the head: "Pay attention! This is important!" she scolded.
Another shovel, another memory.
Lying in bed with baby Rory, her mother sitting beside them, smelling of strawberries. Her slender fingers ran themselves through Sienna's hair as she sang old lullabies to them. Her voice small and beautiful, just like her.
Another shovel, another memory.
Throwing herself on top of Rory, Sienna tensed as her father continued to stomp down on them with his heavy boot. Rory was bloody and unconscious, and Sienna could feel each hammer blow ignite intense pain on her skin and in her bones. She kept her body as stiff as she could, trying to absorb all the impact and protect Rory. "Momma!" she cried for help. She was barely 12 years old.
Her mother only looked back for a moment, a cold indifference on her face as she took in the sight of the brutal beating her husband was inflicting on her children. She said nothing, and turned back to continue whatever it was she was doing in the garden.
Another memory.
Standing behind her mother, only seven years old, clutching her thin blue dress. Her mother stood squarely; a large kitchen knife held out in front of her. For such a small woman, she looked so strong in that moment, standing against the three thieves threatening them in their home.
Another memory.
Sienna was young, maybe four or five. Her father threw her into the air and caught her, then repeated that a few more times. Sienna giggled with glee, arms and legs spread out, loving the feeling of flying. Her mother laughed below them, her blonde hair and blue dress flowing behind her with each gust of spring air. Her laugh was so delicate and feminine.
Suddenly, her father stopped throwing her and grabbed her mother around the waist, pulling her close. He planted a deep kiss on her, which she returned affectionately. Then, so suddenly, she grabbed Sienna from her husband. Her fingers danced across Sienna's little body, tickling her in all the right spots.
Sienna, her mother, and her father, laughed, completely swept up in the joy of their little family.
So many memories…
Sienna was a teenager, sobbing quietly into her mother's chest. Her mother rubbed her back, her own silent tears running down her stone-cold face. "Please, Momma, we have to fight back," Sienna pleaded. "If father knew what they were doing – "
"Hush," she hissed. "Your father can never know – do you hear me?" she grabbed Sienna's face and held it in her hands, her blue eyes boring into Sienna's golden ones. "Never."
Knock, knock, knock. Sienna tensed, pushing herself closer to her mother. "Please, Momma – I can fight."
"Just close your eyes and imagine you're somewhere else, okay?"
Sienna's emotions seemed to suffocate her as she dug the grave. A mixture of grief, anger, betrayal, misery with washed over her with every memory. Her mother was not perfect. Their life was not perfect. But she dug the grave with care, because in the end, she deserved more than the fate she had met.
When the grave was dug, she placed her mother's body inside gently, but left it open. She would fill in the grave with Rory, later.
She then went to the spot they'd abandoned her father's body. Already, flies buzzed around his cold and stiff corpse. Looking at him now, with the dirt still under her fingernails and the sweat on her brow from digging her mother's grave, all she could feel was hate. She wanted him as far away from her family's graves as she could get him. He didn't deserve a burial; he didn't deserve to rest in the same plane as any of them anymore.
"And what would you like to do with him?" It was Klaus, lingering not far behind her. Observing her, intrigued by whatever decision she was going to make next.
Sienna clutched her fists, her body reverberating with the growing rage inside her. The guilt she felt earlier for killing him had washed away with every shovel of her mother's grave, leaving only a shell of resentment and disappointment where fond memories of him had once persisted.
"I want him to burn," she replied, her voice cold and far away. For a moment, it was unclear if she was referring to hell or cremation. "Turn him to ash, so nothing is left of him."
Klaus' expression was a mixture of understanding and approval. He liked that answer. "I do love a good bonfire," he quipped, then retreated to find the necessary kindling. It didn't take long for them to collect, to place her father in the center of the pit. Again, she didn't light it.
As dawn drew closer, Rory was woken to join his sister for a makeshift funeral service.
When they burned their father, not a word was said.
When they buried their mother, not a word was said.
They just held each other tightly, the last of their broken family, and unable to deny the relief they felt inside, too.
The Mikaelson siblings observed them at a respectful distance, quiet, trying to imagine the moment they would burn their father and finally put their past to rest, too.