Chapter Text
Notes on the child.
I told Jocelyn that the child was dead the moment it left her. Relief seemed to flood her face before she fainted. Though the pregnancy and birth was not nearly as traumatic as it was with Jonathan, it seems her fears of it being like him were still present.
True, the child looks as he does, almost as if they were twins, separated only by the time of which they were born.
White blonde hair like my own - but dark eyes that reflect one’s soul. That, of course, it recieves from the blood of Sammael, the beloved of it’s brother’s blood mother. But it is frail. Weak. It was not difficult to convince Jocelyn it was dead because it could not even muster up the ability to wail as it entered this world. That it recieves from the angel that refuses to yield to me even now. I believed that giving a child a mixture of both demonic and angelic blood in the womb of a Nephilim could perhaps circumvent the inevitability of a child born of a demon and a Nephilim or angel.. But it would appear my efforts were for naught. I doubt this thing will survive much longer.
Oddly, it’s presence seems to be the one thing that can quell Jonathan’s emerging… traits. He is calmer when it’s present, but that alone is not worth keeping such an abomination alive. I have spoken to Hodge and he will dispose of it - simply looking at it makes me feel such utter revulsion for obscenity I created.
Because of that, I allowed Jocelyn to name the thing. It hardly deserves the name Seraphina.
So of course she named it after him. Lucian. ‘Her name will be Luciana’ she said, ‘To honor him.’ Filth. But it does not matter, for soon it will join Lucian in death as the disgrace that it is.
Breathlessly, the red-haired woman checked her reflection in the window of the store she passed by - relieved that her glamour still held, masking her true appearance. Clutched tightly against her, fast asleep was a baby - small enough that she could hold it against her in one arm and she was grateful that the pale haired newborn never seemed to have the strength to complain as other babes did.
As the Institute came into sight, she let out a sigh of relief - it had never truly felt like a ‘home’ but after the things she had seen, heard - the insanity of Valentine laid bare, she had never been more happy to see it, firm in the choice she had made.
“Alright, Luciana,” she whispered kneeling on the steps, “I’m leaving you here, as someone else, so they don’t know it was me that stole you away and left you here. It would raise too many questions. But I’ll be right back, as Oleta. Try to pretend you don’t know me, okay?”
The baby gave a weak yawn in response, eyes fluttering open and for a moment Oleta paused, gazing down into the black eyes wondering if she had made the right choice.
“Kill it. Burn the body. It’s of no use to me. It is as they say, demonic and angelic cannot mix, it is an affront to the Maker and the Angel. Jocelyn is already mourning the abomination. I will be taking Jonathan out tomorrow, so do it then.”
Frail babbling shook her away from remembering Valentine’s cold words, and she looked down again - seeing the baby cooing up at her, and despite her dark eyes - there was something nearly cherubic and sweet about her face.
It was the right choice. Valentine was wrong. Because Luciana was alive, despite everything. She was still alive, even now - and she had survived the journey from Idris, and survived the protection Oleta had placed upon her to keep them both safe. Whatever he had done to Jocelyn while she was pregnant had done something to the child - she was small, and sickly, yes. But she was a fighter - and despite those dark eyes, Oleta knew her mother had given her the right name. Luciana, light - and deep within the little babe there was a light that fought to keep her alive.
“Okay. Alright. I will be right back. Like I said - pretend you don’t recognize me, got it?” she said softly, making sure the note she had forged was safely tucked into the blankets.
Carefully she stepped back, away from the bundle and turned around to duck away somewhere hidden to remove the spell she had cast to conceal her identity so she could return to the steps of the LA Institute as who she was: Oleta Blackthorn, a family name that had never truly been hers, but now she held it close as a shield to protect herself and the child she had stolen away.