The Mikaelsons Family Tree

I always thought my wife was just an ordinary "brother-loving sister," the kind who would do anything for her brother. But one night, I watched in frozen horror as she dismembered her brother in our storage room. Then, as if nothing had happened, she turned and looked straight at me. She flashed her usual gentle smile. "Honey," she called softly, her voice sweet and familiar—exactly the same as always.

After my daughter, Mia Powell, was declared brain-dead, my husband, Liam Powell, urged me to sign the organ donation consent form. I was drowning in grief and my mind was on the verge of collapse. That was when I accidentally discovered that her attending doctor, Blair Lincoln, was Liam’s old flame. They had lied about Mia’s brain death, just to trick me into signing the form and steal her heart to save Blair’s daughter, Sophia. I watched as Liam picked Sophia up from the hospital. The three of them smiled together, like a perfect, happy family. When I confronted them, they pushed me off a building, and I died from the fall. Given a second chance, I had returned to the day I was supposed to sign the organ donation form. As I stared at Mia lying in that hospital bed, I silently vowed. This time, that scumbag and that wretch would pay with their lives for what they did to Mia.

It's already passed 10pm when she walk along the narrow street to go home from somewhere. While she's walking on the side walk, she suddenly passed on a strange nearby abandoned building near the rainforest not too far from where she is. She stopped from walking when she notice that there was something different on the sky, she didn't know if she was just hallucinating or she just saw a light from it. But in a moment of realization, there was really a light on the sky that opened which she can't bear to stare. It's so painful in the eyes and it's really glamorous. A moment later, the light was vanished and there was a faint cry. The cry bacame louder until she notice that it was a voice of a man. A man who obviously suffering from the most painful thing. She composed herself from what she just saw earlier as she started to walk slowly to the direction where she heard the cry. Her legs brought her at the back of the abandoned building when she heard a heavy breathing behind the big tree as her heart begin to pound. "Is anybody here?" She said as she walk closer to the big tree, when she felt something who passed through her. She didn't recognize if what was it because it was too fast. When she reach the big narra tree, she took a peek on it that made her heart pound more. There was nothing behind the big tree but a blood on the ground with a soaked silky gray beautiful feathers.

When my mind-link request had been ignored by my parents for the twentieth time, I went to the Werewolf Council, clutching the report on silver dust corrosion in my hand. “Hello. I’d like to renounce my pack identity—effective immediately.” Ten minutes later, my parents burst in, dragging my adoptive younger sister, Elsa, with them, panic written all over their faces. The door burst open with a bang, and my Beta father charged in like a storm. His fangs bared, claws twitching. “You’re nothing but a spoiled brat craving attention! Stop this pathetic act. You’re an embarrassment to a Beta’s name!” My mother, a forensic specialist for the pack, immediately snatched the report from my hand. After a brief glance, she let out a cold sneer. “You faked this report just to get our attention? You’ve been a liar since you were a pup.” Elsa clung to both of them, tears in her eyes as she sobbed, “I’m sorry, Jenifer. It’s my fault for holding the shifting ritual. But please... don’t lie to our parents just to make them feel guilty!” Blood was still pouring from my nose, but I wiped it away calmly and stood tall before the werewolf councilors once more. “I haven’t had a real family for a long time. Please—remove all my personal records from the pack. I just don’t want my funeral—scheduled for three days from now—to be delayed.”

Given a new chance at life, upon learning of my husband's supposed death, the first thing I did was to register him as dead. In my previous life, after my husband, Jonah Lloyd, learned that his elder brother, Noah, had died in an accident, he resolved to assume his brother's identity and provide for his widowed sister-in-law. All because the young widow from the city couldn't withstand the gossip of the village. As for me, coming from humble origins, even without my husband, I could survive on my own. When I heard the news, I truly believed that my husband had died in an accident. I was determined to raise our daughter with all my heart. That year, during a blizzard, while his family huddled together and celebrated in the warmth, I was out there fighting over the money after selling my body. I bled out and died in the harsh, cold night. My daughter, Tina, left waiting for me to bring back good, starved to death in the bitter winter. Only after death did I learn that my husband hadn't died. He had spent his entire life in his brother's name, protecting the widow, living to see his children and grandchildren grow old around him. And now, reopening my eyes, I had returned to the very day my husband died in an accident.

My older sister was always kind-hearted, while I was born a natural troublemaker. When the intense heatwave struck, our family stocked up on supplies and stayed indoors. My sister saw a little boy, who seemed about seven or eight years old, crying and asking for help. She decided to take him in. “We’ve plenty of supplies anyway. One more person won’t make much difference. Besides, he’s just a child.” I warned her that the boy looked oddly mature and might not be as innocent as he seemed. I suggested we observe him a bit longer. She said I was a cold-hearted troublemaker by nature. Then, she went and let him in anyway. Not just that, but she also convinced our mother to force me to share a room with the boy. That night, the scheming “little boy” secretly climbed into my bed. I was brutally assaulted. Yet my sister told me to let bygones be bygones and marry him. To force me to obey, she locked me out on the balcony at over 140 °F. Enraged, I set a fire and killed everyone. When I opened my eyes again and saw my sister safe and unharmed, I smiled. This time, I would show them what a troublemaker really was.

Rangga Wiratama, Kepala Desa Sukamukti, mendapati sesuatu yang tak masuk akal terjadi di rumahnya. Sebuah hajatan besar diselenggarakan atas namanya—tanpa seizin, tanpa perintah, dan tanpa penjelasan. Undangan tersebar ke seluruh warga desa dengan satu perintah mutlak: semua wajib hadir dan dilarang pulang sebelum diizinkan. Sejak hari pertama hajatan berlangsung, kejanggalan demi kejanggalan muncul. Musik gamelan yang seharusnya rusak kembali berbunyi. Dapur rumah terkunci dari dalam, menguar bau anyir yang tak wajar. Tamu-tamu berdatangan dengan wajah kosong, patuh tanpa bertanya. Beberapa orang yang hadir… tidak pernah terlihat lagi. Rangga berusaha mencari jawaban, namun setiap pintu informasi tertutup rapat. Para sesepuh desa justru menatapnya seolah ia bagian dari kesepakatan lama yang telah dilupakan. Perlahan, ia menyadari bahwa jabatannya sebagai kepala desa bukan sekadar posisi pemerintahan, melainkan peran penting dalam ritual turun-temurun yang mengikat seluruh desa. Hajatan itu ternyata adalah bagian dari janji leluhur—sebuah perjanjian kelam untuk menjaga keselamatan desa dengan harga nyawa manusia. Dan rumah kepala desa selalu menjadi pusatnya. Selalu. Di tengah teror yang semakin nyata, Rangga dihadapkan pada pilihan paling kejam: memutus ritual dan menghancurkan desanya, atau meneruskan hajatan dengan mengorbankan orang-orang yang ia lindungi. Namun semakin ia berusaha melawan, semakin jelas bahwa hajatan ini tidak pernah benar-benar berakhir. Ia hanya menunggu untuk diulang, dengan kepala desa yang baru… atau korban yang berbeda. Sebab di Sukamukti, tradisi lebih berkuasa daripada kebenaran, dan undangan hajatan selalu menemukan jalannya sendiri.

I sacrificed my legs to marry my cousin’s boyfriend, but they replaced me with a different bride on the wedding day!

For three agonizing years, my mother struggled with kidney failure. Finally, after all the waiting and the constant dialysis, she was next in line for a transplant. Hope seemed so close. But then, my husband, Zachary Levi, an esteemed nephrology professor, did the unforgivable. He surreptitiously gave his lover's mother the kidney that was intended for my mother. He said almost dismissively, "Ella's mother couldn't wait any longer. Your mother's been on dialysis for so long, she's not going to die anytime soon." Later, my mother passed away. I called Zachary one final time. Yet, it was a woman who answered. "Margaret, right? Zachary's in the shower. Is there something you need?" I stared at my mother's smile on the gravestone, and an overwhelming emptiness spread through me. "It's nothing. Just wanted to talk about the divorce."

My sister, Laura Ward, died the year we were ten, the year we snuck out of school to play. From that day forward, my mother’s grief turned into a burning hatred for me, convinced that I was the reason my sister was gone. She treated me like a servant, like an unwanted burden, and filled the void by adopting a perfect, obedient daughter to replace my sister. She took everything from me without a second thought — my rights, my freedom, my very existence — and even demanded that I give up a kidney for her precious adopted girl. Alright, Mother, if you want a life, I’ll give you mine! But it was only when my body lay cold, my breath long gone, that she finally turned and looked at me.