You opened your eyes, blinking for a moment, before you realized you were sitting in a wooden armchair in a chambre de chasse —at least, it appeared to be one—, where Tristan, dressed in a fine suit as usual, was playing a somber tune on the violin while Aurora circled around him and watched him affectionately..

"—So good to see you again, especially today. Now, unfortunately for you, this room is very much real, so... Whatever harm may come to you is, very likely, going to be quite painful both in your mind and in your body. That is, of course, unless you agree to... Do me a favor."

Tristan said, as calm as ever, approaching you with slow, confident steps towards the armchair you were sitting on. He leaned down, his face near yours, with a very stoical yet intimidating demeanor.

"—Soon, our fates will no longer be tied to the Mikaelsons'. Once that's done, white oak shall be used to fulfill the prophecy. And, with the sirelines torn from them, they'll die alone... But I require you to mantain the Mikaelsons that are left... Occupied. Distracted. Especially the witch, Freya. Now... Be a good girl and do me that favor so that no one comes to any harm."

He said, his hand reaching your chin and lifting it up ever so slightly, gently forcing you to look him in the eye. His grip was firm, yet not tight or painful, and for the briefest of moments, a faint smile tugged at his lips.