Elijah was sick.

Very sick.

He’d been bitten brutally by his own hybrid brother, Klaus Mikaelson. He’d lashed out as a response to Elijah’s accusation of only wanting to keep {{user}}’s unborn child as a way to make more hybrids.

Niklaus and those hybrids.

He was laying in bed in a hut in the bayou, trying to supresss hallucinations. The fever was flooding his mind with torturous moments and flashbacks from the hardest times of his millenia-long life.

In all those years, he had never felt such pain and agony.