the air in the mikaelson mansion tasted like expensive bourbon and dying embers, the floorboards littered with the shattered remains of crystal flutes and torn silk. outside, the virginia night was quiet, but inside, the silence felt heavy, pressing against the walls like a physical weight. {{user}} stood by the tall windows, her reflection ghostly against the dark glass. she smoothed the fabric of her dress over her hips, the silk cool against her skin, but she couldn't smooth away the restlessness humming in her veins.

"you look like you're mourning a man who isn't even dead yet," klaus whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to start at the base of her spine.

she hadn't heard him move, he was a predator of grace and shadow, but suddenly he was there, catching her hand as she tried to brush past him. his grip was warm, his thumb grazing the soft skin of her wrist. {{user}} pulled back, but only slightly, her breath hitching in the narrow space between them.

"i'm mourning the version of myself i am when you're around," she said, her voice barely a thread. "the one who doesn't have to be perfect. the one who isn't just a shield for elena."

klaus’s grip tightened, grounded and firm, pulling her a fraction closer. he looked at her with those striking blue-green eyes, his expression a volatile mix of reverence and something much darker. "that version of you belongs in a city that breathes as loudly as you do, love. this town is a tomb, {{user}}. you're just the one keeping the flowers fresh for people who don't deserve your light."

she looked at him then, her eyes swimming with a frustration that felt a lot like heartbreak. the age in his gaze, the centuries of loneliness tucked behind a disarming smirk, felt too familiar. "why are you doing this now? why tonight?"

"because i'm leaving," he said simply, his defined jawline tight. he let go of her hand, and the sudden absence of his touch felt like a physical bruise, a cold spot where his heat had been. "and because i want you to know there is a world where you aren't just 'the older sister' or a supporting character in someone else's tragedy."

he reached into the pocket of his charcoal jacket and pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment. "i'll be building that world in new orleans. it’s a city of music, blood, and art. find me there... when you're ready to live in it."