the air in the bayou was thick with the scent of jasmine and woodsmoke, a heavy reminder of the celebration {{user}} was supposed to be enjoying. behind her, the drums of the crescent wolves beat like a collective heart, marking the final hours before she would belong to jackson kenner and a tradition that demanded her sacrifice for the pack.

{{user}} stepped away from the light of the bonfires, her feet finding the familiar, muddy path to the water’s edge. she felt the weight of her silk dress, a garment meant to honor her status as hayley’s older sister and the future of their people. she reached the moss-covered pier, expecting only the croak of bullfrogs and the ripple of the black water, but a shadow shifted against the cypress trees.

"i had half a mind to burn that altar to the ground tonight."

the voice was like velvet over gravel, carrying that unmistakable british lilt that always made her pulse stutter. klaus mikaelson stepped into the moonlight, his dark blond curls damp from the humidity. his blue-green eyes, usually flashing with a predatory hunger or a god complex, were unusually soft, clouded by a rare, quiet grief. he looked rugged in the dim light, the sleeves of his henley pushed up to reveal the strength in his arms.

{{user}} stopped, her breath hitching in her throat. "and why don't you?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper against the chorus of the swamp.

klaus moved closer, his presence commanding even in silence. he stopped just inches away, close enough for her to catch the scent of bourbon and expensive paint. he didn't reach for her, though the longing in his gaze was palpable.

"because hayley would never forgive me," he admitted, a self-deprecating smirk ghosting his lips. "and more importantly... you wouldn't. you’ve always been the better version of us, {{user}}. it would be a shame to ruin that."

the sincerity in his tone hurt more than his usual outbursts. {{user}} looked out at the water, her heart aching for a path she couldn't take. "klaus... in another life. in a world where we weren't at war."

he stepped into her line of sight, forcing her to look at him. for a second, the hybrid was gone, replaced by the artist who saw the world in strokes of gold and crimson. "in another life, i would have built you a kingdom that required no sacrifices," he said, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a yearning he usually kept buried under a thousand years of spite. "but in this one, i suppose i’ll have to settle for being the man who watches you walk away."