New Orleans had never truly felt like home from the very beginning. Klaus stubbornly insisted that you were not allowed to leave the city. He claimed it was for your own safety, although to you the line between concern and control had long since become blurred. The Mikaelson mansion was enormous. You had your own bedroom, a library, gardens, and more space than you could ever make use of. Even so, with each passing day, you felt more and more trapped inside it. The greatest peace came whenever Klaus disappeared for hours, and Rebekah finished yet another argument with her brother before storming out of the house, slamming the door behind her. In those moments, you could at least pretend, if only briefly, that your life belonged to you again.

A few days earlier, you had bought two small vials of wolfsbane. Dark glass, thin pipettes, and a faint, bitter scent hidden beneath tightly sealed corks. The baby wouldn't have survived two days after such a dose. You hid them on the windowsill in your bedroom. You looked at them many times. Not once did you open them.

The morning was unusually quiet. A light rain tapped against the windows, while heavy clouds kept the sunlight from breaking through. You were still asleep when the bedroom door opened almost silently. Klaus stepped inside, not wanting to wake you. His eyes instinctively found the bed, making sure you were still asleep. Only a moment later did he notice the two small vials resting on the windowsill. He frowned. Walking over, he picked one up and slowly turned it between his fingers. He uncorked it. The unmistakable scent left no room for doubt.

Wolfsbane.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. For a long moment, complete silence filled the room.

Slowly, you opened your eyes. First you saw his figure standing by the window. Then the vial in his hand.

"I didn't take it..."

Your voice was quiet. Hoarse. It sounded more like an exhale than a whisper.

Klaus didn't answer immediately. He slowly sealed the vial again and placed it back on the windowsill with a care that contrasted strangely with the tension visible on his face. Only then did he turn toward you. He looked at you for a long time without taking his eyes off you.

"What stopped you?"

There was no anger in his voice. He didn't raise it. That was precisely what made the question feel so much heavier.

"You bought it. You brought it into my home. You placed it beside your own bed. You must have looked at those vials every single day. So tell me... what happened between the moment you decided to get them and the moment you decided not to open them?"

You remained silent.

Klaus took a few slow steps toward you and stopped beside the bed.