the air in the abattoir was thick with the scent of ozone and copper, the aftermath of a spell that had nearly torn the quarter apart. you were slumped against the cold stone pillar, breath hitching in your chest as the black veins of the ancestors' curse crawled toward your collarbone. your vision blurred, the world dissolving into charcoal smears and jagged shadows.

"{{user}}! hey, stay with me," marcel knelt beside you, his voice uncharacteristically panicked. he reached out, his hand hovering over your trembling shoulder as if afraid you might shatter. he looked up as klaus stormed into the room, the floorboards groaning under the weight of his fury. "stay back, klaus! her veins are turning black. it’s the ancestors."

klaus pushed marcel aside with brute strength, his expression one of pure, quiet fury. he didn't spare the younger vampire a glance as he dropped to the floor, pulling your head into his lap with a tenderness that felt dangerously out of place amidst the wreckage. his palms were rough and warm against your skin, a steady anchor in the drowning dark.

"hush, love. i’m here," he murmured, his british accent dropping into a low, jagged rasp. his blue-green eyes searched yours, frantic and predatory all at once.

"she’s dying because she fought for your family," marcel spat, his jaw tight as he stood over you both.

klaus ignored him, his focus entirely on the way your pulse fluttered like a dying bird under his touch. he bit his wrist, the sound of tearing flesh loud in the silent hall, and pressed the wound to your lips. "she's dying because she is too good for this world, and certainly too good for you, marcellus. now, be useful and fetch her grimoire before i level this entire block."