Shakily, Camille steps into the room. It's desolate and arched, the walls are lined with dark red velvet and imprinted with molten gold fleur-de-lis, the symbol only the greatest of monarchs dared to wear. Walking deeper into the lair that Klaus had sealed off to all residents, Camille saw the beautiful cathedral style windows were dusty and smeared with something that she refused to identify as dried blood. The pungent smell was enough to tell her otherwise.
Despite the darkness of the room, the former bartender's vampire vision enabled her to see objects as if sunlight had been streaming in. She made out velvet and satin lined chairs strewn about, a broken settee that had once been a lovely dark plum shade. Dirt and tendrils of passed time littered its evidence across the Persian carpet, its former tinted white now a depressing and filthy gray. The lined green edgings that reminded Camille of an overflowing lily pond was speckled with wood chips, most likely from the broken furniture, and the finely sculpted easels were wrecked beyond comprehension unless one looked hard enough.
As Camille's eyes made their way around the room, she felt her breath leave her lungs when she came face to face with the southern wall.
For there was no wall.
Instead, there stood a grandiose portrait, nearly floor to ceiling in length with its heavy golden framed etched in carefully crafted flowers. The weak morning light from a nearby window allowed Camille to make out that the flowers upon it were beautiful roses and irises, flowers of love and royalty. However, even these delicate creations paled in comparison to the woman whose face had been painted on the grand canvass.
Camille doubted there was actually a woman as beautiful as she but, then again, she hadn't seen nearly a fraction of the things Klaus had. She was the epitome of what Klaus craved - genuine beauty - with a delicate heart shaped face and complexion as fair as milk, the woman had hair of spun gold and eyes that were centerpieces in themselves.
A delphinium blue filled the orbs of her eyes where they were fringed with long black lashes, a romanticizing feature that complimented the overall amorous countenance of her beauty. She looked far away - a point off the portrait - with deep thought and a determined, quiet strength that Camille couldn't help but admire. Despite the fact that Klaus (for only he would pay such attention to the small nuances in his subject) had draped the portrait over with tones of melancholy, there was a strange, light emitting quality beaming from the woman.
Whether it was from the flushed rosiness of her cheeks, as if she had just come back from a dance of great merriment or from a spin on a spring day; or if it was due to the soft begonia pink of her lips, slightly parted as if she were drawing in breath to say something of great value, Camille didn't know. All she knew was that the woman was as entrancing as Klaus himself - but so much warmer, even if the color pallet for the majority of the painting were shades of black.
She wore a strapless black gown (or Camille supposed it was a gown, as the painting was a headshot) that displayed the delicateness of her collarbones and the gracefulness of her neck. The dark shadows defining each curve and dip were mesmerizing and even though she was a girl not schooled in the depth of art, she found herself lost in the sheer beauty of the painting.
It was breathtakingly poignant and heartbreaking at the same time…with, perhaps, the faintest hint of hope? Camille shook her head. Only Klaus would know.
"Get out."
Immediately Camille spun around, her dead heart pounding in her chest when she saw Klaus standing by the entrance, his face filled with a dire warning that sent Camille's head into overdrive.
"I - I the room was unlocked and - "
"Get. Out." Klaus spat out. There was no morbid playfulness, no mocking jest - simply the King of New Orleans and ruthless hybrid giving her a command.
A king talking down to a subject who had obviously crossed a line which should have never been crossed.
"Who is she?" Camille asked before she could stop herself and immediately regretted it when she saw Klaus school his face into a mask of perfect blankness.
She couldn't even read his eyes.
"When I say to get out, Camille, I mean I want you to remove yourself as far away from my presence as you possibly can before I decide that your breathing is as useless as the purpose you possess." the words were spoken low, harsh, and so frigidly cold that Camille actually shivered.
Without warning she vamp sped out of the room as fast as she could and only when she heard the infuriated slam of the grand double doors did she slow down and strain her ears to listen.
At first, she heard nothing but faintly, Camille could make out the sound of breaking glass and knew Klaus had probably smashed the beautiful glass vases that had once sat prettily on a velvet lined pedestal. From there on, she heard the smashing of furniture and then the pounding on walls, slamming of other objects followed, and Camille knew that Klaus was in one of his infamous moods - a temper tantrum of the highest caliber was being put on display at the moment.
Holding her breath, Camille edged down the hallway a bit further before she paused and heard the ragged breaths of the hybrid and then…a sharp sigh.
"What am I going to do with you, love?" Klaus murmured softly, his hands grazing the grand painting of Caroline that he had worked on night and day three weeks after he had defeated Marcel. For, without the distraction of war, all the suppressed thoughts of Caroline - the whole never-ending flood - came bursting to the forefront and Klaus had nearly gone mad with grief and anxiety.
Painting was the only way he could keep his promise to Caroline - to not seek her out as he was sure he would have hopped on the nearest plane to New York and joined her there with a smirk on his lips and a quip ready.
He had never missed anyone as much as he did her - not even his siblings, boxed up and away for random periods of time. Because with Caroline, Klaus had felt hope - true, sincere, and utterly blinding, breathtaking hope. He saw the hope that one day - one glorious day - they could become a reality.
Over the course of these odd seven years, Caroline had kept in touch with Klaus - texts, phone calls, and random letters with strange little souvenirs that she found endearing or intriguing or "hey, Klaus, check your mail soon, will you? I found a pretty cool prehistoric rock dating back to the BC period and I need to know if that poor thing ever witnessed one of your infamous temper tantrums".
Those were the very things that had kept Klaus going - especially in his darkest of times; those letters and text messages and charming, somewhat snarky, indefinitely touching, but always honest phone calls were the things he lived for.
It hadn't taken Klaus very long to realize he couldn't go on without his little blonde everything (for she was most certainly no longer just a distraction). He needed her.
Gently reaching out to touch the canvas, Klaus stroked the painted cloth with gentle affection, his mind playing back to their most recent conversation.
"You know…I'm done with college and all that other crap and I'm basically a free agent now," she had said over the phone.
"After you finally got rid of the mangy mutt," Klaus added on, the small bubble of pride welling up at the phone call Caroline had given him a few days after she had finally broken it off with Tyler - forcefully telling him off as well. "You're no longer bound by obligation to restrict yourself."
He heard Caroline scoff, and could vividly imagine her rolling her eyes at his snarky comments. "Please, I stayed in Mystic Falls because I wanted to Klaus," Caroline said, though they both knew that was only a tiny fraction of the reason the blonde had decided to remain in her hometown for as long as she did. "And, anyway, Damon and Elena are off on some whirlwind romance tour or whatever. Damon wants to take Elena to Italy to see his ancestry or something like that and Stefan's been globetrotting for a while…so I was just thinking…I know you promised never to come after me but…I never promised to…" her breath hitched slightly and Klaus had already ceased his breathing, pleading with the gods he had long since forsaken to allow what he was longing for to finally happen, "I never promised to not go after you." she finally breathed out, the sentence flowing from her lips but each word as clear as if she'd said them right by his side.
"What are you saying, sweetheart?"
"I'm saying, Klaus, that…I - I want to take a chance. In fact, I know I want to take a chance." Caroline reiterated, her voice stronger now and confident in her words, "I want to know if I your door will be open for when I show up."
There it was.
The ball was in his court now.
A slow, soft smile curled on his lips, the very one that allowed his dimples to show in all their glory. The smile that melted the coldness in his eyes and broke away every barrier he had ever constructed around his heart.
"As if I could ever deny you anything, love," Klaus breathed out, "come to New Orleans, Caroline."
Standing now, before the painting, Klaus's insecurity and fear at the joy and happiness that was currently being handed to him on a silver platter had manifested into rage. He had always hated feeling fear but with Caroline's words, he had felt nothing but it for the past few hours.
He needed to see her.
He had to see her.
"Come to New Orleans, Caroline," Klaus whispered aloud, staring at the painting of the ebullient baby vampire who had stolen away his heart. "My door will always be open for you. Always."
And from Camille's stance in the hallway, every word had been heard and every sorrowful, hope filed breath had been taken into account.
That woman was not just an object of beauty Klaus needed to paint - that woman was the love of his life. The girl who had haunted his soul for years. Everything suddenly made sense to Camille - why Klaus would suddenly be in liquor fueled rages or why he would suddenly smile and allow a rare show of benevolence to appear. Why he would grant mercy unto some and why he would decapitate anyone else.
It was all because of her.
Her.
Caroline.
While Camille had long since gotten over her childish crush on Klaus, she couldn't help that small bubble of bitterness to well up in her chest and her fists clench furiously together. This Caroline, the woman of beauty, had captured Klaus's heart in a period of time unknown to Camille; they had shared laughs and tears and kisses in memories that only they were to know and remember.
They shared a love only they themselves knew.
Camille could only hope that one day she would gaze upon this Caroline in the flesh and see if she was every bit as beautiful, strong, and…full of light as that painting depicted her to be.
Little did she know, she would only have to wait two hours more.
A/N: The term 'Jökulhlaup' is an old Norse term which means 'glacial run' or an outburst, a flood. Exposure, really.
Review & tell me what you think and which story should I update: Glory of the Queen or A Rose is a Rose?